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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