Trouble is I seem to have spent my whole life chasing my tail. Even though we are retired I am a habitual clock watcher checking all the time to see how long each chore has taken me and considering if I have wasted time. Why does it matter I ask myself? Our time is after all our own. Within the constraints of shop opening hours we have no targets to meet, no deadlines to hit. And yet the old habits of running our lives with military precision live on in us. I also plan what I want to do each day. Ambitious plans usually that could be accomplished if we were thirty years younger and everything didn't keep breaking down, but impossibly unachievable for us. Every evening I think guiltily of the things I didn't get done, the hobbies I didn't find time for. You might think we would learn our lesson and lower our expectations of what is achievable, but no, every day a long list of plans, the triumph of hope over experience!
