I continue with my half-hearted research into retirement. This shallowness and lack of imagination highlights my fear of relinquishing the structure of full time employment but also notes the refirement that my fellow silver surfers are clearly revelling in.

The long school holiday (previously extensively noted and very richly deserved) provides proof that I am very happy bimbling about and drinking a strength of coffee that would floor a younger person. I am most reassured to find a new cafe with a sign reading, ‘good coffee never gets old and neither do you’. The barrista remarks that I must be a, ‘seasoned soul’ when I ask for an extra shot of caffeine in my third expresso. I can see that he is impressed.

So I have no fear about ‘filling’ my time in retirement, I just cannot visualise what this time will look like. I need to trust that age is indeed a procrastination killer and accept that my back burner projects are not going to cook themselves. I find myself listening to some chap on the radio pronouncing that he is more highly motivated now that he accepts he is living the last third of his life…he is 40 years old. I switch channels but acknowledge that I need to tune in to find my own sense of urgency.

Over the summer I have thrown myself into National Trust membership; this has provided a perfect opportunity to benchmark myself against folk of a similar age. (Yes, comparison is the thief of joy, but I have always enjoyed people watching and my love of old buildings may yet provide another shameless metaphor). A summer sample taken across four different National Trust sites (I need to justify my membership, after all) provides the following data:

• Beige and forest green are still the favoured colours of retirement, but high tech trainers and athleisure are thankfully very much in evidence.
• Most sixty-plus folk gamely allow their grandchildren to tag along on their NT visit – ‘for everyone, forever’, so fair play. (I am a ticking time bomb if I am to enjoy the energy needed to be of useful grandparent service and also encapsulate the mission statement of the National Trust – and also afford their membership fee).
• Most of these ‘NT’ grandchildren seem to consume a lot of food and complete a lot of National Trust scavenger hunts.
• If the grandchild is a teenager they will inevitably engage with their hand held device more than with the grandparent who has just financed their locally sourced lunch.
• If no childcare is involved, most silver surfers are 10 x more likely to be glued to their own mobile phone than to be talking to the significant other sharing their NT membership card and their tray bake of choice.

Himself and I are still at the giddy stage of National Trust membership and believe that we only get our phones out to take the odd desperate selfie or to pay for cake, however my newly acquired data nudges me into a little self reflection. Can I really justify that I am the only outlier in a data pool of National Trust Screenior Citizens?

My smuggery is short lived when my screen time notification pops up to announce that my summer holiday consumption has increased at the same level as my caffeine. I compare my screen time with that of Himself and realise that he is faring much better than I (just the usual cycling and Strava nonsense, no Vinted, meme searching or incessant doom scroll). Where I have used the six week break to lure myself into screen trivia of the lowest order, Himself has managed to hold down a full time job and write some poetry/crack on with his novel. Sadly my algorithms suggest that I have little to show for my extended break apart from a heightened caffeine addiction and an over reliance on technology.

I feel a break up is needed. (With my phone – perhaps also with caffeine – but not with Himself for he purchased my NT membership for me and, at my age, I am extremely grateful for this).

When term starts next week our students will be expected to lock away their mobile phones in Yondr pouches; I feel that I may need to buy a pouch for myself and join them in this school day abstinence. I deflect the evil hour and instead use my phone to listen to a podcast by Catherine Anne Price who has authored a 30 day guide called, ‘How to Break up with Your Phone.’ I then realise that I have not got 30 days before term starts, and start to feel agitated. I open the Calm app on my phone to self-sooth. I then use my phone to Google/ChatGBT Catherine’s top tips. She advises mindful engagement and conscious screen usage. On her advice I put an ugly rubber band around my mobile phone to act as a physical ‘road bump’. Actually, I cannot find an ugly rubber band so use a hair band instead, and end up using this hair accessory the very first time that I pick up my phone, saying, ‘Oh, that’s where I left it’. My teenage self would have found breaking up with my phone so much easier for back then I only had access to a family phone on a landline, and my father offered vigorous policing of the hall where the phone was situated. He called it selfless parenting and was clearly ahead of his time.

Catherine recommends that you ask yourself three questions every time you go to reach for your mobile phone: What For? Why Now? What Else? I decide to go full cold turkey and leave my phone at home when we visit our next National Trust property. I decide to apply her questions to this excursion and then decide if I also need to break up with the National Trust as well. The questions are:

What For?
I am reading ‘Sense & Sensibility’ for Book Club and want to impress my fellow book worms with my deep dive background research into the filming of the BBC version.
Why Now?
I just told you, Book Club are reading ‘Sense & Sensibility’
What Else?
I hear that Mompessen House, Salisbury has a very nice cafe and second hand book shop. I like coffee very much.

On arrival I try to concentrate on the very informative narrative about the house delivered by an extremely knowledgable NT volunteer (they always are) but I immediately feel distracted and start checking my pockets and handbag forgetting that I have elected to travel without my phone. I borrow Himself’s phone to research if my jitters might have a name. They do; nomophobia – an irrational fear of being without a phone. I am displaying all the symptoms – cold sweat, restlessness and agitation. Mompessen House is not getting my full attention so at least that is one addiction dissolving.

I suggest to Himself that we take a coffee and cake break to distract me from my break up heartache (I have always been an emotional eater). My generosity is short lived when I have to call Himself back in from his idyllic seat in the garden to pay for our refreshments – forgetting that you can only use ApplePay with a phone. I then have to ask Himself to take some photos of the house so that I have evidence for Book Club (they are a cynical crew and I need to have something to show in case I do not finish the novel in time). Then, when I feel that I am on the brink of a breakthrough in the book shop – brandishing the £5 note that I have discovered in my handbag – I am told by the lovely volunteer that they cannot accept cash… I have left all my cards in the wallet which houses my mobile phone.

Somewhat deflated by my latest National Trust experience I have decided – yet again – that I am not yet ready for retirement. I do not yet have the self discipline needed. I have become a screenior citizen by default and I will need full working hours to wean me back into reality. Getting back into the classroom should reduce my screen time dramatically – it may also reduce my caffeine consumption. Sadly a return to school will almost certainly reduce the number of National Trust visits I can cram into my day, but then perhaps even this gorgeous edifice of heritage needs putting on the back burner before it turns into my latest obsession. I am deleting the National Trust app off my phone so that I can focus all my energy into flexing my beige sparkle. I need to be less screenior, more ‘seasoned soul’ and get back to the chalk face.