tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20485591555694853392024-03-19T03:54:11.149-07:00Blind Man's BlogThe experiences of a visually-impaired geordie.Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-61267136679775879232016-12-31T11:03:00.000-08:002016-12-31T11:03:05.065-08:00Twelve Days of Christmas: 4 Days PC<div aria-dolphinuid="656:5:af4">
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<div aria-dolphinuid="65a:5:b26" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="653:5:b27" style="font-family: Calibri;">As the decorations start to come down in the Bogsy
household, it occurs to me that this festive season I haven’t been dressed up
as Santa. Just to be clear, that isn’t an annual event for me, but every now
and then I like to slip into<span aria-dolphinuid="65d:5:b28" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a Mr or,
more memorably perhaps, a Mrs Claus outfit to delight and scare friends, family
and colleagues in equal measure.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="64f:5:b29"></o:p></span></div>
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<span aria-dolphinuid="64d:5:b2b" style="font-family: Calibri;">The whole business started way back in Boots the Chemists on
the high street of Bridgwater, Somerset. I’d been working there as a Saturday
shop assistant, primarily in the cookware section, pretending I knew<span aria-dolphinuid="642:5:b2c" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>how to assemble a food processor, or what to
use a palette knife for. Clearly I had made quite an impression, or perhaps it
was me being the only bloke around, that led them to ask me to dress up as
Father Christmas that year. My mission, should I accept it, was to wander
around the store looking jolly and offering small children chocolates from my
tin. These days I would probably have been arrested.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="646:5:b2d"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="645:5:b2e" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="63f:5:b2f" style="font-family: Calibri;">I cringe now to think of that lanky, spotty teenager, with
the cheap Santa gown stuffed with a cushion to try to achieve the required
level of portliness. What an unconvincing sight I must have been.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="63b:5:b30"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="63e:5:b31" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="63d:5:b32" style="font-family: Calibri;">I wonder if this slightly traumatic experience led me, about
thirty years later, to go for the female version, although what possessed me to
bring her out at a works Christmas party I’m not sure. I have to say I scrubbed
up pretty well in my short red, fur-trimmed sleeveless number, with matching
red heels, and long blonde wig. Contrary to popular myth, I did not travel like
that to work. I discreetly hid myself in a toilet to get changed. I had to get
a little assistance from a little assistant, Julie, who was the only one in on
the surprise. She nearly collapsed with laughter when I opened the loo door and
beckoned her in to help me. I think she’d been expecting a slightly more
homely, cuddly Mrs Claus, rather than the vision before her, which looked like
it had stepped straight out of a strip club. She must have felt suddenly quite
normal in her green elf suit, as she helped me along the corridor to the party.
Thank goodness there were no students around – the sight of the two of us could
have made them question their mental health.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="637:5:b33"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="63a:5:b34" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="60a:5:b35" style="font-family: Calibri;">Photographic evidence does exist and may well prevent any
further promotions. It tends to be used as a kind of initiation for new staff.
Normally within their first week, they get to see the legendary photos. The
strong ones stay on, disturbed but better prepared for what may lay ahead. Perhaps
next year I need to test that resolve.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="65e:5:b36"></o:p></span></div>
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Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-34176646382260121052016-12-30T01:00:00.001-08:002016-12-30T01:00:51.552-08:00Twelve Days of Christmas: 3 Days PC<div aria-dolphinuid="fae:3:b09">
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<span aria-dolphinuid="fad:3:b24" style="font-family: Calibri;">I am a little late publishing this post, for which my
excuse<span aria-dolphinuid="faf:3:b25" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is a combination of things –
braving the crowds to go shoe shopping, a trip to the cinema and being
determined to finish my latest audio book, which was Small Great Things by Jodi
Picoult.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="fa9:3:b26"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="fa6:3:b27" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="fa7:3:b28" style="font-family: Calibri;">The novel is no easy read – full of quite detailed examples
of hatred, racism and discrimination. Amongst all that uncomfortable,
disturbing stuff there are a few welcome moments of humour. My favourite was
when one of the main characters, a white female lawyer, is talking about a
meeting she has to attend at one of the state prisons to try to get them to
allow her entry without the indignation of having to remove her under-wire bra
which keeps setting off the metal detector on the way in. Brilliantly, she
refers to this meeting as the ‘itty-bitty titty committee’.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="fa2:3:b29"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="fa0:3:b2a" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="fc1:3:b2b" style="font-family: Calibri;">I wonder if I can find a legitimate reason to use this
phrase at work. Perhaps if there is a discussion about our policy on
breast-feeding at work then I might get the chance. Alternatively, I might have
to come up with some of my own.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="fa3:3:b2c"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="1052:3:b2d" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1053:3:b2e" style="font-family: Calibri;">If we’re asked to participate in a scheme to make the city
centre more attractive, we might need an itty-bitty pretty city committee.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="f9d:3:b2f"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="f99:3:b30" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="f98:3:b31" style="font-family: Calibri;">Or, if we want to organise a humorous poetry competition,
then the judging panel could be the itty-bitty witty ditty committee.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="f96:3:b32"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="f9c:3:b33" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="f9a:3:b34" style="font-family: Calibri;">If one of the local museums is putting on an exhibition of
famous cinema cars, we might want to set up an itty-bitty chitty-chitty
committee.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="f9b:3:b35"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="f8e:3:b36" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="f5e:3:b37" style="font-family: Calibri;">And if our gardeners complain about stray cats defecating on
their beautiful borders, we might have to instigate an itty-bitty shitty kitty
committee.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="f97:3:b38"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="f91:3:b39" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="f92:3:b3a" style="font-family: Calibri;">As you can tell, I was deeply moved by the book. No,
actually it was very good, though quite distressing to read in parts. Likewise ‘I
Daniel Blake’ which was the film we saw. Not one for a bit of festive cheer,
but very worthwhile. I admire these writers who set out to hold up a mirror
which reflects a picture most of us choose to ignore or not recognise. Both the
book and the film did a good job of reminding me how bloody hard some peoples’
lives are and how lucky I am to have the problem of shoe shopping .<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1054:3:b3b"></o:p></span></div>
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Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-25815768575043724232016-12-28T11:21:00.000-08:002016-12-28T11:21:21.508-08:00Twelve Days of Christmas: 2 days PC<div aria-dolphinuid="dd6:3:aec">
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<span aria-dolphinuid="dd0:3:b1f" style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s been a strange year and, for many of us, a sad one with
the loss of what seems like so many of our great entertainers and musical artists.
