By September 2020, the country was gradually being released from its lockdown restrictions, and Geraldine had started performing wedding ceremonies once more. She was being given many of them just then since several of the other celebrants were classed as vulnerable and didn’t yet feel comfortable venturing out into the community. There was still a real fear of the virus, and we were many months away from any vaccinations becoming available, but Geraldine felt that the precautions introduced in the registry office were sufficient for her to feel safe. By now we were now all wearing masks in public and there was a general feeling that things were slowly returning to normality.
The YHA had re-opened some of their hostels in August and so in early September I had booked accommodation at Grinton Lodge in North Yorkshire. Although the dormitories weren’t open, the site had several camping pods available and I’d hired one of these for a couple of nights. The safety precautions at the hostel were extensive, even down to me having to book a specific time slot for the shower which was cleaned down after each user. Food was unavailable at the hostel, but thankfully, the local pub was open and so I had some excellent meals and enjoyed a good three days out on the bike.
A couple of weeks later, in mid-September, it was becoming clear that opening up the country at that time had allowed the virus to take a second hold, and before long the North West of England was plunged back into another lockdown. This time we were placed into tiers with each region having different local restrictions. But by the end of October, the whole of England was in varying degrees of lockdown which was a very worrying and depressing development. Even more depressing was the political news, since it appeared that the UK was heading for a no-deal Brexit – the worst of all outcomes from that tragic episode. Listening to the news at that time became so depressing time that I tried to avoid hearing it to try to keep my mood upbeat.
There were pockets of good news, however. Trump was ousted, with Joe Biden being appointed as US president and Pfizer announced that that they had developed a Covid-19 vaccine which, although it had yet to pass safety tests, was very encouraging news. We were told that the vaccine may be ready by Christmas for certain vulnerable people. I volunteered to become a tester of the Covid-19 vaccination, but I wasn’t accepted. I guess that it was because I was already taking part in a drugs trial for RSV (Respiratory Syncytial Virus) which is another coronavirus variant.
Within weeks, the Covid-19 tiers had become a joke. Different regions were being placed in tiers, only for them to be changed a week or two later. The entire country was undergoing Covid hokey-cokey throughout the autumn. At one point, Lancashire was in a tier which banned all cafés from opening, but Yorkshire, being in a different tier, had more relaxed rules. So one day Laurence and I went on a bike ride over the fells into Yorkshire, enjoyed a lovely coffee and cake before cycling back. There was nothing in the rules to stop this, which made a mockery of the whole system. And as we later discovered, if we ever were in breach of any lockdown rules, we’d have been in very high level company as news of the shameful Downing Street parties began to emerge.
The RSV drugs trial came about because whilst I was in hospital in 2016, I was approached by a nurse who was seeking volunteers to take part in trials for statin drugs. I saw no reason not to take part, so I signed up. A few weeks later I was asked to go for tests at Synexus, a clinical research centre in Buckshaw Village, just three miles away. Nothing came of this since I was ineligible for some reason, and I heard nothing more for a couple of years. Then in March 2020, just before the lockdown began, I was invited to Blackpool Victoria hospital for some blood tests. Again, this was to potentially take part in a trial for a new cholesterol drug, but once more, I was ineligible. This time, I was told that it was because my cholesterol count was 3.6 and for the trial, they needed people with a count above 4. Whilst there, the nurse who was taking my bloods recognised me and as we chatted it became clear that she was one of those who cared for me after my bypass operation. I was amazed that she remembered me, but it was because I stuck in her mind because I kept setting off warning alarms on the ward during the night.
On my first night after the operation I was in the cardio-thoracic surgery ward being very closely monitored. Just as I was falling asleep, I was woken by an alarm sounding and a nurse came rushing over to check on me. I was fine but it transpired that my pulse rate had dropped below a certain threshold and had triggered the alarm to alert the nurse. After she had confirmed that I was in no danger, she reset the alarm and I settled back down. Ten minutes later, the same thing happened again. By the third time, the nurse and I agreed that a pulse level in the 40s was quite normal for me especially when I’m sleeping and so I think she adjusted the alarm settings to allow me to get some rest. She commented later that I was not typical of the patients she normally saw in that ward.
