Better than work?

I often think about how different my life is now, compared to when I had a 'normal' job. In France, where there seem to be rules covering everything (although experience suggests many of them are blatantly ignored in rural areas!), my status is unequivocally 'retired'. I debated this with the notaire when we were signing up to buy the additional land. He was relentlessly logical: "but Monsieur, it is not important that you were a fonctionnaire or that you intend to be an agriculteur, at the moment you are retraité . . . . "

I think that lots of people will have had images of me, retired, relaxing in the south of France. Of course, I also had some of those images . . . . So how does the reality compare?

At the moment, Val is in the UK for a few days, so the llama care is all mine. As are the other various pressing responsibilities that seem to be significantly harder to manage in France (largely because many of them have to be handled in French!). So, I am committed to twice daily trips to the two pieces of land. At a minimum, these trips take approaching an hour each - assuming I maintain our approach of walking whenever possible (part ethical, part economic). The garden needs a lot of work, as our vegetable area increases. There is still unpacking and sorting to be done. Currently, I also have to sort two new tyres for the Land Rover (punctures in well worn tyres). And my motorbike needs a new battery - ordered online, so I have to be here to greet the postman each morning.

Each day seems to go by remarkably quickly. And much of it seems to be spent in 'maintenance' activities, which don't let you sit back in the evening with a real concrete sense of achievement. I worry about the challenges to come (just how do you persuade a stud llama to stand still so you can trim his overgrown toenails?). I am working physically quite hard. And yet . . . .

And yet, I know that I would not even consider going back to my earlier life. The BBC (website and radio) reminds me how British politicians are obsessed with new 'initiatives' and their own self-importance. I occasionally scan the on-line edition of the Derby Evening Telegraph and wonder at the nonsense that seems to have overtaken local government. All this has a rather morbid fascination, but it also reminds me of the anger and stress I have left behind.

I really value about my new 'retired' life:

• being in the country, where a busy road means one car in 10 minutes
• constantly being immersed in 'nature' - with eagles above and lizards below
• learning about llamas and puzzling out how to deal with them
• making, fixing, growing things - and getting better at it

Above all, I am in control . . . . not of the outcomes, because disasters are much more likely here than they were in Derby. But I am in control of what I do. I can choose. And I suppose, paradoxically, that I like being able to make bad choices, and then learn from them.