STAN CULLIMORE

I MUST say, it has been a momentous week here at Cullimore Cottage. Pip-squeakingly so.

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Though, when I say momentous, perhaps it would be better to say it has been an eye-opening week. For yours truly. Not so much for the other occupants. Rufus the small dog has been up to his usual tricks - that is to say, snoozing as much as possible in between snacks - while Mrs Cullimore has been up to her usual tricks also. That is, pretending to snooze as often as possible whenever I get overexcited while eating snacks. Which has been happening quite a lot this week. If you're wondering what all the kerfuffle is about, allow me to explain.

I had an epiphany. A vision. A blinding flash of inspiration. I suddenly realised something I should have realised ages ago. And it’s all to do with this retirement malarkey. Regular readers will be aware that, apart from this joyous little column, I have recently entered my golden years. That is to say; those hard-earned, unpaid, carefree years that stretch out from here to eternity.

Or, death. Whichever comes first. Those years marking the slow change from work days to decrepitude. Must admit, I haven't been entirely OK with it. Not something I ever thought would happen, quite honestly. Been a bit unnerving unpacking how to deal with it.