The news of George Michael’s early death seemed to me to be a very sad end for
someone who offered so much.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="dd1:3:b20"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="dd2:3:b21" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="dcc:3:b22" style="font-family: Calibri;">I was no big fan of his, but like Bowie and Prince, he
formed part of my formative years, creating songs that will stay with me until
I go the same way.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="dc9:3:b23"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="dc0:3:b24" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="dc7:3:b25" style="font-family: Calibri;">I vividly remember my excitement one Christmas in the early
80s, unwrapping the Fantastic album that Santa had left me. It was a
cheese-fest of pure pop, but I loved it. Only this summer, on a walking holiday
in Bulgaria, I was delighted to entertain/frighten the other walkers with a
rather drunken rendition of ‘Wham Rap’.<span aria-dolphinuid="dc2:3:b26" style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Brits abroad, eh? I even managed to record it as part of an audio
diary mash-up so my fellow walkers can enjoy the experience over and over, the
lucky things.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="dc1:3:b27"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="daf:3:b28" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="dbf:3:b29" style="font-family: Calibri;">My second abiding memory prompted by this week’s sad news
was of me and a friend, dancing in a barn somewhere in deepest, darkest
Somerset – I don’t remember the exact location – at a young Farmer’s disco. Fuelled
by scrumpy, we were no doubt hopeful that our hot moves to ‘Wake me up before
you go-go’ would be so uncannily like George and Andrew that we would have
young farmers’ daughters flocking. I don’t remember much else, which clearly
signifies that our ‘young guns’ went unfired that night. <o:p aria-dolphinuid="dbc:3:b2a"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="dbd:3:b2b" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e28:3:b2c" style="font-family: Calibri;">I think, if I’m honest, the loss of these legends is a reminder
of our own mortality – people we grew up with moving on and we know we won’t be
so far behind them. <span aria-dolphinuid="db9:3:b2d" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Best make the most
of it then.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="db8:3:b2e"></o:p></span></div>
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Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-11081610347986646502016-12-27T02:14:00.000-08:002016-12-27T02:14:04.190-08:00Twelve Days of Christmas: Boxing Day<div aria-dolphinuid="1471:2:4b57">
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<span aria-dolphinuid="1472:2:4b8a" style="font-family: Calibri;">You may not know that Boxing Day is so called because it’s
the day in the year when you have to work out what the hell you are going to do
with all the boxes left over from the day before. In our house, this now extends
to the dinner as well as the gifts, since we have become very lazy and prefer
the kind of ready-meal dinner option. The tricky part is not how to cook the
dinner, as this is clearly printed on the labels it’s how to heat it up in the
right order so that everything is ready to eat at the same time.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="14d9:2:4b8b"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="14c0:2:4b8c" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1478:2:4b8d" style="font-family: Calibri;">Actually, I take that back. The really tricky part, at least
for a certain Mrs B, is reading the order confirmation correctly. We had dragged
ourselves out of bed last Friday (remember, I was full of cold and deserving much
sympathy) to go and collect our food from the local M&S at the allotted
time of 8.30-9am. Feeling ever so slightly smug at having got ourselves there nice
and early, beating the crowds, we presented ourselves at the desk. Rather than
a cheery ‘ho ho ho’ from the shop assistant, we were told ‘computer says no,
no, no’. Imagine how we laughed when we were told that our allocated pick up
slot was 8.30-9pm. <o:p aria-dolphinuid="147b:2:4b8e"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="14be:2:4b8f" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="149d:2:4b90" style="font-family: Calibri;">So, when you get to the stage where even a ready-meal
Christmas dinner is a bit too hard to cope with, what is next? Time for the
kids to take over perhaps? Or how old do you need to be to qualify for meals on
wheels?<o:p aria-dolphinuid="147d:2:4b91"></o:p></span></div>
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Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-9125377262098050842016-12-26T12:00:00.000-08:002016-12-26T12:00:13.707-08:00Twelve Days of Christmas: Christmas Day<div aria-dolphinuid="16ce:3:a73a">
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16cc:3:a76c" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16ca:3:a76e" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Here's a Christmas-themed story I wrote a few years back. It was for a creative writing competition with the theme of disability. I don't know much about autism, but wanted to have a go at putting the condition at the centre of my story. I shared it with a friend who has an autistic son and was reassured by her response. It also makes a nice change for me to write about a disability other than sight loss. I hope you like it.</span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16d3:3:a76c" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b aria-dolphinuid="16d0:3:a76d" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span aria-dolphinuid="16c7:3:a76e" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></b> </div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16c6:3:a76c" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b aria-dolphinuid="16c5:3:a76d" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span aria-dolphinuid="16c4:3:a76e" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">My Jack is Joseph<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16c2:3:a76f"></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16c3:3:a770" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16bf:3:a771" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="16c8:3:a772"> </o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16bb:3:a773" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16ba:3:a774" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I must have
stood for a few seconds outside the school hall, gripping the cold brass door
handle and taking deep breaths. For that brief time I was frozen by the fear of
what was to come and the certainty that it would all be my fault. Caught in the
headlights of public humiliation, I didn’t know whether to enter the hall or
turn on my heels and run. Thankfully, one of the other mums came into the lobby
and jolted me back into action with a cheery “Morning Mrs Cartwright, here we
go again, eh? I hear your Jack’s got a part this year’.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16b9:3:a775"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16be:3:a776" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16b5:3:a777" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="16b4:3:a778"> </o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16ae:3:a779" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16b0:3:a77a" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I didn’t have
the foggiest whose mum she was, but as usual, the voice was full of familiarity
and tinged with sympathy. She, of course, knew my name – everyone seemed to
know Mrs Cartwright, the one with the boy in Mrs Brent’s class, the strange lad
who keeps colouring in the mortar between bricks, the one who won’t eat his
lunch unless there are exactly six knives, six forks and six spoons on the
table, the boy who, when the Head tried to help him with his shoelaces, told him
to “Fuck off and die”.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16b1:3:a77b"></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16b6:3:a77c" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16ab:3:a77d" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="16aa:3:a77e"> </o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16a6:3:a77f" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16a7:3:a780" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I forced my
usual tired smile and said “Yes, my Jack is Joseph”, before taking one more
deep breath and pulling open the wide wooden door. I quickly found a seat near
the front which, to my amazement, the school had remembered to reserve for me.
I put this down to an act of self-preservation more than empathetic
forethought. After all, if Jack started kicking off they sure as hell didn’t
want me stuck in the back row. But it was welcome all the same. It was a sign that
they were finally learning to cope with me and Jack. There’d been so many
occasions where they had just put him down as ‘too difficult’ to include, ‘too
disruptive’ for the other children. It was ‘easier all round’ if he was kept
out of most activities – ‘for his own benefit’ they said.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16ac:3:a781"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16a2:3:a782" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16a1:3:a783" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="16a0:3:a784"> </o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="169e:3:a73a">
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<div aria-dolphinuid="16a5:3:a785" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="169f:3:a786" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Which is why
I had no doubt that the whispered chatter that morning behind me was focused on
my Jack, and what on earth the school was thinking of, giving him a major part
in the nativity. They’d even been asked not to take photographs of their little
angels this year. “Yes” I’d said to the Head, “I know it won’t be popular with
the other parents, but don’t you think they’d be even more hacked off if Joseph
spent the whole of the nativity imitating a bloody shutter noise.” At which
point I remember looking into his tight, weary face and seeing a look of
resignation. This was the look that I’d grown accustomed to seeking in other
people, especially people in authority. Ever since Jack had been given his Autism
diagnosis, I’d spent most of my life wearing people down so that they run out
of reasons to say no. So when Mrs Brent had told me that Jack would make a
‘super sheep’ yet again this year I wasted no time in meeting the Head to begin
the attrition process. “Why is he in a mainstream school, Mr Wilson?” I
demanded to the pale-faced Head as he stroked his forehead, desperately trying
to get his brain to think of a way of getting rid of me. Before he could find
one I continued, “Not so he can be a sodding sheep every year, Mr Wilson. Let’s
face it; his exam results aren’t going to be up to much, are they? So what else
can he achieve, Mr Wilson, if he’s always in the background, kept out of the
way?” Having fired a couple of my best shots, I’d kept the ‘legal obligations’
argument loaded in the barrel. He was already wounded and by the look on his
face I wouldn’t need to finish him off – a submission was on the way.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16a4:3:a787"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1699:3:a73a">
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<div aria-dolphinuid="1698:3:a788" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1697:3:a789" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="1696:3:a78a"> </o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1695:3:a73a">
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<div aria-dolphinuid="169d:3:a78b" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="169a:3:a78c" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">In the hall,
Mr Wilson sat at the piano, flicking nervously through the music and making
sure he did not catch my eye. I’d seen from previous years that he found this
type of event awkward, so my Jack’s starring role would be doing nothing to
calm his nerves. When he rose to welcome us all his voice was dry and stuttering.
“I do hope you all enjoy it,” he said, letting himself look at me for the first
time. ‘So do I pal’ I thought and shot him a smile that said ‘thank you’.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1690:3:a78d"></o:p></span></div>
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<div aria-dolphinuid="168e:3:a78e" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="168a:3:a78f" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="168c:3:a790"> </o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="168d:3:a73a">
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<div aria-dolphinuid="1689:3:a791" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1692:3:a792" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">As the music
started, Jack, along with a young-looking Mary and a rather wobbly donkey,
marched onto the stage. I held my breath as Jack turned to see the crowded
room, full of strange, gawping faces, and I wondered if it would just be too
much for him. His eyes danced across the parents until they met mine and then
his face relaxed and a broad grin spread across it. Then he did something which
I will never forget – it only took a second or two, but I’ve cherished it ever
since, like a tiny gemstone. Visibly proud of himself in his costume of old
green curtains and tea-towel headgear, he stopped a moment, his bright, hazel
eyes fixed on mine and raised a thumb to me. That simple gesture was, to me, a
rare moment, a sign that we were in the same place that he knew I was there for
him, and that he wanted to reassure me that he was alright.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1686:3:a793"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1685:3:a73a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1684:3:a794" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1682:3:a795" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="1683:3:a796"> </o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1688:3:a73a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="167f:3:a797" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="167e:3:a798" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I keep that
little gemstone carefully wrapped and I regularly check that it’s still there.
