On Saturday evening, we had a retirement party at The Bun Penny, our local pub. Forty odd guests – well, not all of them odd – joined us to celebrate my retirement. Family, friends, neighbours, and colleagues – both past and present.

David, our son-in-law, who is Head of Music at Bay House School & Six Form College had organised a band from his Sixth Form students, so we had live entertainment. They were brilliant!

I had prepared a speech, of course, and a toast, but the pièce de résistance was my rendition of “My Retirement Favourites Things,” which went better than I had any right to expect, after just a couple of run-throughs in the afternoon:

‘My Favourite Retirement Things’ sung to that tune from ‘The Sound of Music’

Rennies and nose drops and Sylvia’s knitting; Zimmers and handrails and new dental fittings;  Bundles of BMJs tied up in string;  These are a few of my favourite things.

Ibuleve, cataracts, hearing aids, glasses;  Polident, Fixodent, false teeth in glasses;  Pacemakers, rolators and garden swings; These are a few of my favourite things.

When my pipe leaks; When my bones creak; When I’m feeling sad; I simply remember my favourite things;  And then I don’t feel so bad.

Hot tea and crumpet, and corn pads for bunions; No spicy meals or cooking with onions;  Bathrobes and heating pads;   Hot meals they bring;  These are a few of my favourite things.

Back pains, confused brains and no fear of sinning;   Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinning; More of the pleasures maturity brings -; When we remember our favourite things.

When the joints ache; When the hips break; When my eyes grow dim;   I simply remember the great life I’ve had:  And then I don’t feel… so bad.

And then … ANOTHER cake:

The most joyful thing was sharing food, wine, champagne, beer …; memories, and laughter. It was, altogether … brilliant. Truly, “…a night to remember.”

Yesterday was my last working day at the Practice I joined in November 1990. A few more tears were shed – one receptionist in particular cried all morning, only stopping briefly whenever I appeared!

I had a baby clinic scheduled, which are always a joy, and one patient I had fitted in, who needed seeing this week. Loose ends were duly tied up, and I dashed out at midday to visit an elderly lady that I had wanted to review, to make sure that she was all sorted out.

Returning, to the surgery, I had the briefest of glimpses of a familiar profile – one of our retired staff – before she ducked down to avoid being spotted by me. I parked up and walked back, then hugged and laughed with the three occupants of the car, who were rueing their failure to sneak in unnoticed!

A short while later, I was duly asked by one of the receptionists to come upstairs. Of course it was no surprise that there was a presentation to be made – I had been awake half the night, mentally rehearsing my speech (or the jokes at least). What did surprise me, was how packed our large conference room was, with doctors and staff from across the five sites, and still more retired staff than the three I had rumbled earlier.

Teresa, one of my Brune Practice Partners, gave a speech, which was both funny and most humbling in its praise, and I was able to deliver the reply without any emotional struggle. Indeed, it was just a happy occasion, with laughter and hugs and a few reminiscences … and promises to keep in touch.

And gifts? Well I have a flying lesson to book, and a caricature to hang up, a sailing boat cake that looks too good to eat, and a book on Haslar Hospital, where I worked for several years part time as a Hospital Practitioner in Dermatology.

I loaded the car, switched off my computer, said my goodbyes, and was about to leave when one of the nursing team asked me: “Are you still at work?” “Hardly,” I said, “why?” She explained that one of my patients was not well, and declining her offers of help. I had looked after him last year, and he had been most grateful for my help – we had connected somehow, and got on especially well. I wasn’t going to pass this on to the Duty doctor … he was my patient. I went back to my room, switched on my computer, brought up his details, and rang him, offering to see him. He declined, but we talked for a while, and a plan was made that we were both happy with. Continuity, family medicine, the doctor-patient relationship, teamwork and communication – traditional values that are so important to me – were all wrapped up in this simple episode of care. Nothing special, really – I’d like to think that any decent GP would do the same. As I wished him well, I felt that this was a good note on which to end my work here.