“Retirement is the world’s longest coffee break.”
Author Unknown
As I was sat at the gym the other night, staring in the mirror, wondering why I had not come up with a better idea to spend an hour, I glanced to my side.
Equally inactive sat a young girl albeit seemingly with more intent as there were enough weights stacked by her bench to keep a rugby team busy. She had enough wires popping from her ears to suggest she was maybe MI5.
Also in view was a fancy energy drink but it soon became clear this might be a bit overdoing it – because during the next twenty minutes the only movement came from her finger to phone.
Why bother going to the gym? Why not the launderette; at least she could have multi-tasked. Maybe it’s me? And why bother spending a fortune on fancy gear if you never need to wash it?
The Darling Buds Of March
As I sit typing away I can see the allotments and the little patch of heaven that Greenfingers and I attempt our horticultural miracles all summer. We’ve made a modest start, clearing patches and “planting” cardboard sheets to encourage the valued worms we need.
It still looks barren and bleak but you can just sense the start of the growing season. As yet there is no sign of the perma-tanned Gregarious George the Greek, nor his addictive laugh and boundless enthusiasm for even the daftest idea.
I cannot wait for this year’s madcap idea – 1200 lettuces or a field of broad beans will take some beating – but he could sell oil to the Arabs such is his boundless enthusiasm.
Nor have I yet to see the rest of the motley crew such as Beethoven, his hair blowing wildly in the breeze. Our thoughts are with Bombastic who is not in the best of health at the moment.
We both look forward to seeing him sitting in his chair again soon cursing all and everything from the one-eyed perspective of later life.
Roll on summer.
Walking Backwards
The other week the Chancellor of the Exchequer Jeremy Vine lamented the loss of the older generations from the workforce, many the result of people changing lifestyles post-Covid.
Those who could leap off the treadmill appear to have done so in their thousands. So it was interesting to view our crowd of ten last Friday as we marched across the sodden moors to Ilkley enjoying the mist, rain and great company.
Out of ten reasonably able-bodied men, aged from 50 to the early sixties, only four are still in a proper job. The skill sets the group possessed surely are a loss to the wider economy.
But how to make use of this pool of knowledge and talent?
Youngest City
Like a busted flush, Hapless Hinchcliffe bleats about the dubious claim that Bradford is the UK’s youngest city as if not being able to fathom out a condom packet is something to be proud of.
The claim, as you might expect, is somewhat creative – we just have more young people of a certain age. But get this so far as their unlocked economic potential goes from two stories recently.
The revelation that a third of Bradford pupils are currently classed as “persistently absent” from school has raised concerns in a Council meeting. Just what Silicon Valley needs then – see here.
And how about this for those that do make it through the gates?
A five-year plan to boost education standards in Bradford has been mostly scrapped due to budget pressures. The grand plan was only announced last year – see here – which begs the question was it just headline seeking ore simple ineptitude.
Of course, you cannot blame the council for every failing in the city but surely it has to have some responsibility for education just as it must for children’s services.
And where is Hapless when you would hope a so-called leader would front up? As ever nowhere to be seen.
Bowling
As we walked I was interested in how the newly retired were coping with “freedom”. Familial duties featured strongly as did Netflix and copious amounts of newly-discovered housework. However, crown green bowling was a new one for me.
JB aka Captain Chaos was positively beaming as he talked of his new responsibility as Second Team Captain at Ilkley Bowling Club.
This man, I recalled, was one of the most aggressive and competitive blokes I could ever recall; how would he not end up starting a fight even in this most sedate of sports? It could only end in tears.
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