Whenever times are dark or desperate I pull it out again, dust it off and
admire its brilliant light. There have been many dark times, when I wondered if
we were in the same world, wondered if we would ever have that connection taken
for granted by most mums and their kids. Like the time when, without thinking,
I told Jack to ‘get his skates on’ or we’d be late for school. He spent the
rest of the morning stretched out on the hall floor, screaming for skates which
I had binned months ago. I spent the morning in the porch, hat and gloves on,
ready to go. I sat, slumped against the porch door, my face against the cold,
frosted glass and my tears ran down it like rain on a window. I felt like this
was the rest of my life captured in that one place. To one side, through opaque
glass, a boy I loved but couldn’t get to because his glass was just so bloody
opaque it wouldn’t let me see the true Jack. On the other, a door to the
outside world. Between Jack’s sobs I could hear the sound of wind blowing
through trees, children playing, people getting on with their normal lives,
while I sat, trapped in a small place with doors either side but no obvious way
out.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="167c:3:a799"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1678:3:a73a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="167a:3:a79a" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1681:3:a79b" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="167b:3:a79c"> </o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1680:3:a73a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1675:3:a79d" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1674:3:a79e" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">At the end of
the play, which went broadly as planned, I was bursting with pride and probably
the first to start clapping. I was also the first to stop, as I saw Jack’s
familiar distressed frown at the noise. I put my hands over my ears and he
followed suit.<span aria-dolphinuid="1672:3:a79f" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the short walk home I
held his little hand so tightly he must have thought he was in trouble. “You
were brilliant!” I said to him. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “But I want to be
a sheep next time Mum.”<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1679:3:a7a0"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1676:3:a73a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="166d:3:a7a1" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="166c:3:a7a2" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="166b:3:a7a3"> </o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1666:3:a73a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1668:3:a7a4" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="166f:3:a7a5" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p aria-dolphinuid="1669:3:a7a6"> </o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="166e:3:a73a">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-47758642280082661552016-12-25T12:14:00.001-08:002016-12-25T12:14:42.399-08:00Twelve Days of Christmas: 1 Day BC<div aria-dolphinuid="146f:2:b0a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="146e:2:b3c" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1470:2:b3d" style="font-family: Calibri;">Christmas is, after all, a time for giving. And I had given myself
a lovely new wireless speaker, which now takes pride of place on the bookshelf
in our lounge.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="14d7:2:b3e"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="14d4:2:b0a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="14be:2:b3f" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1476:2:b40" style="font-family: Calibri;">I was busy showing it off to Alex and her friend Rachel, who
had stayed over following the party. Running through various songs, cranking up
the volume to demonstrate the lovely, smooth bass, and gorgeous mid-tones.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1479:2:b41"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="14bf:2:b0a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="14bc:2:b42" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="149b:2:b43" style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, they were suitably impressed. Until, that is, Alex
suddenly asks “Where’s the nativity?” <o:p aria-dolphinuid="147b:2:b44"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="147d:2:b0a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="147a:2:b45" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1485:2:b46" style="font-family: Calibri;">“The what?” I respond, searching through a playlist to find
another song that will adequately demonstrate the prowess of my new gadget.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="147f:2:b47"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1481:2:b0a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="147e:2:b48" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1483:2:b49" style="font-family: Calibri;">“The nativity. It’s normally on the shelf, where you’ve put
the speaker.”<o:p aria-dolphinuid="148d:2:b4a"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1484:2:b0a">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1486:2:b4b" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1487:2:b4c" style="font-family: Calibri;">This was a correct observation, but until then I had forgotten
all about the nativity, which I guessed was still packed away somewhere
upstairs in the loft. Although I’m not a religious person by any means, I did
feel a slight pang of guilt. Poor baby Jesus, Joseph and Mary, and the sheep
and wise men all packed away up there in the cold, damp loft, all dark and
alone. <span aria-dolphinuid="148b:2:b4d" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I be so thoughtless? So
I turn up the volume a bit. There, I think, they can hear it too now.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="148c:2:b4e"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1498:2:b0a">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-88521370207357984662016-12-24T08:52:00.000-08:002016-12-24T08:52:52.057-08:0012 Days of Christmas: 2 Days BC<div aria-dolphinuid="1bb5:a:2c2e">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d32:5:2c60" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="1fb2:3:3cf2">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1b8b:a:2c61" style="font-family: "calibri";">Well, it turns out that the answer to the question “Who
names these storms?” is “We do”. Apparently the Met Office names our storms,
but based on recommendations from the public.<span aria-dolphinuid="e7d:4:2c62" style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And as well as Barbara, we can look forward to storms this winter called
Doris, Fleur and Penelope. <span aria-dolphinuid="1bad:a:2c63" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose we
should be grateful that there isn’t one called Windy McWindbottom, or something
similar.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e3c:4:2c64"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e5e:4:2c2e">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e35:4:2c65" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="1efc:3:3cf9">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1bc2:a:2c66" style="font-family: "calibri";">Anyway, Barbara came a knockin’ last night but didn’t delay
Alex’s arrival, or a whole bunch of friends and colleagues who joined us for a
few drinks. The teenagers were, of course, loud and messy, generously leaving
their mark on the dining room carpet, the little cherubs. Apparently three of
the girls managed to go to the loo together. Nothing unusual you might think.
But in the toilet under the stairs? You can literally sit on the lav and brush
your teeth in there. I’m not sure whether to be appalled or impressed.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="141c:5:2c67"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1419:5:2c2e">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1c77:a:2c68" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="1f01:3:3cfe">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1cd1:a:2c69" style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s given me an idea for a new party game for Christmas
Day. Might have to do it before lunch, though, especially with all those
sprouts. “Right Grandma,jump up onto the cistern. We’re getting the
dogs in now”.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1c9f:a:2c6a"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1:a:2c2e">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-70101368555467035232016-12-23T03:13:00.001-08:002016-12-23T03:13:35.281-08:0012 Days of Christmas: 3 days BC<div aria-dolphinuid="261:4:b2f">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="263:4:b63" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="267:4:b64" style="font-family: Calibri;">I really ought to have been in work today, but instead have
decided that my festive holidays start right here, right now. This last minute
change of plan was brought about by about three weeks of dodging the winter
lurgy which ended yesterday. Just as I was looking ahead to a bug-free
Christmas Day, congratulating myself on my super-human powers of immunity and
resilience,<span aria-dolphinuid="260:4:b65" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the evil snot-monster made
its way up my trouser leg,, under my shirt and up into my nostrils. Here, it’s found
a nice spot to stay for a while, unpacked its deck-chair, put down a towel and
set about its business, <o:p aria-dolphinuid="25d:4:b66"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="26a:4:b2f">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="268:4:b67" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="26f:4:b68" style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, I should not be surprised. It was just my turn to
win the annual game of pass the germ-parcel. When the music stopped it was me
holding the mucus. How delighted my wife is that I’ve brought it home to share
with the family. Well, it’s Christmas, and that’s all about sharing isn’t it?<o:p aria-dolphinuid="26e:4:b69"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="276:4:b2f">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="266:4:b6a" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="26b:4:b6b" style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I find myself with an extra day to wallow around feeling
sorry for myself. It means I have a little extra time to potter. I clean out
the kitchen cupboard that has been developing teenager tendencies, all messy,
disorganised and starting to smell. I wrap a few presents, apologising under my
breath to the intended recipients for what I know is my shockingly bad
technique. I do washing, empty bins, tidy away clothes and so on. All the while
I have one ear on the radio. In particular, I’m listening for news of the
progress of this season’s second named storm, Barbara. Really? Who thinks up
these names? I’m struggling to think of a less stormy name than Barbara.
Beatrix maybe. Anyway, Babs is on her way from the west, while my daughter,
Alex, is due to fly home from Paris tomorrow evening.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="234:4:b6c"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1bb:4:b2f">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="270:4:b6d" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16fb:3:b6e" style="font-family: Calibri;">I know I shouldn’t but when you become a parent your DNA
gets altered, and the worry gene is activated. That little critter is now
pulsating and generating a quiet beep at the back of my head. Of course, I know
this is a reaction of my chimp brain. My rational human brain is reassuring me
that they won’t let the plane take off if the weather is so bad, or that
statistically flying is still one of the safest ways to travel. Beep, beep.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16f1:3:b6f"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16fa:3:b2f">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16f8:3:b70" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="16fd:3:b71" style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s a good chance we’ll see a whole bunch of Alex’s
friends before she arrives home. We’ve organised a festive drinks do for
tomorrow night – a further opportunity for me to share my special gift this
Christmas. We’ve also allowed our 15-year old son, Dominic, to invite a few
friends. The extra time I had today with Dom gave us time for a helpful chat
about what ‘a few’ means. In my head it is 4 or 5. His interpretation was
several more. Beep, beep, beep.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16f4:3:b72"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16f3:3:b2f">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16f5:3:b73" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="16f7:3:b74"><span aria-dolphinuid="16f6:3:b75" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="16eb:3:b2f">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-30415661988905361542016-03-27T04:47:00.000-07:002016-03-27T04:47:16.251-07:00So I say 'thank you for the music'<div aria-dolphinuid="45a:7:5a78">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="464:7:5a7e" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="476:7:5a7f" style="font-family: Calibri;">Having managed to get myself out of bed for a 9.15 spinning
class on Easter Sunday…(pause for congratulatory applause)…I aim to harness the
post-fitness class energy by engaging in my more usual activity, plonked on my
arse in front of a computer.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="69f:5:5a80"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="6a2:5:5a78">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="44f:7:5a81" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="455:7:5a82" style="font-family: Calibri;">For anyone who hasn’t done a spinning class, I would say it’s
a lot like aquarobics, only instead of exercising in a swimming pool you burn
calories in a pool of your own sweat. The first time I tried it I was horrified
to find that other members of the group were chatting amongst themselves,
catching up on the week’s gossip, whilst I was sucking in air and wondering if
my life assurance was up to date.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="631:7:5a83"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="606:7:5a78">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="632:7:5a84" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="2c2:7:5a85" style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ll be relieved to know that Paddy is kept at a safe
distance while this is going on. At first he would whine a bit to be close to
me. Then, I think when he saw the state I was in, he realised that his
knowledge of CPR is not what it could be and he was happy to keep his distance.
