Retired for twenty years today

Today is a special day. It's the twentieth anniversary of my retiring. 31st May 2005 saw me on holiday in the Wiltshire countryside, at Coombe Bissett, south-west of Salisbury, relishing my escape from daily commuting by train to London, and not yet fully appreciating the possibilities of my new freedom, but knowing that life from now on could be one long holiday, adequately funded with an immediate pension. It was wonderful. 

At that moment I had no idea how some important personal events would shape the time ahead. Meanwhile, some nice things were already pencilled in: I was not short of things to do, and the sudden ability to make all kinds of plan was intoxicating. The two-month New Zealand trip in early 2007 was one fruit of that. Meanwhile, there would be as much caravanning as one could wish for, and not mostly on weekends any longer. We could have extended outings. I was almost floating in the air, such was the release from routine and responsibility, and the sensation that all kinds of things could now be done.   

Of course, being a tidy-minded and practical person, a new routine quickly established itself. But it was all geared to a life of leisure. In fact I wasn't completely free. M--- and I were still close; we still did all important things together, certainly all outings and holidays. And I'd have to sell my home: I couldn't afford to keep up the mortgage payments. I'd bank the money, lodge with M--- for a while, and find a smaller place that I could buy outright. 

It didn't work out like that. But on 31st May 2005 all that was on my optimistic mind was the golden life to come. It would be easy and full of pleasure. I could see no clouds, no challenges, no need to worry. Ha! Within five years almost everything would have radically changed. It's just as well that we cannot really see into the future. 

And yet, here I am, on 31st May 2025, on holiday again (presently in Northumberland, after going all the way from Sussex to Orkney, and then this far back towards where I started from on 28th April), in good health, active, and shortly to enjoy a nice salad in the caravan before an afternoon tour of the Northumbrian countryside. 

On my own, yes; in fact on my own for the last sixteen years; but by choice, not ill fortune. One thing endless leisure gives you is the time to work out what your best mode of existence should be, and what you are not suited for. And I am definitely a person who should avoid entanglements and close relationships. I enjoy friendships; but only in short bursts. I am a solitary, independent, complete-in-myself kind of person. It took retirement to see that. 

I have often pondered whether I hid behind my job, letting it dominate my daily life so that I could avoid thinking about whether I was truly content. I had an interesting job, and though never committed to it, it did willy-nilly lean heavily on any tendency to introspection. I had a strong work persona to maintain, and the job became an investment. I was loath to rock the boat, and disinclined to analyse who I was and where my life was going. So until I retired, I never explored any of the possible rabbit-holes an idle mind might explore. 

I was uncomfortable, playing a role, doing what others expected of me, and not what I really wanted to do. I accepted it because so many others had to accept lives that ticked some boxes but not others. So before retirement set me free to think seriously about my condition, I tried to make the best of it. I had coping mechanisms. I could for example immerse myself in my interests. But all ultimately to no avail. Your true nature, and the kind of life right for it, will always become clear in the end. I learned that rather late, in my fifties, and I feel I should have seen it decades earlier. But better late than never at all.

My last day at the office was in fact 26th May 2005. I had a few days' annual leave untaken, and used them up by walking away five days early. The formal leaving lunch - joint with the others also retiring - had already taken place. I signed off a few letters and penalty notices (I had been a senior investigator with the old Inland Revenue), distributed cakes and other yummy things among the staff on my floor, handed in my ID card, then enjoyed a farewell drink at the better of the two pubs we used. And that was that. The train ride home was an odd experience. Something I'd done a thousand times in recent years, and now never again. Where would I go from here? I was fifty-two and retired. 

And now I'm seventy-two, soon to be seventy-three. And I have some perspective. 

I am certain that I did the right thing by retiring early. If you can do the same, then do it, even if you forego a full pension, as I did. Nothing beats freedom, and having full control of your life. Or at least, as much control as your ongoing circumstances allow. I am exceptionally well-placed in that way, not having elderly parents on my hands, nor a partner, nor a sibling, nor any children or grandchildren, not even a pet. None of these to worry about, to consult or consider, or to organise things for. 

