After so long away it’s great to put our feet back onto solid ground in old Blighty

!st December

First light on sandwich bay - they charge you £7 these days to go along the private road.

Unknown fish, massive mouth, but didnt say a lot, yet very pleased when l returned him back to the sea

Went fishing early yesterday, 6am to be precise and had a glorious day. The Whiting, albeit small ones were jumping onto the bait every few minutes, making the time just flyby. I did catch another fish, but l don't have a clue what it was. It could be a baby Monkfish or and Angel fish. I will just have to look it up when l have a minute.But more importantly, l need to find my car keys. I took them out yesterday and l just can't find them now.
Presently starting to panic.
Checked my Gilet pockets, my winter over trousers, under trousers and waterproof coat. Nothing. If truth be told l checked them twice, not trusting myself to have felt deep enough inside each pocket whilst in a state of panic. But nothing, denara , zilch. So what about the fishing box. Up to the shed, remove the padlock and rummage through the contents like a headless chicken. Still nothing. There is that cold sweat of fear that drifts over you like a wet cold watery wave. The vision in your head is that of the keys, the only set, lying amongst the shingles of Sandwich bay beach. Suddenly the realisation comes into the brain, you left them in the car. Makes sense, l put them somewhere safe, so they didn't get lost. I rush outside wondering if it's just the wishful figment of my imagination.
But No. They are there, sitting in the little handy compartment for all to see. A big sigh of relief.It comes to us all, this old age lark. Which makes me think even more.
Instead of being elated, l am starting to go into depression overload.What happens when you look in the mirror and you see your dad?
You have turned into a cantankerous old bugger who sits about watching fat men, bursting out of T shirts, guzzling beer and throwing darts, whilst trying to chew on Worthers Originals.
The thought process then leads me to wonder who is going to change my incontinence pads and find my false teeth in twenty years time?

Please note these are not mine, l have all my own!

Its not going to be my son Justin, he will be working every hour God sends to pay the tax necessary to keep 25million old people in extra strong mints and cat food.So what options are out there? If your penniless the government will put you into a warm bed just vacated by some old dear of 140 who has just dropped off the perch in one of its Stalag compounds, otherwise known as a care home manned by a horde of hard working girls from the Philippines. Lets say that the majority of the old crinkles who have not died off prematurely due to self induced smoke inhalation, obesity caused by a diet of Kentuky fried mouse, or liver failure. They cash in there assets and end up with arround £150,000. So how long will this last for the two of you in a decent retirement home in the South of England? Well my friends are paying £1,500 a week for their father. So that's less than a year for the two of you!
Bloody hell!You need to pray that your senses diminish swiftly, you go off your food and drift into oblivion before your savings ebb away and you are put out onto the street sharing a cardboard box with the unemployed drug addicts.It would have been cheaper to book their father on a round the world cruise with P&O. Perhaps not, they seem to have a great deal of problems with food poisoning or other bacterial infections. Also not sure if you receive a refund if the old dear doesn't utilise the full 138 days it takes to circumnavigate the globe. Be a bugger if they popped off after only a week at sea.
You would need a mortgage your house to ship your loved one home.Joking apart, there must be a better way of managing your life into senility with a modicum of self-respect.So why do these homes charge more than a good hotel. The money isn't going on five star food, private spacious rooms and a home from home relaxed environment. No, it's going into the pockets of the owners, the fat cats of business. So l believe you need to prepare ahead before the choices dwindle in line with your memory and ability to stand up straight. The solution stares us in the face.
Most of us mix with like minded friends who are of a similar age, well within a few years anyway.
Hopefully we can still enjoy the garden, get a kick out winning at cards, watching a movie and of course the ability to communicate, hopefully for many years to come. So there is a definite need to pool resources, use a larger house that can be split into smaller units. Providing everyone with there own independent HOME.
Together you can retain the services of a doctor, hire a nurse who ensures the right dosage of pills are popped at the appropriate time and the occasional bum wipe. A live in carer's cost split between, say five couples is very manageable, about £30 per person per week. No other staff would be required, as everyone will be expected to share the work.
The house would run smoothly as we would share in the activity and tasks that we enjoy, cooking, gardening, and dusting. Yes there are people out there who enjoy cleaning. Waitrose could deliver the shopping, although l still get a kick out of routing around for the best cuts of meat at bargain prices. But maybe not so in 20 years time.
You can go away on a cruise or pop off in the campervan, if you are still up for it, with the peace of mind that some friendly neighbour will be looking after your cat and the home is occupied, warm and safe.

Savings due to the combined purchasing power would be significant and no profits would be leaking away to the Grand Cayman island bank account of the overseas unscrupulous investor.People could enjoy the twilight of their days with like-minded people who they know, whilst still keeping their independence. Plus instead of giving £1500 a week to a faceless businessman, they are retaining their capital within the new communal estate. Obviously there will come a time when one of us dies or becomes too incapable of functioning without extra care. The latter will be covered from a slush fund, a caring hand insurance specifically designed to cater for those final days before they are placed discreetly into the recycling plant.The vacated allocation will then be sold to whomever the remaining parolees decide they would like to live among. Ensuring a constant influx of new blood, a young person to take on the heavy roles, cut the lawn, put the wheelie bins out.I can hear you say, l don't want to live in such close proximity with other people. In fact, as you would imagine, Judith said just that. But then again, she also said she didn't want to think about anything so depressing as old age.Well, there is an alternative. You could buy a house that has enough space to provide a self-contained apartment for your nurse/carer. Supplemented by the odd temp from the Philippines.
But who is going to do the gardening, manage the accounts and ensure that the nurse hasn't knocked you on the head, dropped you in the freezer and moved into the main house?
What a cynic l am.
But you do need your independence at a cost you can afford.