I used to sail, offshore for years and years. My wife says "yachting widows" are more sinned against than golfers' wives, because their blokes stay away longer and more often, always come home smelling of diesel fuel and never offer to do their own washing.
I converted to Grey Nomadism in 2000 (through a combination of clumsiness through arthritis and husbandly guilt) and we had a wonderful six years largely spent exploring the vastness of Australia.
Settled now, secure and comfortable in the suburbs, I'm became a bit sentimental, recently, about my not so distant past. I'd started to miss, the salt and sweat, and the fellowship of a passion that kept me addicted for a couple of generations. There was, very soon, a marked difference of opinion between my body and my brain. Logic told me that even if I could afford to "go down to the sea again" I just wouldn't cope.
A man has to have a sport though,does he not? One can't surrender entirely to computers and books, and to "grand-dad-ism"!
So I've been thinking, a bit, about one of those radio-control model yachts, like I've occasionally seen racing and/or wallowing in small lakes and big ponds. That could be a manageable challenge, perhaps. It does look promising, but am I really that keen?
Will I investigate, or will I concentrate on trying to fly my tiny remote control helicopter?
Life in retirement is a real challenge.
"Are we going to have a cuppa thisafternoon, dear?
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