Some would say such a lack of surrounding family is a tragedy. Even unnatural. I don't know what to say to that. Perhaps the repost is this: I belong to nobody, and I'm nobody's concern or burden, and so it doesn't matter what I do, nor what happens to me. 

And, if you like, that's the other face of complete freedom. It can seem very sweet, or very bleak.

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The holiday hasn''t been spoiled by a broken camera

People who know me personally, or have got to know me a bit from reading this blog, may be wondering how I'm coping with the loss of my Leica X Vario, effectively just a paperweight now. 

The answer is: pretty well. I certainly haven't fallen into despair! The stand-in, my Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra - last year's best Samsung phone - has, as expected, performed nobly. In fact, its results have been excellent, all I could really wish for: sharp, nicely exposed, and attractively rendered. 

My criticisms are few. If anything, the pictures look too attractive, indeed slightly artificial, as if the scene were taken apart and put back together to look even better. In doing so, the original 'atmosphere' or 'mood' has been lost, and something different and synthetic substituted - very noticeable, for instance, in sunsets. 

But the detail captured is extraordinary: it all looks clinically distinct. I don't see things like that in real life. My eyesight shows me a world in which only the thing or person that is getting my attention is actually crystal-clear; the rest is visible but indistinct. Razor-sharp clarity is a great thing for some subjects, but not so much for old sagging faces like mine! My phone is frankly cruel with human skin. Nor does it make food look appetising. It does much better with townscapes and landscapes, despite the colours erring on the sunny side. Man-made objects fare best of all, whether they be steel girders or sauce bottles. Still, if there is to be only one chance of getting a shot, I would prefer the result to be unrealistically beautiful, rather than dull and lacking in punch. In any case, I want it crisply recorded. Clarity above all else! I want to explore and study the picture, and need everything in focus. The phone obliges.

Above all, the phone can zoom. On this holiday, I have made much use of the x5 and x10 zoom settings, available with just a screen tap. The pictures taken when using the zoom - all of them handheld too - are astonishingly good. It's a testament to the power of the phone's processor. I've never had such a good zoom on a fixed-lens device before.

Using the phone isn't a long-term solution though. I want to grasp something that isn't a flat oblong. I want a camera that is camera-shaped, easy and secure to hold, with convenient physical controls. For those reasons alone, I am yearning to say hello again to my little Leica D-Lux 4, now my only operational conventional digital camera. It's very nearly sixteen years old, with almost 100,000 shots to its credit, but it's small and light and can do nearly as well as larger, heavier cameras that have passed through my hands since I bought it. 

Which begs the question, what exactly have all the incremental improvements in cameras over the last sixteen years amounted to? Why won't I feel that I'll be taking a big step backwards?

I do read a clutch of favourite photo websites every day, and avidly note what's new and supposedly game-changing. I've seen many developments come and go. Lately YouTube, TikTok and other video platforms have skewed current model ranges towards the making of short movies, and away from still photography. And there has been a pronounced stylistic leaning in new equipment towards a look that salutes the film era and the early-digital era. At the same time, to maintain revenue in a smaller market, manufacturers' prices have shot up. To 'justify' that, cameras have in the main become hyper-capable and very complex: computers with a lens attached. The amateur photography world - male-dominated - doesn't actually mind this. I suspect that the average male photographer rather likes being enticed by mouth-watering specifications, and can ignore the eye-watering prices. Such a person, seduced by the latest and best, can easily find good reasons to take their hobby to the next level, and to spend whatever it takes to have a glittering status symbol that other men will envy. Manufacturers play on this, and aim their promotional salvoes at men only. There are no ads or promotions aimed at women, who are much keener on having value for money, and have no need to brag. 

So I ask it again: are the pictures that modern cameras take - if viewed at normal magnification - fundamentally better than those from my little Leica D-Lux 4, a camera of 2009 vintage? Can anyone really say, ah, that was taken last week, or last year, or five, ten, fifteen years ago? I don't think they can. 

