So what's not to like, then?

OK, it's been less than a month since I retired, so early days, relatively speaking - but so far I really am highly delighted with it. I did think I would be, but some of my colleagues, bless them, seemed quite worried about me, and the professional advice beforehand all seemed to be very much of the 'it will take a long time and an awful lot of adjusting to' variety.

Not so. I am very much enjoying being on what feels like a holiday with pay, after the last thirty-six years of mostly interesting but demanding work. To be sure, there were some brilliant, satisfying and very enjoyable things in there, but precisely because of that, it's easier to let go. I had the great good luck to work with interesting people in a great job and did most of the things I'd wanted, plus a whole heap I'd never even thought of!

And no, I'm not being complacent - I'm only too well aware of my good fortune in having had the life I have had, at least so far. I'm also well aware of the contrast with some of my ancestors. What a difference a pension would have made to William the mason, for one - despite being a skilled craftsman from a successful family, he ended his days in the workhouse.

It has, of course, helped that that I had a great send off with lovely presents, that the weather has been so warm and sunny, and most of all that there's Keith to be with. At the moment we're tackling the mountain of clutter in the study (definitely not a job for the faint-hearted!) and coping with having the bathroom rebuilt, with much disruption. We reward ourselves in between with cooking good food - compliments to the chef for his chicken sag Madras tonight!

Today Is the First Day of the Rest of My Life...

...and I feel exhausted! I officially retired from work yesterday, but will have to go in until Tuesday to stand even half a chance of finishing off everything that needs doing, particularly the clearing of my office. Towards this last, tonight I brought home fifteen bags of my own books and files, and it really doesn't seem to have made that much difference.

Amazing what you can accumulate in the course of thirty-two years: knitting needles, sticking plasters, spare shoes and gloves, mugs, forks...erm, and a balloon pump, some fishing line, a bag of 1950s halfpennies...

I've got a little list

(View from the eastbound platform at Greenford station)

As I expected, things to get done at work before the end of March are stacking up at a rate of knots. In between trying to do six assorted things at once and muttering a fair bit, I'm making a list of the work-connected things I don't think I'll miss:

Going out in pouring rain

Coming home in the dark in winter

Parting with the best part of £150 a month in fares (It's really good value, but...)

Having to grab lunch in a hurry, and eating uninspiring food much of the time

Deadlines, especially for work I didn't want to do in the first place

Meetings, especially those that are shoehorned in between others, take place over lunchtime but don't include refreshments, go on for more than an hour, or take place in spaces that are too hot/ cold/ noisy/ small

Projects I didn't want to be involved in last time, either

Political correctness

Increasingly not having time to do the parts of my job that I love best, and am best at

I may be wrong, of course - perhaps I'll miss them greatly, but I doubt it.

What I probably will miss, against all the odds, is the bit that most people shudder at - an hour on the tube each way every day. Keith went into work with me recently and said he didn't know how I did it at all, leave alone there and back day after day, but of course I started young and have got used to it, and I do it in a state of removed consciousness, so to speak. I get on at Greenford (in the open air) most mornings and sink myself in my paper or book to the extent that I never see the transition to underground tunnel at White City a handful of stops later. And yes, I normally come back to full consciousness at Bank or Liverpool Street so that I don't miss my stop. Believe it or not there are people who are on the tube when I get on and still on when I get off, so there are some who are even madder than I am...

The Road and the Miles to Retirement

Well, I suppose that some progress is being made towards my retirement, though probably not enough. My office, which has been described before now as an art installation or a pile of junk, depending on who you ask, still looks as cluttered as ever, despite my best efforts. Work keeps getting in the way, of course.

Going through old documents I would estimate that I must have recycled/ shredded several trees' worth of paper by now (and a comparable amount of space on the computer). I looked at some of this stuff in amazement and wonder why it was committed to paper at such length in the first place, and certainly why I ever kept it afterwards. Again, work gets in the way, I guess - quickest to just file it away.

