Mister Magoo

I need to get my eyes tested. Last time they saw an optician was 12 years ago, before we had to pay for the privilege. A lot can go wrong in 12 years, and as some helpful lady said on the telly, visiting your optician is more important than visiting your dentist: they can replace your teeth with synthethics, but you only get one chance with your eyes.

I need glasses of course. I've known this for the last 2 years. The realisation came at the inlaws when trying to read Teletext - the text was all blurred and fuzzy. Since then I've noticed how much quicker Vic reads road signs than me, how I struggle to read the overhead projector on my CIMA courses, and how much longer it takes me to change focus from long to short vision. I've also noticed a difference when playing golf and table tennis. Reading the football scores on Teletext last night - through my wine glass - kicked off the "I'm going" blind panic again.

I'm not surprised that my eye-sight has deteriorated, as both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and now my brother, all wear glasses. I don't have a problem with me wearing glasses: Not only will I be able to see the world as it is again, but I reckon they'll add an extra 20 points to my IQ, and with the right pair I might look as sexy as Sara. What does depress me though is the inescapable truth that my failing eys are another indication that I'm getting old. My youthful atheletic body is gradually turning into a decrepid husk.

I'll look more like Smithers than Harry Potter.


The Bells Toll

An alarm went off at 3:30 am this morning on the industrial area across from our house. Alarms have been going off virtually every night for the last few weeks. The noise pollution and lack of sleep is driving me mad. I will be psycho within a week if they continue. What can you do about them at 3:30 in the morning?! A second call to the police today resulted in a friendly chap advising me to "phone the council" aka "the police have better things to worry about". They'll soon change their tune when I go loco in Thame's High Street, dancing like a monkey with my imaginary Ikea Snake...