The little Leica will, as it always has done, get me nice shots I'll want to keep. I admit that its sensor and processor have long been outclassed. It isn't (for instance) good in poor light, producing a result that looks 'distressed' - although very effective, if that's the effect I want. But I'm used to these limitations, and find it interesting to work within them. In any case, I have the phone for situations beyond the little D-Lux 4's powers.  

One thing isn't going to happen. I'm not going to search in panic for an immediate replacement for my stricken Leica X Vario. I simply don't have the money - especially not if I stick with Leica. I'll see what's possible once my car is paid for, and once I've replaced my 2016-vintage laptop. But not before.

Meanwhile, the little Leica D-Lux 4 must ride again. I think we will both enjoy a fresh adventure together. 

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Sad news from Orkney

I'm in Orkney at the moment. It took six days to tow the caravan to Dunnet Bay, on the far north coast of the Scottish mainland. Offshore, but very visible, Orkney - where I now am. It's day 12 of my 38-day holiday. 

First some Good News. The weather has stayed dry throughout, and at times has been really warm and sunny, even in the far north, and even on Orkney. I'm not so physically tired from travelling as I thought I might be - in fact, I feel that I should be able to repeat this long holiday in two years' time. I've done some very nice things, and met plenty of very nice people. I have bought a lovely magical ring here on Orkney (to rule them all, of course), and I've booked myself in tomorrow evening at a renowned Bakehouse, for one of their famous sourdough pizzas. I'm actually getting a subtle tan. And nothing seems to have come of that potential speeding offence! Jackie next door has been on the lookout for bloodstained envelopes from the Kent Police while I'm away. I think they have to do something within two weeks of the speeding offence, as caught on camera. It happened on 15th April, and it's now 23 days further on. There is still a faint shadow over my holiday happiness, but as each day passes without any word of doom, so my spirits rise.

But I must record an item of Bad News today. I think my well-loved Leica X Vario camera has suffered a sudden mortal blow - some sort of electronic failure - to wit, the rear screen doesn't light up when I want to take a picture. It remains dark. There are icons top and bottom, yes. A view of what I want to take, no. That's pretty fatal. 

I've found a kind of workaround. I play back the last picture taken, and the screen will light up for that. I then switch immediately to Record mode, and - not always, but more often than not - I can then compose my shot on the screen and take it, because it generally stays lit until I turn the camera off. Then I need to go through the same rigmarole all over again. 

Effectively LXV is limping. The pictures taken - if I can take them - turn out fine, as excellent as usual. But quick-fire photography, capturing the precise moment, is now impossible.

I do of course have my Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra phone. That will have to step up full-time for the rest of my long holiday. It has a good zoom, every picture is sharp, and the rendition is more than acceptable. But the results from LXV were even better. 

How I'm kicking myself for not bringing the little Leica D-Lux 4 as a backup camera. I nearly did, but told myself it wasn't necessary. LXV was functioning perfectly; why take along (effectively) a third camera? Silly, silly me for not doing it.

Well, LXV - which cost me £599 second-hand back in May 2022 - turned out to be a good bet. Very nearly 64,000 pictures taken in three years. Manufactured in November 2013, so now getting on for twelve years old. And yet nothing had gone wrong until now. Perhaps I just wore it out! But buying a replacement of the same calibre anytime soon is beyond my means. I'll have to depend on the little Leica and the phone until further notice. 

So the little D-Lux 4 will come out of semi-retirement once I'm home again, and will almost certainly surpass 100,000 shots taken before the end of June. In fact, the shot count presently stands at 98,089 - so only 1,911 more shots needed. Then it's 200,000 to aim for. 

