Do you have a bucket list?

Do you have one? Does it even occur to you to have one?

For anyone who hasn't come across the idea, it's the list of things you want to do before you die - 'kick the bucket', in colloquial terms. Some people want to see Niagara Falls, or fly to the moon, or read all the books of Dickens, go to the theatre to see The Mousetrap - it can be anything.

Good luck to everyone who has a bucket list. I'm sure it's a way of keeping you going, having dreams like this.

But I don't have one; and here is why:

I'm lucky, and I know I am, to live in the affluent west - I have everything I need. If I'm hungry it's because I've missed lunch, not because the rice crop has failed. If my roof leaks I can pay a man to mend it. If my heating fails I can go to friends or family who will give me shelter and wine. I have been taught to read and write and to think - and to ask questions about the wonderful world around us. I have a library within walking distance, know many people who love books and love talking about them.

If it occurs to me that there is something I might like to do - then, if I can, I do it. I want to travel - and so I do. There seems little point in saving a trip to Laos, or Malaysia, or Madagascar until I'm dying. Go now - you never know, I might live for decades and fit in fifty trips before I snuff it.

But there's a deeper reason - what if, say, you foster a travelling list and then are felled by an ailment that dictates you can't fly - or even be far from home. You are left with a piece of paper and wasted dreams. Those around you, who love you - will they ever feel good enough if you are grieving for things you never got round to doing?

When I'm sitting by the fire, sipping cocoa and rubbing my arthritic knees, I'll know I've done the best I could. I'm proud of all I achieved at work. I'm proud of my magnificent daughters. And I'm making the most of retirement. I'm contented now, and hope that I'll be contented by that fading fireside. Or maybe just a little bit crabby, to keep my kids on their toes ...

Taking my knees walkabout.

A while ago I posted a dilemma - my knees were rebelling, and I had to decide if I should nurse them at home this winter, or risk being stuck in a jungle if they went on strike.

I took the sensible course. (What? Sensible! Not willingly, I must add. Nagged by sensible daughters who would have to sort me out if the worse happened. I take their point - they have jobs, families, cannot drop everything to fly across the world to rescue me from something I could have predicted in the first place.)

So I have had x-rays and seen the bone-person. I won't go into him looking young - at least I didn't ask him if he's started shaving yet. More importantly - he listened. And he didn't even flinch when I mentioned tottering around unlikely places with a rucksack.

He told me I have arthritis (which I knew) and that both knees are probably beyond tinkering with. 'We could give you arthroscopies, but in your case there is a chance it doesn't work and could even make things considerably worse,' he said.

'I'm not ready to give up my lifestyle,' I said.

'If course you're not.'

(Hurrah!! He's not assuming I'll retreat into a corner with my cocoa!)

'So,' he went on, 'I'll give you steroid injections to help the pain for now. (Ow!) We'll sort some physio to keep the muscles in good trim around the knees - which should keep you going for a while. Eventually we'll give you new knees - starting on the left.'

'So can I go to Madagascar this winter?' I explained about carrying a rucksack, and he asked reasonable questions about weight and distance.

And then he said, 'You go. You'll have less pain in the warmth anyway. But you might need to pass on ten mile hikes - sit on a beach with a book instead; and, if you can, get other people to carry heavy things for you. Then we'll see how you are in the spring and operate if you are still in pain.' (The subtext - I can't make them any worse. So I might just as well take them travelling as sit at home feeling sorry for myself. And then he'll sort me out so I can carry on travelling year after year!)

So - Madagascar this winter, I thought. Raced off to buy the Lonely Planet.

Except that isn't going to be as straightforward as I'd thought - so I'll let you into my tortuous thinking about where to go in my next post.

But the main news is - me and my knees will be off again this winter! Yippee!

I'm not good at winter.

This is a purely personal view. I know there are plenty of people who look forward to cuddling by the fire on short days, with the wind howling outside and smell of soup in the kitchen. Or putting on every garment they own and trudging through the snow, like Good King Wenceslas, resurrecting memories of every snowy winter as a child.

Not me. And it's not simply that I have the wrong clothes. Indeed, I have plenty of the right clothes. Thermal undies, sturdy Gore-tex boots, a down-jacket that took me almost to the top of Kilimanjaro (it's minus twenty degrees up there). Given that I have no car (my choice) I have enough clothes to stand comfortably at bus stops for ten minutes or so, and can keep going for much longer with a bit of foot-stamping.

But I wish it didn't take so long to put them all on. Dressing in the morning is an event in the winter. half a drawer-full of clothes heaped on the bed; then that terrible moment of taking off the night-things. Why is everything always back-to-front? Why do I leave my socks till last - when the layers of vests and jumpers mean I have to curl round rolls of clothing to reach my feet? And then - it's time to go out. The first decision, do I need to loo before I get togged up - peeing is so much more difficult with a winter coat to negotiate as well as all the thermal what-nots. Coat. Oh help, now I've got to get boots on. Hat, scarf, gloves. But I can't manage the key to the front door with gloves on . . .

Okay, all that is a pain, but manageable. But the dark - who likes the dark? It's not that it's scary - I have no visions of things going bump in the night the moment I pull the curtains. Rather, I resent pulling those curtains at half past three, knowing that's the end of daylight for another sixteen hours. If I have an evening event, that's not so bad. But on too many days I shut out the day in mid-afternoon and am faced with hours of dark to fill. I cannot hear the birds singing. I cannot take a sudden decision to have a quick stroll through the forest (well, I could, but even I'm not that bonkers). Even deciding to treat myself to a bath with wine and candles is rarely available, given that my bathroom is colder than an igloo.

No, I'm not good at winter. Which is why I try to go away at this time of year. But this year I shall have to wait until the end of March. So I must stop grumbling and get on with it. Yes, you may remind me I said that.

What about you - am I alone in being grumbly at this time of year? Tell me what you love about winter - maybe I can learn to see it differently.