My granddad with his prize-winning garden around about the time I was born
When I was younger I never thought that retirement could be a full time job, I should have done, my Granddad had warned me.
Most Sundays when I was a young lad I would call round to see Granddad and my Grandmother. One Sunday, Granddad was in the lean-to green house on the back of his large shed. His shed had been his workshop before he retired. As he stooped down to pick up a watering can I asked him,
“What’s it like being retired Granddad?”
He turned to me and said,
“Son, I don’t know how I used to find the time to go to work.”
The last few months have been pretty much full with publishing our writing group’s first book, an interesting experience. Amongst all that I had a trip to the Royal Institution in London and a train ride pulled by the Flying Scotsman, a brilliant birthday present from my wife.
Walking my son and girlfriend’s dog twice a day occupies a good chunk of time, cycling once or twice a week makes a big inroad too.
I am trying to unblock my writers block that has lodged itself in my novel. I need a clear mind and fresh thinking, possibly, a cycle ride on my own will work its magic.
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