Either that or he found the whole thing very embarrassing and now tries to
pretend he’s not with me.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="637:7:5a86"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="639:7:5a78">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="636:7:5a87" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1d6:7:5a88" style="font-family: Calibri;">Fortunately I have found it does get a little easier with
practice, and of course, one does develop a few rules to help maintain some
semblance of dignity. For example, you make sure the resistance is totally off
before you start – if it feels way too easy then that is good, because it’s
about to get a whole lot tougher. Then if, because of the loud music playing,
you don’t quite hear the instructor when she yells ‘Up one turn’, always
interpret it as ‘Down one turn’ or at worst ‘Up a quarter turn’. Believe me,
accuracy in following instructions is the last thing you want. Finally, when
your eyeballs are sweating and your spinning class actually does start to spin,
be prepared to use sleight of hand – the instructor won’t know that you’re just
moving your hand and not the resistance wheel.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="638:7:5a89"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="623:7:5a78">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="635:7:5a8a" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="63c:7:5a8b" style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s amazing how much difference the music makes. Without it
I think I’d probably last about 5 minutes before just sitting and crying. It
does somehow connect some motivational neurons together in a way which makes
the whole thing almost pleasant. OK, I exaggerate a little.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="62e:7:5a8c"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="629:7:5a78">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="62c:7:5a8d" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="62d:7:5a8e"><span aria-dolphinuid="625:7:5a8f" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="626:7:5a78">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1d4:8:5a90" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="62b:7:5a91" style="font-family: Calibri;"><span aria-dolphinuid="62a:7:5a92" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p aria-dolphinuid="620:7:5a93"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="4a5:7:5a78">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-85472835899380949942015-12-04T06:35:00.000-08:002015-12-04T06:35:48.077-08:00A VI Merry Christmas<div aria-dolphinuid="d50:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d70:b:3739" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="d75:b:373a" style="font-family: Calibri;">I have posted before about the truth behind some of our best
loved Christmas customs (see </span><a aria-dolphinuid="d66:b:373b" href="http://www.blindmansblogsey.blogspot.co.uk/2008/08/real-meaning-of-christmas.html"><span aria-dolphinuid="e0a:b:373c" style="font-family: Calibri;">http://www.blindmansblogsey.blogspot.co.uk/2008/08/real-meaning-of-christmas.html</span></a><span aria-dolphinuid="d93:b:373d" style="font-family: Calibri;">
) and as we approach this special time of year once again, my research has
revealed some almost interesting facts about the role that blind people have
played in shaping many of our festive customs over the years.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1ef:c:373e"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e28:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d68:b:373f" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="d6a:b:3740" style="font-family: Calibri;">For example, did you know that legend has it that Santa
first got the idea to put sleigh bells on his reindeer after receiving a
request from a grumpy old blind bloke in Croydon?<span aria-dolphinuid="d0a:b:3741" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arthur Dodds had requested the auditory
addition, claiming he was frightened that “one of the fat fuckers will run me
over one of these years”. Fortunately, the elves translated the request for
Santa as a plea from a nice old man who wanted to enjoy the full festive
spectacle. However, the tradition was almost ended some years later when Santa
was busy delivering presents in Australia. Unfortunately, Santa had parked the
sleigh near a day/night VI cricket match. Innocently grazing on the pitch,
Rudolph’s bells were mistaken for a ball and he was dispatched to the boundary
with a lovely cover drive. On the plus side, his injured nose, which took the
brunt of the shot, became his trademark.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="d17:b:3742"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d54:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="db7:b:3743" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="d60:b:3744" style="font-family: Calibri;">And it was a ‘Scottish blind man who started the tradition
of leaving out a carrot and a whisky on Christmas Eve. He had been at the
whisky all night and left his last night-cap by the fireplace. A little worse
for the drink, he later misjudged where he had left his glass and ended up
toasting his fingers in the fire. As for the carrot, he had picked one up in
the supermarket and brought it home to ask friends and family what it was. Of
course, nobody knew, so he’d decided it made quite a nice poker.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="d72:b:3745"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d46:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d76:b:3746" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="d61:b:3747" style="font-family: Calibri;">You might also be surprised to hear that Christmas fairy
lights were also inspired by someone thinking about their blind loved one, or
so the story goes. Apparently, the young<span aria-dolphinuid="d47:b:3748" style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Swedish girl, Anja, was desperate to keep her blind father away from the
presents under the tree, as he had a tendency to rummage around trying to guess
what was wrapped up for him. So his ingenious daughter rigged up a series of
live electrical charges all around the tree to keep him away. Neighbours
commented on the lovely coloured sparks they made when the inquisitive Dad went
pressie-hunting and Anja got the idea to develop a less sadistic version for
the mass market.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="d56:b:3749"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d4b:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d3b:b:374a" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="d42:b:374b" style="font-family: Calibri;">Did you know that explosive Christmas crackers as we know
them were developed that way especially for blind people? Originally they were
small gifts shared at the dinner table, until an ingenious French man decided a
more sensory experience was needed for his blind wife. Early prototypes were
variable. Having blown up his shed, poor Jacques would have held his hands up
in defeat, had he not already blown them off. However, he persevered and
eventually his design was passed safe for use around the world.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="d6b:b:374c"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d2c:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d32:b:374d" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="416:8:374e" style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally, the influence of the VI world extends through to
some of our favourite New Year customs. The great Scottish tradition of first
footing – being the first person to cross the threshold of your neighbour’s
house – was started by a blind man in Glasgow in the 13<sup aria-dolphinuid="d81:b:374f"><span aria-dolphinuid="d5c:b:3750" style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> century.
He’d been at his local tavern for a few celebratory ales and had had become a
little confused on his return home, ending up at the wrong house, whereupon he
was dragged inside for another drink before being sent on his way. Several
houses later he eventually made it home and the next year he was careful to
make the same mistake. His canny Scots neighbours soon caught on and the
tradition took off.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="c72:b:3751"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d4f:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d49:b:3752" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="d7e:b:3753" style="font-family: Calibri;">So a VI Merry Christmas to you all!<o:p aria-dolphinuid="d31:b:3754"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="d3d:b:3733">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="c71:b:3755" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="d30:b:3756"><span aria-dolphinuid="d4a:b:3757" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="28c:c:3733">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-58144500020835795652015-10-13T13:05:00.000-07:002015-10-14T10:57:34.627-07:00Notes on not falling over<div aria-dolphinuid="5c0:6:1552d">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5c7:6:15533" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="2da:16:17002">
<div aria-dolphinuid="13f:8:112f">
<span aria-dolphinuid="5c1:6:15534" style="font-family: Calibri;">This whole trip could be summarised as my personal battle
with gravity, a force of nature which, over the four-day trek, I grew to loathe
with a passion. The trek would take my group of thirty walkers on a well-used
but none-the-less challenging route known as ‘The 3 Peaks’, taking in each of
the three highest mountains in Wales, England and Scotland (Snowdon, Scafell
Pike and Ben Nevis respectively).<o:p aria-dolphinuid="5c5:6:15535"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5ae:6:1552d">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5cb:6:15536" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="64a:18:17007">
<div aria-dolphinuid="630:c:1135">
<span aria-dolphinuid="5c6:6:15537" style="font-family: Calibri;">Things had started well. Despite being weighed down by 3
litres of water, enough snacks to feed a small town and a large bag of
self-doubt, I had overcome its relentless pull in order to haul myself and my provisions
to Snowdon’s peak, I guess it was inevitable that the big G would take its revenge
on the way down. It did at least require the assistance of a fellow G – the
dreaded mountain gulley – to bring me down. I was as keen as the next man to
descend quickly, but not that quickly. Deep in conversation with a fellow
trekker, my left foot was soon deep into a gulley, where it was clearly
planning to rest up for a little while. Fortunately for me, at least half of
the group following behind me were partially-sighted and would not have seen
the HD version of my fall. They may well have heard the hard thwack of my knee
hitting the rock, followed by the feint thud of my pride doing the same. But my
overwhelming sense was triangular relief – my knee was only scuffed, my ankle
wasn’t broken and we were nearly off the damned mountain.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="594:6:15538"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5ad:6:1552d">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5ac:6:15539" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="569:16:1700c">
<div aria-dolphinuid="17b1:3:113b">
<span aria-dolphinuid="4aa:4:1553a" style="font-family: Calibri;"><span aria-dolphinuid="4a8:4:1553b" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned quickly
that the key to successfully getting up and down a mountain is not falling
over. Staying upright is easier said than done when you cannot see where you
are putting your feet. Now that I come to think of it, I have difficulty
walking up my street without tripping over – what the hell was I thinking of?
