Signing on?

It’s just over a month since I stopped being a public servant and well over two months since I lifted a pen in anger. So how’s it going?

I have often heard people say that they wouldn’t want to retire and I have worked with people who didn’t retire and died in their jobs. And others who stayed on years after they could and perhaps should have because they so enjoyed what they did and that’s fair enough: we’re all different.

When I was offered a voluntary exit, it was just a question of when. I had put in 39 years service, much of which was on the frontline, and I didn’t really have a lot left in the tank. I felt relatively fit, physically at least, and rather than thinking it was good enough for me to carry on in my job, I thought it might be more productive to put my good health to better use.

Would I miss the job that was becoming ever more bureaucratic under a government that promised to cut bureaucracy? Not a bit. Would I miss my work friends and colleagues? Yes, of course. And would I take a financial hit? You bet I would. But the older I get, the less money matters. Of course, money does matter because you can only do the things you like with money but living to work was never a life principle that ever appealed to me.

I have played more golf than ever, I have written more than I have ever done. I have not exactly upped my housework contribution very dramatically but I am getting more productive. And we have had the entire roof and guttering replaced.

In August, I shall need to work again in order to maintain the modest lifestyle we enjoy.

Ideally, I’d like to do nothing and just have the money but unless things really get bad I am not going to sign on at the dole office. I could, for sure, and I am entitled to having paid into the National Insurance scheme since 1974 but I don’t want to be the first member of my family to do it. It is a bit easier for me to not sign on because I have a modest pension to fall back on but there is just something about it that I don’t want to do.

Perhaps I shall have thousands of hits on my website and write for money, as massive companies queue up for advertising space, or more likely I’ll be stacking shelves in ASDA.

I’ve done it now anyway.

I’ve left the rat race for now and enjoyed the best summer in years without being trapped in an office.

I’ll join it again, hopefully on my term, before September unless one of those nice Nigerians who keep writing to me finally put those millions into my bank account. I’ve given them my account details often enough.