Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

The British Spring has arrived with its usual enthusiasm, which is to say we’ve just survived Storm Dave and temperatures dipping below freezing at night all threatening my freshly sown grass seed.

They say retirement is a time for slowing down. I can only assume “they” haven’t tried to re-budget a house renovation during a Bank Holiday weekend.

The Kidney Audit
Monday began with the traditional Monday Morning Fatigue—a phenomenon I find particularly offensive given that I no longer have a boss to blame for it. The Curator and I sat down to revisit the renovation budget, which has begun to climb at a rate that suggests the house is planning to be gold-plated. The Curator was in full “Ex-Banker” mode before she’d even finished her toast, summoning magical spreadsheets and macros like a digital sorceress. I, meanwhile, sat quietly failing to remember my own banking passwords. After much wizardry, she concluded that we don’t need to sell any kidneys just yet. We celebrated by allowing ourselves the luxury of lunch.

The Yellowstone Dilemma
We are still debating where to live once The Structural Arbiter begins his work in May. A friend suggested we go “full Yellowstone” and live in the woods. While I appreciate the rugged imagery, I’ve seen enough films to know that scary things happen in the woods at night. I’d honestly rather part with a kidney than deal with whatever is rustling in the British undergrowth at 2:00 AM.

The Gym Social Club
Wednesday’s gym session was a triumph of social engineering over physical exertion. I moved between the machines like a butterfly, striking up deep connections with my fellow gym-goers. Occasionally, I even lifted a weight, which felt like a bit of a distraction from the conversation. My muscles might be confused, but my mental health has never been better.

The Chieftain Tank Incident
If Friday is ‘Good Friday’ Thursday was “Painful Thursday.” AI has “helpfully” designed a cardio programme for me that assumes I wish to be Olympic-ready by teatime. After thirty minutes on the stepper, I tackled the lawn. With the mower in hand, I charged across the grass like a Chieftain tank, devouring dog toys, sticks, and garden ornaments with a level of mechanical aggression that would have made a drill sergeant proud. My legs are currently on strike.

The Green Bank Gamble
Good Friday was spent in a state of defiant domesticity. While the rest of the country sat in traffic jams, we stayed home to “make hay”—or rather, “sow grass when it’s raining.” We’ve sprinkled seed on the Green Bank and I am now staring at a brown bank with the quiet expectation of a man who believes nature should adhere to a strict 14-day delivery schedule.

The Suit and the Toddler Chef
I have an important meeting on Tuesday, and The Curator rightly pointed out that “Yellowstone look” (chinos and brown boots) might not be the desired aesthetic. This necessitated a trip for a new suit. I detest trying on clothes, but since my gym-induced “growth” has rendered my old suits historical artefacts, I had to endure three changes of costume before finding a fit.

We ended the week with the family. Young Freddie treated us to a bespoke pizza, featuring pickles, olives, and pepperoni that I am reasonably sure he “pre-tested” by chewing on it first. It’s a bold culinary choice, but when the chef is that enthusiastic, you don’t ask questions. We finished the day building magnet towers and Duplo empires—a level of structural planning that even The Structural Arbiter might find impressive.