Last night we went to the cinema for the second time in less than two months. In my retirement planning budget I have assumed we will go to see one film a month, an estimate that my daughter thinks is way over the top. Prior to our trip to see Blade Runner 2049 on 12th October the last film we saw in a cinema was, er, (and I had to look this up) I, Daniel Blake, on 30th October 2016. 

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.

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.

I've developed a nesting instinct. You know, the urge to create a comfortable, happy environment to live in. Cleaning, tidying, mending. They say expectant mothers do it just before their babies are due. I can't remember if I did. Possibly the first time.

What has happened to the year? October and already too dark to walk the lanes after work without a torch. But my retirement day is fast approaching, then the day light hours will be mine. It is a strange thought. Since I was five years old, apart from holidays, someone else has been determining what I spent my daytime doing.  Now 56 years later I am looking forward to owning my own time.

I'm still struggling to get my head around the idea that jam will be the great British export that saves us after Brexit, especially as much of the EU seems to export more than we do. But on the theme of things to spread on toast, what about honey? What could be more natural? 

Learn the lingo

The culture of any place is shaped by and reflected in its language. The Potteries, which has lost most of its potteries, mines and major industries, a place which overwhelmingly voted for Brexit, maybe because it has been overlooked by posh speaking government and was trying to fight back, has its own lingo.

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.

Losing access to a regulal salary will be tough, but worth it. I'll get control over my time and regain my own sovereignty. I'll grow my own food and pick my own fruit. No one else will be able to tell me what to do.  I will be able to throw away all my old deals I was stuck with while I was working and make new, better deals. Thanks Brexit for the idea.

I used to think that walking was something you only did for exercise and/or fun when you could no longer run. So I didn't walk for pleasure until I couldn't run, then it was a useful rehabilitation aid, to get me through an injury; an interim measure until I was able to resume running.

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.

Fruit farmers fear that Brexit will make it impossible for them to get enough workers and that the fruit will rot on the plants unpicked.

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

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

I won't lie. I was devastated by the Leave victory. On 24th June 2016 I felt bereaved. Brexiters berated me: I didn't have confidence my country they scoffed. Cheer up! It was a great day of liberation, we could be great again. If I didn't see that I was doing the country down.

Rain, sun or merely dull, the weather is important for Rooted to the Spot. Many of my planned activities and projects are outdoor activities and it is difficult to get motivated for a walk or to start gardening in a downpour or gale. 

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 suppose I'd better establish my claim to be here, to prove my roots to this spot. How far back do I need to go? There are some foreigners in my ancestoral line. That bastard William the Conqueror, you know, that Norman bloke who invaded a few years back and made us all start speaking French,

The extent of my new world.

It's purely arbitrary but I've chosen a radius of ten miles for this project. Let's imagine that the strongly controlled borders of my new world are a mere ten miles from the spot to which I am now rooted.

The idea for "Rooted to the Spot" was inspired by Brexit and this project is dedicated to all those people who have, in one way or another, told me and members of my family that if we were proud of our roots we shouldn't need to move away.

Rooted to the spot: "unable to move because you are very frightened or shocked" - Collins English Dictionary