I am back to report that reaching Level 60 in this game called Life is absolutely fab – I can only apologise for my curmudgeonly approach to the Big Day back in December. I am now older and wiser. ‘Reaching 60’ sounds ancient, whereas ‘Level 60’ in gaming terms infers that I have ‘levelled up’ and earned myself the right to increase character statistics such as health, magic and strength. Watch me rise.

I also seem to have cashed in my pre-Christmas lethargy by insisting on being more restive than festive during the holidays – ok, so I didn’t get invited out much – but my glass is more than half full again, even if others around me do seem to be insisting on a ‘dry’ January (you know who you are, and you can now officially consider yourself as my ‘designated driver’ for the month). 

January has not started in a dry way meteorologically, but it is testament to my rejuvenation that not even torrential rain can nudge me back to the morbs I blogged about at the end of the year (sorry again).  The scaffolding has come down from the cottage, I have a watertight roof again, and even though the recent storms seem to have blown the door off my garden shed, I count myself lucky that I have purchased a property built on high ground and that the rest of the shack has stayed in situ.  I use the incessant post Christmas rain to my advantage, opining that I will be better off inside with a paintbrush, than outside battling with an umbrella. Confinement is a friend to DIY.

I finish the year with the previously damp walls repainted and feel very grateful to my fab kids for showing me how to fall back in love with my residential retirement plan before they ship me off to a care home.

I then start the year with the promise of another of my birthday experiences (see previous blog), this time an invitation to go tree hugging with a dear friend. I am ashamed to admit that during my 60 years on this planet, I have never participated in this activity – as a yoga teacher I feel thoroughly outed. On the day of my arboreal christening, there are flood warnings. I ignore these because I am now so positive, and aqua-plane Winnie the Mini down the lane which leads to my friend’s house. We sit at her kitchen window watching a river gush past. At this point we hug our coffee rather than launch ourselves immediately downstream but there is no discussion of aborting our mission. Friend is no fair-weather tree hugger, and I note the wellies, waterproof trousers and dry-robe she has put out in preparation for my christening. On account of her ‘can do’ attitude I pretend to be amphibious.

We step outside and it immediately stops raining, which I take as an encouraging sign from Middle Earth (just checking if your Lord of the Rings Ent intel is up to scratch). 

I thoroughly recommend tree hugging to you. Friend takes me to one of her favourite trees – actually two trees that have grown together as one – in her local graveyard. I am immediately thinking of a metaphor: two trees drawn together through adversity to become a stronger, more resilient beacon (sorry, even English teachers need a break for the Christmas period). Being a respectful tree hugger, friend first needs to coach me in timber etiquette. Thus trained, I politely ask our tree if it is acceptable for me to snuggle in and then gave it plenty of time to decline my request. I plant my wellies on the tree’s substantial roots (we decide it it too wet for me to go bare foot) and embrace its bark. Absolutely lovely. Did not feel silly at all. I make a note of this tree for future embraces. I also make a note of the church service timetable – I may not be ready for public tree hugging until I reach the magic of Level 70.

Afterwards friend and I sit on her favourite bench in the graveyard and she explains why sitting here is a pertinent start to her dog walk each day. The bench is surrounded by gravestones – each one marking the bookends of a life hopefully well lived. By contrast, across the field beyond you can see and hear traffic jetting down the motorway, a frenzied artery of urgency and noise. Friend notes that she finds it useful to remind herself of our inevitable resting place when the pace of life becomes distracting.  

If I have levelled up and started the new term with restored health and strength, I have also gained more magic from my Whatsapp group of birthday promises. This really is proving to be a self gift with great potential and I am excited about a raft (although surely this rain cannot last for ever) of activities yet to be experienced with my lovely chums.

Annoyingly for colleagues with young children, I bounce back into school to start a new term, announcing that it is great to be back. Silence. I wind my old neck back in.

As I take my first lunch time duty of the new year – keeping it real by supervising the toilets – a Year 11 student asks me how my Christmas has been. I thank her for asking and say that I have had the most lovely time reconnecting with family, friends and banking new experiences and memories. She looks like she is about to throw up so I ask about her Christmas. ’It was a bit boring,’ she replies, ‘but I am more than happy with my new lash and nail extensions – what do you think, Miss? I will just have to wait until I can leave school and marry someone rich before I can get my Brazilian Butt Lift paid for, but not long now’.

I sigh, decide not to signpost the cellulite and crepey skin that may challenge a BBL (who knew?) by the time this student reaches Level 60 and make a note to return to ‘my’ tree and church bench for additional gaming reserves as soon as possible. I will need to keep branching out if I am to make it through to half term.