I have a very soft spot for the little Leica, which I bought new in June 2009. I've had it for sixteen years. The D-Lux 4 was launched in 2008 and is of course totally outmoded by the cameras of 2025, but seems to be indestructible and can still turn out a very good picture. Although its small 10 megapixel CCD sensor can't capture as much detail and subtle tonality as modern cameras, and is poor after sunset, its zoom lens goes out to 24mm at the wide end, and has great potential for creative shots. Its macro abilities are just as good. And its black and white rendition is outstanding. So, actually, I'm rather looking forward to using it again full-time.

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No flights available

I researched Loganair flights from Kirkwall to Westray without delay. The planes they use for inter-island services are only ten-seaters and of course they fill up quickly. 

I would be in Orkney only for a week, arriving on Tuesday 6th May, and, realistically, I really didn't have a lot of choice where flight days were concerned. 

Wednesday 7th May was perhaps too soon after the previous day's voyage to Stromness to contemplate a hectic early-morning dash across the Orkney Mainland to Kirkwall Airport. It would give me no time to recover from the stress of catching a sea ferry with a caravan in tow - and then compound that with the stress of two small-plane flights, and a lot of foot-slogging on Westray. Iron Woman I am not. 

I didn't want to travel on Sunday 11th May because almost certainly very little would be open on Westray, and besides, it was getting a bit close to my Tuesday departure back to Caithness. Monday 12th May was a definite no-no for that very reason. I couldn't risk getting stranded on Westray, and missing the next day's ferry. 

That left Thursday 8th, Friday 9th or Saturday 10th May as Westray Days. And guess what, it wasn't possible to get to Westray and back on the same day on any of these dates - either the outward flight, or the return flight, or both, were already sold out. 

Worse than that; the world-famous ultra-short Westray-Papa Westray hop was an essential part of the experience, but it was only on the menu if you flew to Westray in the afternoon, and returned on the next-morning's flight. It seemed that an overnight stay on Westray was expected. I didn't have the time or money to consider that, even if a pleading phone call to the Loganair desk at Kirkwall secured me flight tickets. (I dare say they keep a seat free until the last minute, in case an emergency worker is urgently needed on Westray)

So there you are. Thwarted. Some would say it's a cop-out, and yes, I'll own up to feeling relieved that I won't have to commit myself to a small aircraft. But another part of me is regretful. It would have been very memorable. And now no aerial pictures from the plane!  

So Hoy must provide the thrills. A slow boat to Lyness. At least I'll have Sophie with me, and can easily get around most of the island. Not quite the full-on adventure Westray could have been; but on balance Hoy should be - photographically speaking - just as satisfying, as it's a very scenic place. 

UPDATE I saw to the Hoy ferry booking straight away, and it's now in the bag. Outward to Lyness on Hoy at 10.00am from Houton on the Orkney Mainland; return from Lyness to Houton at 4.40pm. The ferry takes 35 minutes. So, allowing for check-in times, I'll have nearly six hours on Hoy. The return fare for Sophie and myself was £28. It's sobering to think that I paid £84.50 to Wightlink last October, to take Sophie and me roughly the same distance to the Isle of Wight and back. But then the Hoy fare is heavily subsidised by the Orkney Islands Council for the benefit of Orkney residents and visitors, and I don't think the Wightlink operation is.

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Hoy or Westray?

I depart for Orkney mid-morning on 28th April - only sixty hours away now - and will actually reach the place mid-afternoon on 6th May, after a very long haul in stages to Scrabster, near Thurso, on the northernmost coast of Scotland, and a two-hour ferry voyage to Stromness. I'll be there for a week, and then linger in Caithness for nearly another week. 

This will be my second visit to Orkney. The first, in September 2022, was just for one night. This time, seven nights. 

Here are some location maps. Click on them to enlarge the view.

The first visit three years ago merely whetted my appetite. I only had a day and a half to fit everything in, but I still managed to have a good look at the Old Man of Hoy (from the ferry sailing by, coming and going), the Ring of Brodgar, the Standing Stones of Stenness, Earl Robert's Palace at Birsay, the Italian Chapel on Lamb Holm, the Cathedral, Bishops Palace and Earl's Palace in Kirkwall, and The Pier Arts Centre in Stromness. Plus a great evening meal at The Foveran restaurant overlooking Scapa Flow, with two medical Professors on holiday from San Diego in California. 

