My MP,  the Secretary of State for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport isn't really interested in me. I can tell by the way she answers my letters and emails (or doesn't as the case may be). I guess its because she's worked out that it would take a miracle beyond her power to persuade me to vote for her.

I've now been retired for a month. It's hard work this independence from work but I've already ticked several retirement projects off my list: downstairs decoration complete and Christmas cards and letters were sent on time - the first time for many years.

"The weather is OK today, we should get a walk in."

"It's going to be muddy after all the rain over the last two days."

"That's OK. I've got my boots."

It is Sunday morning and we take our time. The dogs are getting impatient. They didn't get a walk yesterday, they refused to go outside in the heavy rain, and are making a fuss now.

It is dry and mild when we set off. We don't take waterproof clothes. We will risk getting wet if it rains.

"Will you have time for a walk with me tonight?" asked the Webmaster.

It is approaching six o'clock and the Worker is just finishing for the day. On work days she only has time for an evening walk. Only the Webmaster and the dogs get to enjoy a morning walk.

"If we go now we won't need the torches."

The radio is still on as we leave. The Webmaster doesn't know how to turn it off. At least he has never been know to turn it off. He says the dogs like listening to it, but it is doubtful they appreciate the BBC six o'clock news.

"We're going for a walk. Are you coming?" the Webmaster asks the Student.

"Yes. I'll be ready in five minutes. Where are we going?"

"Just round the Marshes Hill road loop, we don't have much time."

Five minutes later the Student appears dressed for the Arctic. We calm the dogs, attach their leads and set off. The Student takes charge of the Young Dog while the Webmaster locks the door.

Since my last post on Rooted to the Spot I have written several articles but they were all turned down by my editor. He said they weren't sufficiently in the style of Brexit and had little to do with my retirement. I insisted that they couldn't be altered, that retirement was retirement and if he didn't like what I'd produced the deal was off. He'd have to make do with nothing.

Must eat: Oatcakes

Picture: My grandmother Elizabeth Cooper in her oatcake bakery c1955

With the pound going down and holidays in Spain now set to be much more expensive, Staffordshire is well placed to provide an alternative holiday location.

I didn't know it was a thing, but there are apps which introduce people who like looking after dogs to people who need someone to look after their dog for a few hours or days. 

But I do now. The former Student has signed up to one to earn herself a bit of extra cash and she is doing a reasonably brisk trade. 

I was worried about it at first. A succession of strange dogs coming to stay in my house. What if they pee on the floor or chew up my precious belongings? What if they don't get on with my dog or dig up my garden?

Of course it might still happen, but so far all the dogs have been well behaved, from the boisterous young pup which wanted constantly to play to the older sedate, gentle giant of a dog content to amble around, sniffing in the garden and relaxing in the shade. 

All the dogs have been similar and different. They look very different: shape, size, colour, smiley, doleful but they are all affectionate, want to be liked and they love walking the local country paths, meeting

Late last year I needed to climb in to the attic to retrieve a couple of old suitcases. The attic is poorly lit and dividing walls and narrow walkways make it difficult to move around. To reach the suitcases I had to wobble past the water tanks, climb over a one metre high dividing wall and jump down into the boarded area where the "junk of ages" is stored. As I approached with only the dim light from my headlamp and its drained batteries I could hear a distinct buzzing. 

As I reached for the suitcases I noticed hundreds of dead flies and assumed that the buzzing I could hear was from their still living relatives. Where on earth had they come from? As I grabbed the suite cases I came under attack and realised that some of the flies were in fact wasps. As I beat a hasty retreat, beating my own personal record for climbing the wall and clambering down the loft ladders I was stung on my thumb. Hatch closed I decided I wouldn't be returning in a hurry.

One of the suitcases was full of

Our attempts to identify birds was not going well. We could manage blackbirds, crows, magpies, buzzards, robins, swallows, hawks (but not what kind) and a few other common birds - mallard ducks and canada geese for example, but for ages we were never sure which were the coots and which the moorhens.

I shall be retiring from my work with my employer of the last 18+ years at the end of November, that is in precisely

Autumn by the side of the road. Fruits, leaves and seeds.

One of our cats, Alfie, died suddenly last week. She went missing for a few days, which was not unusual, but when she didn't appear after three or four days we went looking for her. On Sunday (11th September) We found her dead in one of the hay lofts. We wonder whether she ate something that had been laced with poison. She was 12 years old. RIP Alfie.

"Why are we doing this?"

"I need the exercise and you won't go for a run. Come on, hurry up, I haven't got a lot of time. "

We set off without the dogs and head down the lane. It is early afternoon, just before 2 o'clock. A late lunch break from work. The weather is dull, misty with a slight drizzle possibly low cloud. We walk quickly, the clock ticking before I need to be back at my desk.

"This is nice," said the Webmaster, "a benefit of working at home."

"Even in this weather? Does it make up for all the cups of tea you feel obliged to keep making for me?"

"Come on, if we don't go now we'll never go."

"I'm still tired."

"The fresh air will wake you up. I know you, you'll be grouchy if you don't get some exercise and it'll be my fault."

"Yeah yeah, I know, I'm coming. Where shall we go?"

"Just something short," suggested the Webmaster. "If we stay on the roads we can avoid the mud. I don't want the dogs getting wet and dirty."

It's Monday. The Webmaster's discarded clothes from yesterday are on the bedroom floor, next to the laundry basket.  The basket is empty, the contents dumped on the utility room floor the previous night. "We have a laundry basket" I shout. He's in the next room tapping away on his keyboard and letting out large, loud sighs. "Yeah, OK," he calls back, signalling his total ignorance of what I'd said.

"So why don't you use it?" 

"I've found the problem but it's a bastard to fix."

"What?"

I don't deny it. Brexiters bemoaning our fellow Europeans coming here and diluting our culture pisses me off. Sorry about the strong language but it does. Britain shares so much of its culture with the rest of Europe: music, art, language, food, philosophy.

As my retirement becomes imminent and my plans are falling into place I realise that I have not been adopting the Brexit approach. In fact I have done it wrong from the beginning.

After a cold, wet, windy and bleak winter which saw floods in many parts of the country and waterlogged gardens in many more, this week has given us a taste of what we can only hope will be brighter days ahead. With the current coronavirus pandemic and the fear of its effects and consequences stalking many of us anything to bring cheer and distraction had to be welcome. 

Working had been getting in the way of my gardening. I really wanted to be free of work so I could do my own gardening and grow my own vegetables. No more dependence on those dictatorial supermarkets who charge what they want and decide what we should eat. What's not to like about that? Not only would I be free of supermarkets I would also save myself more than £50 a week in shopping bills.