Almost every step demanded a level of concentration which was as sapping as the
physical effort required to climb or descend. The use of walking poles was
invaluable, transforming me from a teetering biped into a marginally more
stable quadruped. At 6 ft 4, my additional limbs didn’t exactly turn me into a
mountain goat – more a kind of arthritic giraffe – but they were my trusted
swords in the battle against the evil forces of gravity. Whilst my poles lent
me physical support, I was equally dependent upon the moral and mental crutch
on offer from my fellow trekkers. The truth is, I think it was as much the
words of guidance, the generosity of spirit, and the compelling desire not to
make an idiot of myself in front of them, which kept me on my feet, for the
most part anyway.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="5a4:6:1553c"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5da:6:1552d">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5df:6:1553d" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="575:16:17012">
<div aria-dolphinuid="cb:8:1142">
<span aria-dolphinuid="5c4:6:1553e" style="font-family: Calibri;">And, as you may have already surmised, it was no easy gig
for my guides, operating as my personal ‘trip adviser’ for several hours at a
time.<span aria-dolphinuid="5d5:6:1553f" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had to provide direction –
“shimmy left, step sharp right”, information – “18 incher coming up now” and
white lies – “It’s not far now, I can see the top” in equal measure. It was a
lot of responsibility for them – who would want to risk walking a blind guy off
the edge of a mountain? Apart perhaps from his wife, who had opted instead to
stay home with the dogs.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="5ea:6:15540"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5e5:6:1552d">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5e0:6:15541" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="771:16:17018">
<div aria-dolphinuid="17a5:3:1149">
<span aria-dolphinuid="701:6:15542" style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, there were times when gravity was not my forceful
foe but my best buddy. Like for example, when battling the 40mph wind that
welcomed us to the summit of Snowdon, whipping around our heads, tugging at our
clothes and bags, driving ice-cold rain into our faces. Had someone
inadvertently enraged an ancient Welsh mountain god, invoking this hostile
reception to its summit? I gripped tighter onto my guide’s arm, fearful of
being hurled back to England by an angry gust, but my hands were now
semi-frozen, along with my nose and ears.<span aria-dolphinuid="5f3:6:15543" style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Great fun, this mountain climbing” I joked, but the words were whipped
away by the wind. I like to think they are still blowing around out there
somewhere, untethered by the pull of the earth.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="6fb:6:15544"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="60c:6:1552d">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5e6:6:15545" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="58b:16:1701e">
<div aria-dolphinuid="16b:8:1150">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="603:6:15546"><span aria-dolphinuid="5ef:6:15547" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="604:6:1552d">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5fb:6:15548" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div aria-dolphinuid="763:16:17023">
<div aria-dolphinuid="166:8:1156">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="5f4:6:15549"><span aria-dolphinuid="600:6:1554a" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="5fd:6:1552d">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-65198072418161519612015-09-28T11:39:00.000-07:002015-09-28T11:39:12.911-07:00A-wake on the bus?<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Last week I was shocked by something I didn’t hear on the
bus. That is to say, I didn’t hear a thing. And it was a very busy bus, jam
packed with people on their way to work – so busy that several of us were
standing in the aisle. And yet, for the entire 15 minute duration of my short
commute into Newcastle, I didn’t hear one conversation. Not even a monologue ,
no giggling schoolgirls, no crying babies or shushing parents. The silence was
only broken by the creaks and moans of the bus itself, and the feint tinny
jangling of someone’s headphones.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>And it really bothered me. I’m not sure why, or even if, I
should be so irked by this. I mean, some people would no doubt love to have
such a peaceful and calm carriage to work. But I hated it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve travelled on quiet buses before, but
never on one so full and yet so silent. I found myself wondering if this was a stereotypically
British thing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- I couldn’t imagine this
scenario happening in New York, Delhi or Paris.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Of course, I also couldn’t help thinking that it is simply a
sign of these digital times – times when we are so busy communicating with our
vast social networks that we can’t possibly spare the time or the energy to
converse with those around us. And before you accuse me of being some middle
aged fart of a Luddite, I must reject at least the last part of that
description. I love my smartphone as much as the next man, possibly more, given
the amazing access it gives me to stuff that would previously have been simply
out of reach of me and my dysfunctional eyes. However, it’s nice occasionally
to turn to that next man and discuss last night’s TV with him, or the football
results, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the weather, the state of the
roads, or whatever. </dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>As a blind person I have grown accustomed to the sinking
realisation that occurs when I work out that I’m talking to someone who<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is not there. I guess it is just going to happen
more often now, even when I know they are sitting right beside me. So, I’ll
keep quiet like everyone else.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext><span style="background-color: transparent; border: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: white; display: inline; font-family: Calibri; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; height: auto; mso-spacerun: yes; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; white-space: normal; width: auto;"> </span></dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext>Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-7898563241580764912015-08-18T12:13:00.000-07:002015-08-18T12:13:59.518-07:00Green Man - Blue Air<div aria-dolphinuid="e90:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e85:5:7f6" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e82:5:7f7" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e83:5:7f8" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">F</b>ortunately, I
had heard the car approaching<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e7c:5:7f9"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e81:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e7b:5:7fa" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e8e:5:7fb" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="eb2:5:7fc" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">U</b>nusually fast, I
remember thinking,<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e80:5:7fd"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e87:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e7a:5:7fe" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e6c:5:7ff" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e73:5:800" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">C</b>onsidering I’m
half way across the crossing, I <o:p aria-dolphinuid="d44:5:801"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e65:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e68:5:802" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e67:5:803" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="d58:5:804" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">K</b>eep on walking,
slower now and then<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e54:5:805"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e5d:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e6e:5:806" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e64:5:807" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e74:5:808" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I</b> stop<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e5c:5:809"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e60:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e5b:5:80a" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e61:5:80b" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e50:5:80c" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">N</b>ot going any
further.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e59:5:80d"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e56:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e58:5:80e" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e57:5:80f" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e43:5:810" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">G</b>lad I did, as the
car skids past me<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e48:5:811"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e46:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e47:5:812" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e55:5:813"><span aria-dolphinuid="e53:5:814" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e40:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e41:5:815" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e3f:5:816" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e2f:5:817" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I</b> wonder what the
driver thinks<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e12:5:818"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e1f:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e29:5:819" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e2a:5:81a" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e09:5:81b" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">D</b>id he/she not
see me?<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e1e:5:81c"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e4c:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e35:5:81d" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e39:5:81e" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e18:5:81f" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I</b>’m the blind one
after all.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e4e:5:820"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e28:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e34:5:821" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e32:5:822" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e2e:5:823" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">O</b>nly fair to scream
my considered opinion of<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e26:5:824"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e30:5:7f0">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e1d:5:825" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="e1c:5:826" style="font-family: Calibri;"><b aria-dolphinuid="e0c:5:827" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">T</b>he driver who
nearly killed me today.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="e11:5:828"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="e20:5:7f0">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-88048873061843433442015-07-18T06:53:00.000-07:002015-07-18T06:53:19.603-07:00over the limit<div aria-dolphinuid="20f2:55:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1fa3:4e:41d4" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1ed4:4e:41d5" style="font-family: Calibri;">Just the other day, Mrs B received a nice letter in the
post, informing her that she had been caught speeding, and asking her to fess
up to being the driver in question. I jokingly suggested that perhaps I could
claim responsibility for the offence as there was little chance of me accruing
any more points. This got me thinking as to my possible response to the
authorities…<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1e78:4e:41d6"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1d77:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1ee3:4e:41d7" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="11b9:56:41d8"><span aria-dolphinuid="1e20:4e:41d9" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1e81:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="2016:4e:41da" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="2006:4e:41db" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dear Sir/Madam<o:p aria-dolphinuid="267c:3e:41dc"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1cad:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1f47:4e:41dd" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1d65:4e:41de" style="font-family: Calibri;">Further to your recent correspondence with my good lady wife,
I wish to inform you that it was in fact my good self driving the car when the
speeding infringement took place.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1dc7:4e:41df"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1e47:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1c40:4e:41e0" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1e4a:4e:41e1" style="font-family: Calibri;">Before you decide on the appropriate sanctions relating to
this offence, I would just like to offer up some mitigation in my defence.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1ef9:4e:41e2"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1cba:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1e5c:4e:41e3" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1d50:4e:41e4" style="font-family: Calibri;">First, due to my severe lack of sight, I was unable to see