Track forward to September 2021 and I was invited back to Synexus once more, this time to take part in a trial for a new RSV vaccination, and on this occasion I was found to be eligible. It was a straightforward enough trial – I had to attend a few medicals, received a couple of injections and I had to complete a diary if ever I experienced any cold or flu symptoms. The trial lasted for two years and when it had ended, I discovered that I was one of the volunteers receiving a placebo. I was then invited back to take part in an extension trial and this time I did receive the vaccination, with hardly any ill effects. So far. The injection was only a week ago, as I write this.
One direct effect of the Covid pandemic was that the Brindle Historical Society programme became disrupted. I became the booking secretary for the society in 2019 and was very satisfied with the programme of eight talks I’d developed for 2020. The first talk in January happened as planned as did AGM in February, but every talk thereafter was postponed. I took the decision to gradually transfer all the speakers for 2020 to 2021 as the pandemic unfolded and, in the end, we didn’t hold any more meetings that year. In 2021, we made a brave move (for a historical society not noted for innovation) to move our meetings onto Zoom. This worked of a fashion, but wasn’t ideal since many of the members didn’t have access to Zoom or felt intimidated by the technology. In another way, it helped. If possible, I like to choose talks that, even if not local, are at least topical and Afghanistan was very much in the news at the time and I’d found a speaker well qualified to talk about the history of that amazing country. The problem was, he was based in Birmingham, but with Zoom, we could hear him without having to pay travel expenses. It took until the autumn before we got back to having face-to-face meetings, but by then, many people had got out of the habit of coming out to hear us. It has taken another couple of years for the attendance to gradually rise to the previous levels.
I’m not a historian despite being closely involved with a historical society, but old things have always fascinated me. I don’t necessarily mean ancient stuff, but just things that were perhaps old when I was growing up and are maybe no longer around. I love decaying urban structures like much of the Royal Ordnance Factory was becoming when I first worked there. Once a very busy industry, by the 1980s as certain buildings began to be emptied, the whole site felt like it was gradually being taken over by nature. The factory finally closed in 2007 and all the old, structures have gone forever, buried beneath housing and industrial units. I have an affinity for old RAF stations, dilapidated runways, war-era pillboxes and government 1930s brick buildings. I have a sense of wonder when looking at these abandoned sites and I try to imagine what these spaces were like when they were filled with busy workers trying to meet production targets. I read a quote recently (but I can’t remember where) which spoke very clearly to me. “People are drawn to abandoned places and their time-spanning aesthetics”. Certainly people like me are attracted to such structures. Oddly enough, I don’t have the same feeling about old cotton mills which went the same way perhaps fifty years earlier, perhaps because I was never closely associated with them. I cannot imagine that anyone will become nostalgic about modern office blocks being demolished in forty or fifty years.
Even though the Covid restrictions were lifted by the government, against scientific advice, over the 2020 Christmas period, I thankfully managed to avoid catching the disease. I was closely following the statistics at that point (you’d expect nothing less!) and on 28th December, the highest ever number of new infections were reported – over 41,000 in one day. And this was before the expected surge due to the Christmas relaxation of the rules. The following day, 53,000 cases were reported. Even more shockingly, by January, the Covid death rates were approaching 2,000 per day. This truly was really a dreadful time, but looking back now (in late 2024), it seems that we’ve just forgotten about it and simply moved on without learning the lessons. It took me until the following Christmas before I succumbed to catching the virus, but by then I’d had both the first Covid vaccination (March 2021) and the booster (December 2021) and I wasn’t very ill at all. Perhaps ill-advisedly, we’d been to a neighbour’s house party on the 28th December and whilst I was there I was conscious that the strict separation rules that I’d been following all year were largely being ignored. I took a Covid test on 30th December which proved negative, but later both Geraldine and I both started with cold symptoms, and on New Year’s Day, Geraldine tested positive. My own positive confirmation came a few days later.
The virus affected everyone to a greater or lesser degree in many varied ways. By February 2021 it was sixteen weeks since my last haircut (I usually go every eight weeks) so we decided that rather than wait any longer, we would invest in a set of hair clippers. Geraldine may be many wonderful things, but a hairdresser isn’t one of them. We both had a very stressful half an hour trying to operate the clippers and when we’d finished, I had gained a new respect for hairdressers. My lockdown haircut probably wasn’t that bad, but the act of getting there was far too stressful and I was glad to return to the professionals as soon as possible. I gave the clippers away at the earliest opportunity.
