The first thing you notice is the lack of sensible shoes. Seriously, I saw a bloke in his eighties zipping around on an electric scooter wearing aviators and a Hawaiian shirt. He looked like a retired rock star who’d given up on groupies and taken up gardening.
You’ve got your own little house—like a grown-up Playmobil set—with a front garden you can actually manage without a chiropractor on speed dial. Inside, there’s a kitchen that’s just big enough for a kettle, a toaster, and the real star: a wine rack.
Location, Location, Location (and Annoying Tourists)
Stratford is lovely, but let’s not pretend the high street isn’t a human traffic jam of selfie sticks and hen parties dressed like Tudor wenches. Living just outside—say, in a village like Bishop’s Itchington or Wellesbourne—means you can enjoy the theatre without having to smell the tourists’ desperation.
You can pop into town for some dodgy amateur dramatics (local am-dram societies are basically the Wild West of stage acting), grab a bag of chips, and be back in your retirement bubble before the crowds even notice you’ve left. It’s the best kind of stealth.