Actually, that was quite a lot packed into the short time available. I'm hoping to see so much more this time, and I'll be able to do it at a much more leisurely pace. 

As an outline plan, I intend to go up at least one high hill on the Orkney Mainland for a 360-degree Orkney-wide view; to inspect every prime coastal location on the Orkney Mainland and those south-eastern islands connected to it by the Churchill Barriers; to examine the archaeological sites of Skara Brae (a neolithic village) and Maeshowe (a gigantic neolithic tomb); and to thoroughly explore the two towns Kirkwall and Stromness. 

I also want to visit at least one of the offshore islands that you need a ferry to reach. As I'll be based at Stromness, and with mountainous Hoy (the next-largest island in Orkney, after Mainland) close by and visible from my caravan, it's almost a no-brainer to go there. I'll have to take Sophie in order to get around. There's scenic Rackwick Bay and the Dwarfie Stane (a hollowed-out rock that a hermit lived in once) in the north part of Hoy; in the middle, the remains of the Lyness naval base with a museum (Scapa Flow was a Home Fleet anchorage in both World Wars); and in the south of Hoy, Longhope Lifeboat Museum (I well remember the lifeboat disaster in 1969, so this would be a kind of pilgrimage) and Melsetter House (if open; a famous Arts & Crafts house). 

But now Hoy has a rival. There are other large islands, all of them individual: Rousay, Shapinsay, Stronsay, Eday, Sanday, North Ronaldsay (the most north-easterly) and Westray (the most north-westerly). The last of them, Westray, is also calling to me. I have two tenuous connections with it. First, when last in Kirkwall I had a conversation with an old lady (older than me, anyway) who had lived on Westray but now lived in Kirkwall. Social Services had moved her to Orkney's 'capital' (where the modern NHS Balfour Hospital is) and she had mixed views on that. Clearly Westray had been special to her, although she appreciated her new flat in town. Secondly, the crime author Ann Cleves has a new Jimmy Perez book coming out - announced in January, to be published in October - called The Killing Stones, and it's set in Westray. Jimmy Perez was the main character in her Shetland-based crime novels, which inspired the Shetland series on TV. This latest book catches up with Jimmy a few years on, and I'll look forward to getting a copy of it when it's out. Meanwhile, I could go to Westray and spy out the land. 

The only trouble may be that, unlike Hoy, the ferry times won't work for a day trip. I could fly there perhaps, from Kirkwall Airport, but (a) I don't like flying, (b) it would be mega-expensive, and (c) it's a three-mile walk from the airfield on Westray to the main village at Pierowall. Unless a minibus meets the plane. Still, it would be a memorable thing to do! And maybe I could tack on the very short hop over to Papa Westray, and forevermore hold the distinction of having flown the world's shortest scheduled plane service. (The flight takes just two minutes)

As you can see, this holiday might turn out to be rather adventurous. I'm getting excited!

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Driving Licence Blues

Not a Lead Belly song from the 1930s. It's about that sinking feeling when you think you may have been caught - yet again! - by a speed camera. 

But first, the good news. Being over seventy, and approaching my seventy-third birthday, it was time to go through the regular process for getting a renewal driving licence. You have to do this every three years. This one would take me to 2028, when it would all happen again, and repeatedly until I eventually gave up driving, or was forced to. 

Right now it's done by self-certification. And it's all too easy to be dishonest about (for instance) how adequate one's eyesight is. So far as I know, nobody checks. As it happens, I have no reason to be in any way dishonest, but you can imagine how some elderly people with very dodgy vision, who refuse to go to an optician, might be reluctant to own up to their impediment and risk the withdrawal of their driving licence. Well, the loss of mobility if their eyesight were too poor for driving might be very awkward indeed for them. But they shouldn't become a menace on the roads, and I think the government could rightly insist on elderly applicants proving that they've had a fairly recent eye test, and that they wear any glasses found necessary.