For the last few years at school I’d been friendly with Michael Sutton, a boy who was also a keen cyclist. For several years I’d been trying to track him down, first on Friends Reunited and afterwards on Facebook, without success. Then out of the blue in March 2022 he got in touch after 45 years. One of the last times we were together was in 1975 when we embarked on an ill-fated cycle tour of the Yorkshire Dales – see previous autobiography for details. We lost contact with each other soon afterwards, although it was less to do with what happened on the tour and more due to the fact that I’d left school and Michael had returned to take A-levels. In March, having caught up with our lives over an extended lunch at a café in Ribchester, we discovered that we still both enjoyed cycling, but there was a difference. Whilst I had continued down the road cycling route, Michael had developed an interest in mountain biking. The two branches of the sport are not completely incompatible, but they are very dissimilar.
Over the next few months we both tried to find a middle ground between road and mountain biking. On one trip we’d be riding along quiet country lanes near Lancaster with Michael in full mountain-bike gear and the next time I’d be trying to ride a touring bike along the Gisburn forest bike trails. Neither option really worked, but then Michael hit on the idea of lending me one of his mountain bikes. From then on, we regularly rode together in proper mountain bike country. Whilst it still isn’t my preferred genre, I realised that it allowed me to gather Veloviewer tiles in more obscure places, and so I became cautiously enthusiastic. I even encouraged Michael to become a Veloviewer aficionado. We became the first two people in the world to ride in a couple of tiles just north of the Gisburn forest. That probably sounds much grander than it really is. What it means in fact is that of the saddos who subscribe to Veloviewer, Michael and I were the first to ever record that we’d entered those tiles. This involved ignoring “no entry, logging in progress” signs, climbing over a barbed wire fence before trespassing in a field, which perhaps explains why we were the first.
I was very pleased to have finally made contact with Michael after all that time, and when we heard that our old school, St Mary‘s College in Blackburn was to shut down, I was very pleased that we were able to go on a final visit round the school before it finally closed its doors in August 2022. I’m sorry to report that the visit was rather a disappointment. I looked into the classrooms that once housed the science labs, but they just looked like any other bland school classroom now. All the old fitted wooden desks with sinks and gas taps had been removed and replaced with modern stackable tables.
The views across the playing fields that I remembered from sitting in those labs were obscured with new buildings and so there were very few memories to be recovered. I really thought I’d still feel something when entering the former sports changing rooms (with their inimitable odour), but nothing. The assembly hall hadn’t changed much, but very improbably, it had shrunk. Hardly anything that I remember had remained the same, so now I’m still just left with memories from 40+ years ago.o
So after all the disruption to all our lives due to Covid, how did my life as a retiree settle down once normal service was resumed? Well, perhaps it has become more habitual than might be expected, but for someone like me who likes routine, that’s good. When I retired, older people in similar circumstances told me with some regret that they had lost their weekends. This seemed odd at first, but after thinking about it, I began to understand. I always loved that Friday feeling at work. Those people on flexi-time were allowed to finish at 12:30 on Friday but even though I wasn’t ‘on the clock’ in later years, I always tried to stay until 4pm. The last two or three hours on Friday were very special. It was quiet (the phone stopped ringing and emails subsided) and I could catch up on all the little bits and pieces I’d neglected during the week. And then finishing at 4pm (rather than my usual 5:30 or 6pm) was a luxury that I actively appreciated each week.
Once retired, I didn’t want to lose that special ‘weekend approaching’ feeling and yet my solution was simple: I’d continue to set my alarm for 6am Monday to Friday and get up as if it was a work day and then allow myself a lie-in at weekends. That doesn’t really tell the whole story, since I still never really have a lie in. I naturally awake at 6am even at the weekend but then I’d lie in bed until I got fed up, which was often before seven. However, the process works, since I now have something to look forward to each week, even if it’s only a very minor concession of hearing no alarm call on Saturday morning. It even feels good on Friday morning after cancelling the alarm, deliberately not setting it for the following day. Simple pleasures, eh? I also look forward to enjoying an alcoholic drink on Friday evening, since I rarely drink on a ‘school night’. This all helps me to hold on to that special weekend feeling that I had enjoyed for 50-odd years.
