I would love to retire, truly. Picture this: a small garden, just wild enough to feel alive but tame enough not to trigger the local council. A pond at the end, full of frogs and questionable reflections. Maybe even a shed — a very good shed — where I’d store compost, old hopes, and probably a secret stash of gluten-free snacks.
I’d cook slow meals, write blog posts that don’t have to compete with deadlines, and maybe even spend a few hours birdwatching without wondering if I’m meant to be in for a Teams meeting. Helen and I would try and spend as much time as possible enjoying the British sun as finally due to climate change we might have some good summers (you have to find a positive in every situation).
But let’s be honest.
That’s the dream. The reality?
Retirement feels about as likely as gluten-free pastry that actually flakes. Between the price of living, the price of food, and the price of being alive in this glorious economic game of “How Much Can We Squeeze Them?”, retirement isn’t a plan — it’s a punchline.
With the cost of gluten-free bread creeping up like a passive-aggressive stairlift, I’ll probably be working until I keel over, still logged into a work system, muttering about missing semicolons and snack tax.
So yes, I’d love to retire into a garden with a pond, a nice trowel, a flask of coffee and relaxing next to my wife in some old garden chairs. But at this rate, I’ll retire into a pile of receipts.
Cheers to the dream though. It’s cute.
What about you? Do you have a retirement dream, or are you also planning to work until your bones sound like crisps? Let me know in the comments — bonus points if your plan involves a shed, snacks, or a dramatic exit.
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