Back to my application. You could fill in a paper form (and one was sent to me), but I could also do it online with the DVLA, via the gov.uk website. It was a longish job, not because the online application form was complex or especially lengthy, but because so much care was needed to correctly tick all the boxes. It was essential to get it completely right. 

Well, I was finally satisfied, and clicked on the 'submit' button, getting an immediate acknowledgement. Online applications are supposed to be processed inside a week, but I'd heard of long delays for paper applications, and so wasn't too hopeful for the ones made online either. But I was too pessimistic. My application was on 16th April, and the new plastic card with my picture on it came in today's post. So it took six days. I'm relieved because the DVLA asks you to snip the old licence in half and send it back. I did that at once, first class post, because I reckoned they would not release the new licence before the old one had been returned. So for a few days I was without a licence to show. And had the new one been delayed, I might have had to go off on my long holiday to Orkney and back without a driving licence. It probably wouldn't have mattered, but you never know. But now the new one is tucked away in my bag, and I need not worry.

Next, the not-so-good news. It's nearly time to renew my car insurance. I will probably get this year's quote by email from LV when travelling north next week. Last year everyone's car insurance practically doubled. I myself paid £1,041 to insure Sophie - although in addition to the general increase, my quote partly reflected a speeding offence in January 2023. To keep future insurance costs down, I have since then been paying great attention to my speed when driving, and had been expecting to hold this year's quote down as a result. 

But now the bad news. Another speeding offence looms, and it will shoot the cost up to £1,500 or more.

Incidentally, I consider myself a responsible driver, and I don't scorn speed limits. But I occasionally I exceed them by accident, or circumstances make me. The January 2023 incident was a simple error. I joined a dual carriageway (the A24 north of Worthing) from a side road, and assumed that I could drive along it at 70mph, the normal speed limit for a dual carriageway. But in fact I'd turned into a short stretch limited to 60mph, and a speed camera recorded my mistake. I went back later to check: sure enough, there were 60mph signs that I hadn't noticed. There was nothing I could do except pay the fine and accept the points. And report it to LV, who upped my premium on renewal. 

So what has happened now? Why do I think I may have been caught speeding again? Well, it was dusk, and I was on the westbound M20 in Kent, travelling home. A white car had been tailgating me, clearly wanting me to go faster, although I was doing a steady 70mph and wasn't going to be hustled. Then it changed into the inside lane and tailgated another car instead, who, like me, was driving at the maximum speed allowed. That lane became a slip road off the M20, but it was a long one, and for several hundred yards we remained in a close parallel formation, with the white car off to my left, driving aggressively and showing every sign of impatience. A potentially dangerous situation. I put on a little extra speed to get away from both of them. I saw 74mph on my speedometer. At that moment a speed camera flashed. Who had triggered it? I assumed it might be me, but we were all going at much the same speed, and the white car had been the one misbehaving.

I drove on with a sinking heart. Another speeding offence, willy-nilly.  

That was a week ago. The Kent Police have not yet been in touch. But I won't be in the clear until a fortnight has passed, and by then I'll be on my way to Scotland. 

The nightmare scenario is that a stern missive requiring a rapid response arrives while I am away on holiday, not to be seen by me until I return on 5th June; meanwhile my apparent silence has triggered unwelcome consequences. But I will ask Jackie my next-door neighbour to check my post, and email me a photo of anything sent by the Kent Police. I can then get them to put things on hold until I come home again. It will spoil the holiday though. And the insurance company will have to be told. Sigh.

UPDATE Saturday evening, 26th April. Nothing heard from the Kent Police yet. They are leaving it rather late in the day to send me a penalty notice. But if it's already on its way, I won't now see it before I depart for Orkney two mornings from now. To be on the safe side, I will definitely have to get Jackie next door to examine my post when she gets home from her own holiday. Tsk. 

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