Rather reprehensibly, I've taken the greatest pleasure of all in tearing up all the writing guidelines - thou shalt not assume that any reader has any knowledge, of any kind, about anything; thou shalt not use ye passive tense; or the word 'which' in clauses (must use 'that'); or any punctuation, apart from full stops or perhaps the odd dash or question mark. Thou shalt, on the other hand, produce labels, text, etc which is cogent, informative and interesting for everybody of any age in roughly a third of the space (and the time) needed for the task, and by the way, your vocabulary and construction are too difficult for ordinary people to understand. (I occasionally erupt over that last one - it's really only crept in in the last ten years, which I think may just say something about dumbing down in education). I prefer to write the piece interestingly first and tailor it afterwards, frankly.

My colleagues are carrying on a touch chronic about the loss of my expertise, which is in its way flattering, but that's how these things happen, much of the time. In fact, as my boss very sensibly remarked, somebody leaving is how other people learn - and I learnt it that way myself.

The Birthweek

As my recent birthday didn't work out all that well, I spread it out over the next eight days - so more of a birthweek than a birthday, really. Not that extensions are unheard of anyway - one or two have gone on for a fortnight, and very enjoyable, too.

Anyway, back to this year's. It was a Monday, although I wondered if it really was the right day, because for one thing, the weather was wrong. It was raining. Hard. This is not allowed on my birthday, as my 'natural' present is fine sunny weather - at worst dry with sunny spells, but more usually the sort of glorious autumn weather we got later in the week. Somebody must have miscounted...

It was also a Tube Strike day: I had to take Harry-the-Cat to the vet first thing. Eight thirty came and went, with no sign of the cab I'd booked. Eventually it arrived three-quarters of an hour late - extra traffic on the roads because of the strike, which I guess is unsurprising. Oh well, I'd warned the vets, and they were being very accommodating, so let's see if we can get through this without any more ado. Part way up the main road, the driver's radio station of choice came up with Credence Clearwater Revival's 'Bad Moon on the Rise'. I smiled at the cheerful tune, as ever, and its combination with the disaster-laden lyrics (earthquakes, lightning, hurricanes, floods etc) until we got to "Hope you have got your things together/ Hope you are quite prepared to die". Now look here, guys, that's enough!

I suppose it may account for the fact that when we got there the driver tried to be helpful and back onto the forecourt so I had less far to carry the basket. Unfortunately, he backed into a lamp post instead...fortunately he was doing virtually nil mph, so no injuries. I was lucky, as I had been about to get out, and wasn't wearing a seat belt at that point. He was not lucky, having got a sizeable dent in the back of his people carrier. Oh well, the rest of the day was uneventful: Keith had the bad luck to be unwell, so we ate nothing fancy by way of food, but he still managed to arrange presents and cards for me, which were doubly appreciated, and I did get some other nice ones - thanks, everyone!

It was an odd week - a South Kensington day on the Tuesday; in at the museum on Wednesday, and lunch with a friend at Nico's Grill (steak sandwiches and chips to die for); and a retirement seminar on the Thursday and Friday (held at the National Liberal Club, which has rather stunning Victorian/ Edwardian interiors; the food's not bad, either, notably the fish and chips). Retirement isn't until next year, but it's as well to get any help offered, I figure, and in the current financial climate I can see next year's event being scaled back somewhat.

Having thus barely seen my colleagues, I went out for lunch on the following Monday with the team I work with. Someone suggested Pellici's (trad caff plus native Italian), which we all like. Even the member of the team who was heavily pregnant with twins was particularly keen to go ("It'll be my last chance to go there for a bit" she predicted, all too accurately), and soon we were all excavating large helpings of steak pie etc - there's a plate under there somewhere, I'm sure! The follow up was that the twins started to arrive the next day - must have been the walk back afterwards...or something energising about steak pie ?


(A squirrel in Bethnal Green Gardens ponders his local menu)