The reason I like to get up early is to make the most of the day. If I don’t get started early, I feel that the morning has been wasted which annoys me. I suppose that my work ethic has pursued me into retirement. One concession that I have allowed to creep into my routine is itself a luxury which I never fail to appreciate. I love stopping for morning coffee sometime between 10:30 and 11 o’clock. At work, I’d often grab a coffee from Costa mid-morning, but I’d drink this whilst continuing to work at my desk. These days, I stop doing whatever I’m doing and sit down with a book for half an hour which I perceive as being wonderfully indulgent. I have even found myself postponing going for a bike ride so as not to miss this morning ritual.
My days are not organised in any specific way. I don’t have a fixed timetable for anything, and I simply do what I feel like doing dependent on the weather and what’s on my to-do list. Yes, I still keep a to-do list, which is constantly being updated and will usually roll over several days. Today, for instance, my list only has seven items (which is quite short) and includes ironing, completing a questionnaire from Synexus, finalising the 2025 Historical Society programme and collecting my prescription from the chemist. Yesterday, the list included replacing a light bulb in the fitting over the dining table and sweeping up the leaves. I know, these are all very minor things but ticking them off gives me a sense of achievement without which I feel as though I’ve wasted my time.
An aside. In my later years at work, I often employed consultants to deliver training courses for the apprentices or graduates. One of my favourite trainers was a chap from New Zealand who had a lovely Antipodean accent which became very noticeable in the way he pronounced certain words or phrases. A to-do list was one such phrase which he would pronounce quite differently to me or anyone else I knew. Whereas I would put more emphasis on the second syllable, he would put equal emphasis on each syllable. I would say ‘t’do list’ whereas he would say ‘to do list’ which sounded very odd.
Another change I made once I’d finished full time working was to remove my wristwatch. I put it away at the end of July 2018 and have never worn it since. This was another indulgence that I told myself I could enjoy in retirement; never needing to bother about the clock. I knew that it wasn’t quite true, but it is a belief that I hold onto as something to actively appreciate every day.
I always try to get out for some exercise each day, which would normally be a bike ride or to spend some time in the garden. Strava helps me record all my activities, but although it has plenty of obscure sports, for some reason, it fails to include gardening, which can be just as strenuous as walking. As a result of this discipline regarding exercise, I have lost weight since retiring and feel fitter than I have for years. The fitness is all relative though, since I’ve noticed that even when I return from what feels like a particularly brisk bike ride, it isn’t nearly as speedy as a similar ride would have been a decade or two ago. And I’m noticing that things take longer than they used to, not that this matters since a version of Parkinson’s Law applies. This is the idea that your work will expand to fill the time allotted for its completion, but if there is no time allotted, then it can expand indefinitely. Which itself is another reason for having a to-do list.
So I’ve now brought you up to date with my life and also tried to analyse a few sessions from a virtual psychiatrist’s chair (which I found interesting and surprisingly useful even if you didn’t). I’ve discovered that the act of carefully thinking about things and writing down my thoughts is a very effective way for me to develop an opinion. It may sound odd, but a month ago I couldn’t have given you my views on many of the subjects explored; it’s only when I began to flesh out the chapter headings did the thoughts begin to coalesce and the ideas emerge.
Where do I go from here? Well, as soon as I’m back on the bike, I will continue writing the cycling blogs, and of course it isn’t long now before I need to draft my 2024 Christmas letter. Each year I wonder whether I ought to continue writing these or whether they are too anachronistic, but I suspect that deep down that I will carry on. I always write for an imaginary reader in some future time and even if the only reader is an older version of me, I feel it will be worth it. I guess I’m probably done with autobiographies now. As I’ve found in writing this last chapter, my life at present has settled into mundane routine and any description of it is unlikely to be sufficiently dynamic or varied enough to hold an audience. But who knows? The larger lady hasn’t given voice yet.
A final aside. I’ve just written ‘mundane routine’ as if it is something boring which should be avoided. The word mundane has its roots in the Latin ‘mundanus’, which translates as ‘worldly’ or ‘of the world’. So rather than being banal or ordinary, I prefer to think of this biography as being worldly, experienced or knowing.
I feel that all the future exciting bits in my life will be adequately covered in blogs and the Christmas letters to provide an annual summary of what’s been going on. And I certainly don’t want to bore anyone, not least me, when I re-read these documents in my dotage.
Thanks for reading.
Bernard
28th November 2024