Somewhere else on Thames..perhaps. Or possibly not

Nowhere-on-Thames may soon be no more. I will be blogging under false pretences.

Whilst enjoying the limited charms and unlimited sunshine of Egypt, TH and I were able to indulge in one of the many pursuits denied to us in the normal course of events. We talked to one another. At length.

As a married couple of some 30-odd years’ standing, this should be a normal activity. However, our respective schedules have, for many years, condemned our conversation to a regular exchange of post-it notes on the fridge. Given the lack of availability of an A4-sized post-it note, I mainly confine myself to leaving instructions as to the location and nature of the evening meal,  short, urgent “to do” lists, and questions regarding the whereabouts of things I’ve been unable to find during the day.

By the time I get home from work, TH may just have waited up long enough to say something like “I’m off to bed, good night”. It’s not the moment to launch into any sort of deep conversation, as he is well past his sell-by date, having got up at 4.45 am to catch the first train to the metropolis.

Meanwhile, back in Egypt, we found ourselves able to catch up on some of the conversations that we normally have to cram into Sunday afternoons…and this year, we spoke of retirement. Well, of TH’s retirement, anyway. Successive governments seem hell bent on ensuring that I will keep seeing my state pension on the horizon, and, like someone lost in the desert, I will crawl towards it, only to discover that it was a mirage all along.  I am, however, determined to stay alive to draw it, even if they keep increasing the statutory retirement age by increments until I am 105. If only out of spite!

TH asked, quite out of the blue, one evening as we enjoyed an aperitif, if I had any preference as to where I would like to live once he retired. Initially, I had to take a minute to process the information, as I wasn’t altogether sure whether he was working up to asking for a divorce, or suggesting that I might care to move out of the matrimonial home, but no, he was Planning Ahead. TH has a strange approach to Planning Ahead. He usually packs his suitcase about two weeks before a holiday, whereas I do mine the day before. However, I often wonder about long-term plans, whereas TH  only really plans a month or so ahead. So you can imagine my surprise that he was talking about moving house “sometime in the next couple of years”. 

The conversation led us both to decide that we would probably rather move closer to London than further away, although we were rather more sketchy as to where.  The “closer” part did not have to entail much geographical adjustment, but we both felt it might be a plus if we found somewhere on a train line that didn’t make a three-legged tortoise look like Mo Farah.  As things stand, N-o-T is connected to London by a train service that stops every 100 metres, and takes 50 minutes to cover something in the region of 20 miles. There are tail-enders in the London Marathon who could do the journey faster. Even if they were wearing a chicken costume..

Upon our return, I decided to have a cursory look at property in a couple of places, and before I knew it, TH was spurred into action and we were off for a spin to see what had become of Surbiton, where we lived at the time we first married, and Kingston, where sons#1 and#2 were born.  

This was a salutary experience. There is no doubt that the entire cast of “The Good Life” must have moved out, as it appears they’ve probably been able to sell half their garden to a property developer who has built seven or eight houses on the plot.  It was like going back to the scene of a memorable holiday, only to discover that Ryanair, Easyjet and Flybe have started daily flights there, and the deserted beach has been dug up to build fifteen hotels.  Affording a house was not the issue. Affording a garage (or even a parking space) and a garden are almost certainly beyond our means.  

On the plus side, I can report that Surbiton has probably the highest per capita concentration of proper, old-fashioned ironmongers’ shops of anywhere in South East England, if not the UK as a whole.

We are currently working on Plan B. When we decide what Plan B is, you will be the first to know.

By the way, I might add – in case you were wondering – that proximity to a decent rail connection to London is important because along the way, TH confided that, when he reaches retirement age, he has no intention of actually retiring.  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Monty Python touched a bit of a nerve......