When I was seven or eight years old, I knew I wanted to be a teacher.  Nothing, other than the facts that I would always have my doll, Rosalind, and my parents would always be there for me was a greater certainty.  Sadly,  Rosalind became a distant memory quite quickly and, as we all know, parents aren’t as magical as we thought when we were young.  Luckily, I still have one who I treasure.

When I started teaching, it was the culmination of my dream and I have never regretted it.  Even after a break to raise two children, I went back to it, as though drawn by an invisible force.  Eventually, I had to let go.  I was no longer the twenty-odd year old who had all the energy to work and play – now I had to consciously make time for the playing.

So I have time on my hands and my son – who knows things – suggested a blog on what it is like to be a Modern Retiree,  So be it …