the speedometer display on the dashboard. Being a responsible driver, I did use
my other senses to do my best to estimate my travelling speed at the time. I
could not smell the tyres burning, the windows were not rattling and I could
feel only the slightest G-force pulling at my face. I therefore concluded that
my speed was reasonable for the road conditions. Until car manufacturers start
to make their displays more accessible for the blind then we will continue to
have these problems.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1e8d:4e:41e5"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="20c0:55:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="ec7:55:41e6" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1c7f:4e:41e7" style="font-family: Calibri;">Secondly, my sight loss makes it impossible for me to see
any road signs, including those indicating the speed limit. Once again, I am
disadvantaged by my disability and the blatant disregard for my communication
needs. Has the local authority ever heard of the social model of disability?<o:p aria-dolphinuid="212c:4e:41e8"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="2023:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="215f:4e:41e9" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1c48:4e:41ea" style="font-family: Calibri;">Third, in recognising the dangers of having to drive in an
environment clearly not set up to meet my needs, I was doing the considerate
thing by driving as fast as I could to my destination, thus minimising the time
spent on the road and the associated risks.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1da5:4e:41eb"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1f29:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1cc9:4e:41ec" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="20a3:4e:41ed" style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally, I am sure you appreciate how important it is for blind
people to maintain their independence, and driving my car is the best way for
me to do this. Once a friend or neighbour has helped me locate the vehicle, and
helped me put my guide dog into the boot, I am good to go, with no further
assistance needed.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="2094:4e:41ee"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1d46:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="222b:4e:41ef" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1edd:4e:41f0" style="font-family: Calibri;">I trust you will take these circumstances into account when
dealing with my offence.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1eb0:4e:41f1"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1e5d:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1fbc:4e:41f2" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1df9:4e:41f3"><span aria-dolphinuid="1ec5:4e:41f4" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1fde:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="11b4:56:41f5" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span aria-dolphinuid="1f28:4e:41f6" style="font-family: Calibri;">Yours sincerely<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1f85:4e:41f7"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1ce7:4e:41ce">
</div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1dbc:4e:41f8" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1cb4:4e:41f9"><span aria-dolphinuid="1c93:4e:41fa" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span aria-dolphinuid="1ed0:4e:41fc" style="font-family: Calibri;">Bogsey.<o:p aria-dolphinuid="1ce0:4e:41fd"></o:p></span></div>
<div aria-dolphinuid="1c80:4e:41ce">
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Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-47100959696704593422014-05-03T11:59:00.000-07:002014-05-03T11:59:41.281-07:00Blind Drunk<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>The relationship between alcohol and the visually-impaired,
in my experience, is a complicated one. Before I started using a white cane to
alert people to my sight issue, there was always the risk that my stumbling,
tripping up and bumping into people would be mistaken for the effects of one
too many drinks. Of course, there were occasions when this was indeed the case,
but more often it was the case that drinking tends to be done in dark, noisy,
crowded places where poor sight is something of a hindrance. “Sorry for
spilling your pint, good man, but I have a rare genetic eye condition which
restricts my vision in low lighting and has unfortunately resulted in this
mishap” tends not to defuse the situation. I found it a lot easier to use a
symbol cane. Even if it doesn’t save me from a thumping I can at least use it
to poke the ignorant bastard in the eye. See how he likes it.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Of course, this type of incident is not the only risk
associated with the VI on a night out. Scientific studies have shown a
statistical correlation between having a tipple and a topple. One for the road
can easily lead to wandering into the road. And as for cocktails, let’s just
not go there.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>However, I’m sure many Vis will agree that a few drinks can
have hugely beneficial effects when it comes to getting around. It’s not that
it improves sight (mind you, what a marvellous treatment that would be), it’s
more that the relaxing effect of the drink reduces the tension associated with
not being able to see what you are doing – the anxiety of waiting to bump into
something or someone, and this often leads to a much more enjoyable walk home
from the pub than the journey there. Even if you do come a cropper on the way
back, the analgesic effect of the booze means that it doesn’t hurt as much
anyway, and, if enough medicine has been consumed, is more likely to result in
raucous and quite inappropriate laughter rather than screams of pain.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>If this sounds a little irresponsible from a health, safety
and wellbeing perspective, I have noticed that singing or humming a nice song whilst
walking has a similar soporific effect. I wonder if it is a similar neurological
effect to that enjoyed by people with a stammer, who find it easier to sing, or
who can talk more fluently when music is played to them.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Of course, the danger in singing your way down the street is
that passers-by conclude that you have been on the drink again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you, if you are singing into the end of
your cane, or dancing seductively around it, they may well have a point.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext> </dolphintext></span></o:p></div>
<dolphintext>
</dolphintext>Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-78782255867798672252014-04-27T14:36:00.000-07:002014-04-28T10:36:09.179-07:00Alive in the Sahara<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sitting high up on the precarious ridge of sand, I felt the
wind cooling my sweat-soaked body. And I felt as alive as I can remember
feeling. We had spent all morning, the third in our four-day trek, climbing up
a loose sandy track onto a rocky ledge, passable only in single file, with a
rope secured on one side for support. Slowly, deliberately, we picked our way
along the ledge. The rocks that lay perilously below to our right were an aspect
of the Sahara I did not want to explore more closely, so I concentrated hard on
following the instructions of David, my sighted guide for this particular part
of the trek.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was David, who also happened to be the CEO of the charity
for which we were all undertaking this challenge, who had spoken about ‘risk’
on our first evening in the desert, gathered around a comforting fire beneath a
bright moon and stars that seemed curious to know us. He read a poem, the
upshot of which was ‘if you don’t ever take risks you are not living’. Sitting
on that ridge, having walked along its length as it turned from rock to sand,
dropping sharply on both sides who knows how far, I allowed myself a few
moments to reflect on just how true those words had been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For me, and for many of the group, this was the high point
of the trek, both physically and emotionally. The peak of a trek that seemed to
take an age to start. Having spent a day on aeroplanes and airport floors, it
was a relief to finally be within striking distance of what we had come for.
After a reasonably comfortable night in a budget hotel, we were ready to crack
on, to put all that training to good use. After a few hours on buses, driving
out into increasingly remote landscapes, it was with some trepidation that we
were transferred into our off-road vehicles. It wasn’t quite cattle-class, but
the stifling air inside our vans was thick with jokes about kidnapping and
illegal immigrants. Another couple of hours into our journey and we were beyond
fed up – it was desert enough for us, honest, and we would just love to start
the trek now…let me out!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually, a tired, somewhat dishevelled group of trekkers
were dumped somewhere in the Moroccan Sahara and we were off!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t mind admitting, that first night in the desert was
tough. Lying in my tent with five complete strangers, three of whom were competing
for the title of top trek snorer, the fatigue of the travelling combined with a
realisation that there was no ducking out now. It wasn’t so much ‘I’m a celebrity
get me out of here’ as ‘I’m a blind guy stuck in the desert with a bunch of
other blind/partially-sighted people and I’d really like to go home now please’.
Although my main bag felt heavy enough, neither Ant nor Dec had travelled with
me from Newcastle, and I didn’t reckon my chances of getting a taxi home were
that good. Had I thought about it more in advance, I would have been more
prepared for my mild panic. Going away from a familiar environment like home or
work, always renders me more disabled – not knowing where anything is, having to
ask for help – it’s the kind of dependency that I try to avoid, and after many
holidays and trips away I should expect this initial period of frustration as I
adapt to my new environment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was little chance of this gloom lasting long – there was
serious walking to be done, and some seriously good people to walk with. No
doubt each of them was dealing with their own personal challenges, taking their
own personal risks. Whilst we wanted for our creature comforts, kindness,
mutual respect and support were in abundance, and friendships formed that I
suspect will last for many miles to come. And we had a great mix of technical
and professional skills – I tell you, if the Moroccans had wanted us to build a
mail sorting office filled with very secure computers, lovely wooden furniture
and excellent plumbing, we were the men/women for the job. It seems word hadn’t
got through to the authorities, so instead we satisfied ourselves with putting
one foot in front of the other until someone who seemed to know what they were
doing guided us into a camp, where we were given nectar in the form of sweet
mint tea, and replenished with excellent local food, patched up, medicated and
congratulated on making it through the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Whilst my lack of central vision prevents me from enjoying
the many photos that have since emerged of this adventure, the experiences are
easily conjured back to mind…the sense of vast open space, the freedom of
walking unaided across flat, baked earth, the joyful laughter of our hosts, the
joy of a hot shower at the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And most of all, that sense of alertness, of living, of
taking that risk, as I stood on that ridge high up in the Saharan sky, and ran
forward…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-36069753785723531732013-10-08T12:40:00.000-07:002013-10-09T10:53:40.496-07:00Making the most of it<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>The weather presenter on the radio this morning said “It’s
going to be unseasonably mild again, but not for long, so make the most of it”</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Dear boss</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>I hope you don’t mind me not turning in for work on this
lovely, warm, sunny day. Please be assured that I had fully intended fully
attending work, but received firm, some might say authoritative instructions to
do something rather more interesting.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Please imagine for one second. There I was, ready to leave
the house for work, willing, if not eager to spend another day in your lovely
company. Suddenly, I hear the weather presenter on the radio (national radio that is)
and I probably do her a disservice describing her as a presenter. I’m sure she
was in fact a fully qualified and experienced expert in all things
meteorological. Anyway, she gave a clear, unequivocal instruction to “make the
most of it” - the unseasonably warm weather, that is.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Now, before you jump to any conclusions about me skiving off
work to lounge around the garden, let me point out no less, or more, than three
quite critical points:</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>1.</dolphintext></span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"><dolphintext>
</dolphintext></span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>I do not actually have a garden, merely a small
rear yard, with quite insufficient lounging room.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>2.</dolphintext></span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"><dolphintext>
</dolphintext></span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>This was an instruction broadcast on the BBC – a
publicly funded institution, paid for by us all. So, in effect, I was being
democratically instructed by the nation to make the most of the nice weather.
