.
“So, I want to chat about our retirement,” said Mrs Ed, out of the blue. I almost choked on my pie and the hot spillings of coffee scalded my leg so badly I almost swerved across the road. Worse yet, I couldn't even cry out in agony – Mrs Ed has always insisted it's dangerous to eat and drink whilst cycling, and there is nothing more scary than one of her 'I Told You So,' looks – which have been known to fell century-old yellowwoods.

“Retirement?” I gasped, stopping my bike and dropping the pie back into the packet balanced on the handlebars, saying a quick silent prayer that it wouldn't contaminate the doughnuts.
“I'm only twenty nine-ish – how can I think of retirement now?”

Shaking her head like an oversized, wet Boerbul she gruffly tsked at me and pedalled on ahead, so as to avoid colliding with the octogenarian gentleman screaming towards us in the red car at about 50kph (who knows what speed he might reach when he found second gear). Slipping into her ample slip-stream, I reflected to myself (it's safer that way) that the conversation would definitely not be over, so for the rest of the mammoth ride to the bottle-store I stayed behind her (though it was much darker there) and pretended I didn't hear what she was ranting on about. Eventually she gave up, but the conversation restarted once we had got home, just as I had adopted the recovery position in my hammock.

“We have to make plans sooner, rather than later,” Mrs Ed insisted rather profoundly. This of course didn't make sense to me. I am the man who put the professional 'pro' in procrastinator. I got my cum laude in procrastination, and plan to do a thesis on the subject … one day….

Yes. I must admit, my version of 'planning for our future' is making sure there's a pack of bacon in the freezer for Sunday. I think life is far less stressful that way, but Mrs Ed tends to disagree. In fact, ever since we tied the noose, er… knot, she has regularly asked for confirmation that I have sufficient finances in place for when we retire – and my answer has always been the same.
“Of course I have. What sort of a cretin do you think I am?” I say, “ There is DEFINITELY enough money put away for when that day comes.” It was only more recently when I quietly added “I just don't know what we are going to do the NEXT day,” that she started panicking… I can't think why. We have bacon.

But the long and the short of it is that Mrs Ed now feels that she has to come up with a cunning plan for our retirement. Perhaps it's the fact that our kids are sort of moving out (I say 'sort of' because they seem to be taunting us with some sort of home-stay relay – the first one moves out, then, just when the second one is leaving, the first comes back….for a few months, until the second one returns… so the first one can leave again….. Good grief. I don't mean to be funny but I am so grateful I only have two children, otherwise we would have to replace the front door with a turnstile!)

So what is her latest cunning plan? Wait for it….

She wants to open a B&B…..

For those of you who don't know Mrs Ed – give me a moment and I will explain why this is, perhaps, Not Such a Brilliant Idea. For those of you who DO know Mrs Ed, yes – you heard right. I DID say she wants to open a B&B. (You'll find that if you pinch your nose between your thumb and your forefinger and dig your nails in deep enough it will help control the laughter….)

You see Mrs Ed is not really a morning person. At all. Actually that is quite an understatement. A bit like saying Atilla the Hun wasn't really a compassionate person…. In fact, whilst we are on the subject of bloodlusting barbarians, you could say that, first thing in the morning at least, Mrs Ed is probably very similar to Mrs Hun, the hen-pecking wife who used to drive him mad enough to go out and do his barbarianistic bit. In fact I have always believed that if we can make sure World War 3 happens anytime before 11am, then I could hire Mrs Ed out as a mercenary to the highest bidder. It would all be over so quickly the troops would be home for lunch, never mind Christmas.

Now I may be being pedantic here, but in my ever-so-humble opinion when a weary traveller sees the motif 'B&B' , he or she would probably expect a nice spot to rest his or her head, with crisp, clean sheets, followed by (at say, somewhere between 7.30 and 10.30am) the welcome vision of a hot plate of bacon and eggs and a nice fresh cup of coffee,…..

……not a haphazardly curlered ogre in a crumpled, pre-Boer War, battle stained dressing gown, with freshly sharpened incisor teeth peering threateningly from under a morning moustache of such magnitude that even Magnum would have thought it magnificent, shouting blue murder about how the weatherman should be lashed and why doesn't anyone have the intelligence to hang up a towel when they are done with it and what does a woman have to do to get something as simple as a cup of coffee to drink with her first cigarette ….

Of course I see what is happening in this Mrs Ed Master Plan. There is Method in her Madness. I have absolutely no doubt that Muggins here (that's me folks) would end up doing absolutely EVERYTHING, just so that I could prevent anything dangerous happening to an unsuspecting guest, and the inevitable lawsuit that would follow, not to mention the visitation by the SAICF (Sedgefield Alien Invasion Conspiracy Forum).

So, as my own special service to the tourism industry, I am going to put any 'retirement plans' (especially those involving a B&B) on hold until such time as I am well and truly ready to start living the 'South African Dream'. You know the one – it involves giving up the hard slog of the normal working life, relocating to a small coastal village, perhaps setting up a small family business – like a community newspaper, exchanging the suit and tie for a crumpled pair of jeans and t-shirt, spending every second morning in a coffee shop and every third evening in a tavern….

Now THAT's what I call a retirement plan…