Month: August 2025

It’s strange how life works. You spend decades imagining retirement as a time of calm, freedom, and the chance to do exactly what you want. And yet, as the moment approaches, I find myself busier than ever. Somehow, the countdown to freedom has become a rush against time.

The house, for example, seems to demand attention on every corner. Renovations that once felt like small projects now feel like mountains to climb before we leave. Every decision carries weight, every task seems urgent. In trying to prepare for a life of leisure, I’ve realized that preparing can be its own kind of stress.

Work, too, has taken on a new dimension. Staying focused, staying relevant, keeping up with changes — it all feels harder than it used to. I notice how easily my attention drifts, how much effort it takes to maintain the pace I once managed with ease. And I wonder, as the days shorten, how to leave on my own terms, feeling fulfilled and confident, rather than worn out.

Through all of this, I am learning an important lesson: that slowing down is not giving up. That stepping back, letting go of the pressure to perfect every detail, and allowing myself to breathe is part of preparing — not for retirement, but for life beyond work.

The big lap of Australia is waiting, and the freedom I imagined is already beginning. But I’m starting to understand that the true joy will come not from racing to the start line, or finishing every task before the first mile, but from embracing the journey itself — and carrying a calmer, steadier mind into the adventures ahead.

When we set out to buy a new car, the agreement was pretty straightforward: I could choose any car I wanted (within budget), and Debbie would pick the colour. Fair enough.

Now, let me be clear—I don’t hate the colour she picked. But let’s just say if it were up to me, I’d have gone with something a bit more forgiving. You know… white or grey. Practical, low-maintenance, doesn’t show every smudge, scratch, or enthusiastic grandchild’s cleaning effort.

But nope. Sunstone Orange Mica it is.

To be fair, it does look great. Eye-catching, vibrant, unique. And according to two separate people in the car industry, also a colour that’s very prone to fading if not properly looked after. Their advice? Regular waxing to keep it looking showroom-fresh.

No worries. Since it’s “our” car, we split the duties: I handle the exterior, and Debbie takes care of the interior. Deal.

Now, waxing a car in Australia isn’t a task you just do. You’ve got to plan around the weather. Waxing a hot car in full sun? Nope. Doesn’t work. So you’re up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, before the sun really gets going. Except, of course, the weekend I’d planned for it turned out to be a rare rainy morning. Typical. I pushed it back a week, and when the stars finally aligned, I put in two and a half hours of hard graft. The result? The car looked better than when we drove it out of the dealership (on the outside, anyway).

Cue the next week. Windy. And in Western Australia, windy means dust and sand everywhere. I got home from work to a cheerful update: “The grandchildren washed the car!”

Oh no.

Internally, I cringed. Had they rinsed the car first? Or was the dust just scrubbed straight into the paintwork? I had visions of sponges being dropped on the driveway and then enthusiastically rubbed along the car’s panels by a very keen six-year-old. But hey, they’re the grandkids—they’re allowed to commit small acts of automotive violence.

Still, I was feeling slightly anxious. So I wandered inside to Wayne’s Bar for a well-earned cleansing ale. That’s when I saw it. The bucket. The bucket. The one I’d used to mix concrete for the bar footings a couple of weeks ago. It had been over 40 degrees that day, and I’d only given it the world’s fastest rinse. Sitting proudly inside this cement-dusted bucket? My car-washing sponge and chamois.

I nearly choked on my beer.

“Deb… what bucket did you use to wash the car?”

I shouldn’t have asked. According to her, nothing was wrong. And if something was wrong? Well, that was clearly my fault for tidying the garage. Apparently, she couldn’t find her bucket. (It was right by the door, by the way.)

So I gave up. I was fuming on the inside but knew I was wasting my breath. I haven’t even dared take a close look at the paintwork yet. I’m just… not ready.

Is it me? Did I overreact??

Just a few more months of work before I clock off for the last time at Christmas and join the ranks of the retired. Debbie is already ahead of me — she resigned from her parish back in June and is currently enjoying the benefits of long service leave while I’m still chained to the desk. (Not that I’m counting the days or anything…)

So what’s next? Well, I’m not quite ready to take up competitive lawn mowing or spend my golden years pottering in the garden. That can wait until I’m actually “old.” Until then, Debbie and I have big plans — very big plans.

In January 2026, we’ll officially become card-carrying members of that great Aussie phenomenon known as the Grey Nomads. Australia is massive — we’ve done a fair bit of travel over the years, but truthfully, we’ve barely scratched the surface. So we’ve decided to give it a proper crack: at least two years on the road, doing the classic “big lap” around this incredible country.

The plan? Well… to not really have a plan. Other than getting the house sorted before we leave, our only itinerary is to follow the weather, chase the best campsites, and spend as much time off-grid as possible. If it’s hot, we’ll head south. If it’s cold, we’ll chase the sun. Basically, we’ll wander where the mood takes us.

I’ll be keeping this blog updated along the way and sharing videos on YouTube — so if you’re ever curious about where we’ve parked up, you’ll be able to track us through our website. Don’t expect glossy, big-budget productions though. There are plenty of Aussie travel vloggers out there who seem to have bottomless wallets; we’ll be showing what it’s like to do it on a budget. (Think less champagne and caviar, more instant coffee and sausages on the campfire.)

Of course, the toys are coming too. Metal detectors? Packed. Fishing rods? Absolutely. I’m even planning to master the art of damper, and if that goes well, maybe move on to more ambitious camp cooking. (Although Debbie has already suggested we keep the fire extinguisher handy.)

So buckle up, follow along, and watch this space. The big lap awaits.

It was lovingly washed and polished more times than my first car ever was, but all that effort was instantly undone the moment it met the red outback dust. That stuff is like glitter’s evil twin—gets everywhere, never leaves, and I’ll be rinsing it out of every nook, cranny, and air vent for ever.

And to think I once worried the kids and their dirty cement bucket might ruin the paint job. Ha! That was child’s play compared to the trail of tree branches and bushes we casually flattened.

This wasn’t the toughest test, but the truck passed with flying colours—and a few scratches. After towing the caravan 800 km like a champ, she was finally unhitched and let off the leash. And let me tell you: she flew like a bird… a big, noisy bird with torque.

Finally, after almost a year of chauffeuring groceries and grandkids around—racking up a mere 6,000 km of inner-city glory—our pristine, showroom-fresh truck has been liberated. It’s no longer just a glittering suburban chariot. It’s now a proud, dust-coated warrior of the wild.

Of course, the onboard computer lost its digital mind every time we got cozy with a bush. Beeps, flashes, and alerts like we were trying to land a space shuttle instead of just doing some enthusiastic off-roading. I’m going to need a crash course (figuratively, I hope) on turning off all the “helpful” technology.

The Patrol? That beast wouldn’t notice if you drove it through a forest fire. The D-Max? A bit more refined, a bit more concerned for its paint, but still more than capable of getting wild when it needs to. Just with a few more complaints along the way.