That includes you.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>3.</dolphintext></span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"><dolphintext>
</dolphintext></span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Who are we to trust, in matters of the weather
and how we should cope with it, if not the experts? Why do we rely on the Met
Office to issue severe weather warnings, flood alerts and the like, if all we
do is turn a blind eye, or two in my case? Surely only anarchy lies down that
slippery slope.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 18pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext> </dolphintext></span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 18pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>I trust this explanation meets
your approval and will see you tomorrow, weather permitting.</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 18pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext> </dolphintext></span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 18pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Yours faithfully</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 18pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext> </dolphintext></span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 18pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><dolphintext>Bogsey</dolphintext><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-58092849079193005512012-12-02T01:23:00.000-08:002012-12-02T01:45:28.484-08:00Stepping Out<dolphintext>A number of close shaves have recently led me to the conclusion that someone is out there to get me. There can be no other rational explanation and indeed, it may be worse. The range of different people involved in this plot can only mean one thing - those that can't see are being targeted by those that can. </dolphintext><br />
<br />
For example, last week I was out on my own with F!ash and had only got to the end of my street when an attack took place. I needed to cross the road, which was busy with school-run traffic. The lane nearest to me was very busy, and soon filled with a lot of stationary traffic. The other lane was less busy. I waited until I could hear a gap in the far traffic and gingerly ventured out into the standing traffic to assess the chances of getting across safely. Just as I step into the road I hear a woman's voice - "Go on love, you're alright, it's clear". I'm pretty sure that's whatt she said, but it was a bit tricky to hear, due to the noise of a car approaching rather fast. So I ignored her encouragement to step infront of said car and eventually she called out "No! Not now!" - an entirely unnecessary warning as I wasn't about to follow her original instruction. I have learnt over the years one of the golden rules of living with sight loss - don't trust people who can see.<br />
<br />
This incident came shortly after another attempt on my life which took place while I was undrgoing training with F!ash. Thinkinng about it, perhaps this was deliberate - maybe they thought we were an easier target. Again, we were waiting at standing traffic. I patiently waited for the traffic lights to change and for the vehicle in front of me to move away, before I gave the instruction to F!ash to cross. As I was still training, my pursuer clearly hadn't realised that I had an instructor with me. Thankfully, she noticed that the van that had just pulled away had not judged the lights properly and didn't have time to complete his move, so then decided to reverse back towards me. She was able to stop him before he could mow us both down.<br />
<br />
Disturbingly, I think whoever is overseeing this plot to do me in has also enlisted the help of my nearest and dearest. In fact, I've had a number of near misses with the dear missus. One of her favourite ploys also involves road crossing. As we stand waiting to cross a roadd togetheer, she has a habit of saying "OK" about 5 seconds before a car whizzes past. So far, I've always heard the car approaching and ignored her. She claims "OK" means "OK to cross once this speeding car has gone past" but I'm not so sure. <br />
<br />
It's no wonder some blind people don't go out much!Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-83770265052699383782012-06-16T07:13:00.000-07:002012-06-16T07:13:16.098-07:00I'm still sittingI have to admit, I would not have thought of parting with any hard earned cash to go and see Elton John. I don’t class myself as particularly trendy or alternative, but he’s always been a wee bit too middle-of-the-road for me. And after the diamond jubilee, I felt I’d had my fill of ageing queens. But when I was offered tickets to go to his gig in Newcastle, I thought it best not to lead a gift horse to water without closing the stable door first. When I asked my loved ones who wanted to come with me, the excitement was almost existent. Dom finally decided that, although he ‘hated’ Elton, he didn’t despise him enough to turn down a free gig.<br />
<br />
<br />
On our arrival at the venue, Dom confirmed that he probably was the youngest person there, and there were quite a lot of older people. I wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Am I one of them now? I guess so...with failing sight, grey hair and a recent hernia op scar, I probably didn’t stand out in the crowd of coffin-dodgers.<br />
<br />
Although the seats were pretty close to the front, they were a little wasted on me. I could just about make out a few different shaped blobs on the stage. One of the blobs seemed to move in a familiar way, and I assumed this was the man himself. I like to feel I was looking in the right direction and not giving one of the backing singers the wrong idea.<br />
<br />
As if I needed any further confirmation of my status as an old fart, I found myself fairly quickly wishing that they would turn the volume down a bit. The drums in particular seemed to be drowning out almost everything else, and at one point I was worried that if I turned my head to one side the sound would blast straight into one ear and out of the other – not a pleasant prospect for the person sitting behind me. I was also convinced that the bass was loosening my fillings. What’s more, Dom seemed concerned that the lighting might induce me to have a fit.<br />
<br />
An hour and a half in, it dawned on us that Elton was on top form and enjoying himself, so any prospect of an interval was highly unlikely. I felt some crumb of comfort that at least I didn’t need the loo and that, given the average age of the audience, this would not be true of many of them.<br />
<br />
“Oh Nikita you will never know<br />
<br />
Just how much I need to go”<br />
<br />
And I was actually enjoying the concert. It’s hard not too...Mr John and his songs seem to have been around forever. They were certainly part of the backdrop of my youth and hearing him belt them out in a non-stop high-energy performance was strangely evocative and incredibly impressive.<br />
<br />
Two hours in and I have to admit I was getting a little uncomfortable perched on my plastic seat. I cursed the fact that I hadn’t worn some more stretchy jeans, as the pair I was wearing were rubbing a bit on my scar and my mid-life paunch wanted to come out and join the party. I had to concede that if the whole experience had taught me something it was “Goodbye normal jeans’.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-9650015795998697222012-05-06T11:09:00.002-07:002012-05-06T11:10:57.126-07:00medical notesThe last time I was admitted to hospital was when I caught chicken pox at the age of 30. ‘after having some sort of fit induced by incessant barfing, I must not have been a pretty sight for the ambulance men. They may well have considered saving the NHS a few quid by taking me straight to the morgue, but instead whisked me to ‘a and E. There I was questioned, prodded and poked by a series of nurses and junior doctors, none of whom could find much wrong with me, aside from looking like I’d just crawled out of a local cemetery. One doctor, who clearly hadn’t bothered reading my notes, was disturbed by the fact that I was unable to see how many fingers she was holding up. ‘Apparently she had turned quite pale, presumably at the thought of having to break the bad news of my sudden sight loss.
This time, at least my visit was pre-planned. I had already had my pre-assessment visit the week before, which I mistakenly thought was to check that I was fit enough for the planned hernia repair. It was only as I sat, somewhat dazed in the waiting area, one of the nurses having just let me head butt a magazine rack, that I realised they were testing my resilience for what was to come. She did reassure me that my head was not punctured, unlike my abdomen, which would be repaired by cutting me open and sticking some sort of mesh patch in there. A bit like mending a flat tyre. I wish she hadn’t used the word tyre...a bit too close to the mark.
Fortunately, the staff who looked after me when I was admitted a week later, were a little more careful. In fact, a little too careful for my liking. Once they had decided that I shouldn’t risk walking to theatre so had ordered a trolley, I resisted the temptation to object and point out that my eyes may be f***ed but my legs still work ok. Who knows, they may been protecting me from some particularly vicious magazine racks en route to theatre.
The issue of signing a consent form caused some degree of agitation. They were quite keen to get someone to witness the form to make sure no-one had amended it before I signed – not sure what they were expecting – a junior doctor with a sick sense of humour perhaps, crossing out hernia and replacing it with penis enlargement? I should be so lucky. The fact that, if properly guided to put the pen in the right place, I could actually sign my name, seemed to amaze some of them.
