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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.
It is always a treat to be invited to lunch by a fancy auction house. But when this happened a few months after I retired from my 30-year City career, the occasion felt different. There were the usual pleasantries and the food and wine were just as delicious but somehow the emphasis had subtly changed. Only later did I realise my wife and I had moved from being valued buyers to potential sellers.
“They were after your estate, Andrew,” explained a dealer I confided in. I had become an economic corpse. From How to Spend It, to How to End It.
Life continues after retirement, but it does change. One of the more irksome losses was my frequent traveller status, a perk resulting from years of intensive business trips. Over two months last year, I lost my exalted status on Air France, Lufthansa/Swiss and Eurostar (I shall always be grateful to BA for my gold-for-life card). During the same period, I was taking the train to Liverpool every week or two to look after an ailing aunt. On the day I lost my Eurostar Carte Blanche of 20 years, I received a chirpy email from Avanti West Coast railways telling me I had been awarded platinum status as a result of my Liverpudlian endeavours. I was entitled to a 10 per cent discount in the buffet car. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
Weaned from the comforting trickle of the regular pay cheque, one’s economic confidence does diminish. But that, in turn, brings new pleasures. By walking rather than automatically hailing a taxi I have encountered some unexpected treats: a woodpecker at work in the park; the stepped tower of St George’s Bloomsbury; an Asian wedding shoot on Westminster Bridge.
When I splash out on a luxurious meal or flight, or a pay cheque does arrive, I savour it much more. Receiving the first payment for my book felt like meeting Father Christmas — even though the royalties from six months of (good) sales were the same as my pre-retirement hourly rate.
I also realised how much I had been defined by my job. For three decades I carried the brand of my company and my rank, a privilege and a great aid to doing business. Retire and that evaporates. But that makes way for a new identity. As I arrived to interview a Zurich designer for a piece I was writing for FT Globetrotter, I heard the receptionist say “the journalist is here”. It took a while to realise I was that journalist. And my occasional foray into travel writing (something I try not to advertise too much) has unleashed a level of attention from contacts in ways my City days never did.
I have also enjoyed constructing a new working environment and routine. Inevitably, much of that is based on my previous life; I still get up at 5.30am, set myself strict working hours and prioritise my tasks for the day. It took a while to get used to not having an inbox full of overnight emails from the Americas and Asia; for the first few days after retirement, I assumed there was a fault and would send myself an email in an attempt to unlock them, only to receive a lone message back from myself.
Deep down, I remain attached to the idea of an office environment. For the past year I have been working on a new book with my wife, a photographer. In our home office of two, we find ourselves performing specific roles: she manages the premises and I the canteen; I am her PA when printing is required; we are each other’s HR departments (not particularly effective for complaints); we go on business trips, have away days and Christmas lunches.
While neither of us has managed to assume the mantle of the IT department, we have found excellent help from a visiting gentleman whose epicurean tendencies inevitably mean sessions are followed by a good meal. IT support followed by support IT.
Retirement also provides opportunities to put things right, starting with my wardrobe. One of the first things I did after I left the City was to get a new suit made as I realised I would have far more opportunity to wear one in retirement (lunch at the club, for starters) than I had in the dreary dress down environment of modern office life.
Every now and then you are reminded of the life you left behind. In the lounge in Brussels airport en route to Dakar to explore its modern architecture, we found ourselves amid Africa-bound business travellers (including two former clients) who were as focused on preparing for their meetings with governments and financiers as we were on deciding what film we would watch.
But many good things have continued unchanged. Every Tuesday, when in London, I buy my Big Issue from Mark on Hungerford Bridge, a habit I started long before I left the City. We catch up, talk about this and that, and after a few minutes, Mark sends me on my way with a friendly and professional: “Have a good day at work, Sir”.
Andrew Jones writes for the FT Globetrotter having had a 30-year career in the City of London. His second book, ‘The London Club’, will be published on September 1.