Anyway, as I sit at home recuperating, which involves not moving very much, apart from to find and consume food, I now wish I had checked with the hospital staff that they were going to put in elasticated mesh. Otherwise I fear I may be back for another puncture repair before too long.Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-16495248482619439962012-04-06T11:18:00.003-07:002012-04-06T11:31:14.411-07:00bad sight stops play<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3xrQjJVEJMbTfMF3HksoI6cujoHhBugK8fsJTXZu9WFsAJsXskZL4HoTEkjc0pz6HiFTvWKytF9umMQqS99hror1smxg04OgInifog_0REpJlLBzTz3UbpRnkI43KxbBFJQs-NqmaqU/s1600/rosebowl+1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3xrQjJVEJMbTfMF3HksoI6cujoHhBugK8fsJTXZu9WFsAJsXskZL4HoTEkjc0pz6HiFTvWKytF9umMQqS99hror1smxg04OgInifog_0REpJlLBzTz3UbpRnkI43KxbBFJQs-NqmaqU/s320/rosebowl+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5728356014093438498" /></a><br />This picture, believe it or not, is of me playing cricket during the great warm weather we’ve been having recently. I offer it here as photographic evidence of the potential dangers of playing VI cricket without the appropriate protective clothing.<br /><br />Thankfully, when I play for my club, Durham VICC, we tend not to play on raised pitches, with a sheer drop to rose bushes and other garden-related dangers. And even if we did, I don’t suppose we’d set up the stumps quite so near the edge of the grass. And even if we did, I guess I would, as befits someone with my degree of sight loss, enlist the help of a runner – i.e. someone who can see where the hell they are running – someone who is, therefore, able to avoid going for a quick single, setting off at an angle and ending up doing a twisting half-pike of the wall into the thorny rose garden.<br /><br />Oh, how I guffawed when Mrs B, normally oblivious to anything to do with the game, showed some remarkable knowledge by suggesting that I should be playing at the Rosebowl. Lol, as they say these days.Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-90304693854023087502012-03-28T11:04:00.002-07:002012-03-28T11:18:08.843-07:00Achieving ClosureMy weekend trip to the Retinal Awareness Group annual shindig in Blackpool last weekend got off to what can only be described as a bit of a shocker.<br />I was keen to show Mrs B, who was accompanying me, how well I could manage on the train. So I confidently headed towards the toilet on the York to Blackpool train. I knew from previous experience that closing and locking the loo door was going to be the hardest part of the task, but surely I’d come across all the various types by now. Or so I thought. An initial scout of the usual places where the buttons are located found nowt. And, to be honest, there is a limit to how thoroughly you want to run your hands around a public lav. But I had checked the place out several times to no avail, apart from finding a small metal lever, which felt too sturdy to be what I was looking for, but it was all I could find. The door then closed by itself, and I found myself trapped, so I decided to give the lever a pull – after all, what else do you do with small metal levers?<br /><br />I reckon it can only have taken around 8 seconds for the train to stop, followed by a pause and the rush of feet towards the door and then a knock. <br />After checking I was ok and showing me politely where the damned door buttons were – the smallest I’ve ever not found in a train loo, I have to say – they left me to get on with it.<br /><br />Thankfully, they did not bother to announce to all the passengers the reason for the extra stop. That train stops so many times anyway; I don’t think they’d have noticed.<br />Mrs B had, of course, seen the drama unfolding. But I think she was enjoying seeing how well I coped on the train. She’ll feel so reassured about me travelling on my own.<br /><br />Blackpool itself was kind of what I expected, but it stretched further along the coast than I had realised. It was full of the usual tat, but we were fortunate enough to enjoy glorious weather. It was just like Blackpool, but with sun.<br /><br />The conference was interesting. It’s good to hear a lot of positive optimism about the future of genetic testing and potential treatments. Who knows, one day I might actually be able to find those buttons in the train loo without incident.Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-12660289470250679182012-02-27T06:25:00.002-08:002012-02-27T06:31:31.111-08:00Go, Foley, Go!The toughest challenge of last week, and possibly of the year to date was the problem of getting a urine sample from my guide dog, Foley. Anyone who knows me might suggest that I don’t normally have an issue taking the piss, but this was tricky. Guide dogs are generally clever animals and often quite sensitive in nature. So, Foley is none too keen on anyone following him around, encouraging him to piddle and then shoving a pot under him. Not surprisingly, it spooks him a little and so he has learned to wait until the weirdo with the Tupperware gets bored, after which the floodgates open.<br /><br />What the poor fella didn’t realise was that this time we weren’t taking no for an answer. After several dry runs, so to speak, the vet’s conclusion was that if he wasn’t going to supply it, we would have to go in and get it. The mere mention of the ‘c’ word – catheter – makes me feel a bit queasy. The vet offered to take him out the back to do the dreaded deed. After a millisecond of wondering if I should go with him, I decided that I would probably just get in the way. So I sat and waited, legs crossed in sympathy.<br />Thankfully, there were no howls or yelps, and he returned to the consulting room full of vigour and not so full of urine. The irony, which I think may be lost on Foley, is that there is a type of catheter called a Foley catheter. I hope for his sake this is not an omen.<br /><br />Having established that there was no sign of infection in the urine, the only thing that the vet was concerned about was that it was rather dilute – I suppose it must have tasted a bit watery to her – so I needed to get a nice fresh sample in the morning. ‘Oh joy’ I thought, ‘here wee go again.’<br /><br />This time, I called in the experts. The vetinary nurse had suggested trying a pot tied onto the end of a broom shank, so it could be slid into position surreptitiously. This was a project for my 11-year old son. It sounded right up his street – you can probably get a scouts badge for this sort of thing. As I thought, he relished the challenge, and by bedtime the piss-pot positioning prototype was ready for action. The next morning we pretended everything was normal, which it was, until it was time for Foley’s morning piddle, at which point he seemed somewhat distracted by the sight of Dominic approaching with his Blue Peter style wee-catcher. Now we really had him spooked, and he wasn’t about to ‘get busy’ until we were well out of the way.<br /><br />Child number one having failed so miserably, it was time for number two to have a go. She accepted the challenge in that gracious way that teenagers do when you ask them for help. “What? You want me to do that! OMG!” She was even more delighted when I told her that Foley was too spooked to go in the back yard, so we’d have to try and catch him unawares in the street. The street where her friends would now be walking to school. Incredulous with the potential for utter shame, she reluctantly agreed. Thankfully, we didn’t have to go far before Foley needed to go, and she expertly managed to sneak up and capture a good splash of fresh pee. Of course, this almost frightened the crap out of Foley, which is something we should remember for when we need a fresh stool sample.<br /><br />Anyway, the vet confirmed that this time, it was of the right concentration. Which reminds me, I wonder if my home brew cider has cleared yet.Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-10766683639882709172012-02-20T02:14:00.001-08:002012-02-20T02:18:01.800-08:00A Stall StormyI woke suddenly and grabbed my trifle. I knew there were beards around there, and I couldn’t afford to diet. Snot snow. It wouldn’t be fairy on Skate and the skids. In many case, I didn’t want it to bend this way.<br /><br />I don’t know if it was the freezing cold hair or the thought of that beard that made my chair stand on mend. A beer buzzed at my gear, and pants crawled wall cover men. I felt will inside. I was in spain. A lot of spain.<br /><br />I needed to get gout, butt howl? I goat to my fleet and rank towards my cart. But then I stripped, almost knocking myself doubt. Was this bit? Was it tall mover?<br />I reached out and grabbed a frock, just tin case. A warm windy blew lover my cheeks and I felt brain falling. There was a sudden snip in the pair. My heart traced. My fears heard the beard and in nod timer fat tall I pickled pup the fart frock and hurtled tit at the beard.<br /><br />And sod I liver to telly the stale.Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2048559155569485339.post-90020640250719885652012-01-27T06:28:00.000-08:002012-01-27T06:38:30.974-08:00Charity Appeal<strong>Your Help Needed</strong><br />It is a little known fact that literally tens of out of work actors suffer from a debilitating condition called Severe Overdramatic Death Syndrome, or SODS. Sufferers of this cruel affliction are compelled to enact outrageous scenes of their own demise in the most unfortunate of circumstances.<br /><br />And it’s the families of sufferers who need our support. Like Julie, whose husband Tony has not worked since he was wiped out by a plane crash in Emmerdale. Julie weeps as she remembers their daughter’s wedding last year. “It was all going so well. Then the vicar asked if anyone had any good reason why they should not be married....Tony jumped up, screaming and clutching his chest, staggered to the front and collapsed over the altar. Then he just got up, took a bow, and with a big grin went back to his seat. “ Sufferers like Tony have a certain amount of control, and can lead a reasonably normal life, able to resist the urge to keel over in all but the most inappropriate environments – weddings, funerals, job interviews and the like. Tony is one of the lucky SODS.<br /><br />Others, like Amanda, are known as useless SODS. They have little or no control over their desire to expire at almost every opportunity. Amanda died four gruesome deaths yesterday. The most embarrassing involved rolling around her local Morrisons fish counter, being attacked by a killer mackerel. Then at lunch, she couldn’t help but choke violently on her egg Mcmuffin, spewing it over horrified onlookers before staggering to the front of the restaurant for a grand finale, sliding down the window into a crumpled heap on the floor.<br /><br />Your donation can make a big difference, and help these poor SODS.<br />Call now to donate, before it’s too late. 0800 777 111.Bogseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17340467890193362469noreply@blogger.com0