A-wake on the bus?

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.

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.  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  - I couldn’t imagine this scenario happening in New York, Delhi or Paris.

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,  the weather, the state of the roads, or whatever.

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  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.

 

Green Man - Blue Air

Fortunately, I had heard the car approaching

Unusually fast, I remember thinking,

Considering I’m half way across the crossing, I

Keep on walking, slower now and then

I stop

Not going any further.

Glad I did, as the car skids past me

 

I wonder what the driver thinks

Did he/she not see me?

I’m the blind one after all.

Only fair to scream my considered opinion of

The driver who nearly killed me today.

over the limit

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…

 

Dear Sir/Madam

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.

Before you decide on the appropriate sanctions relating to this offence, I would just like to offer up some mitigation in my defence.

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.

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?

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.

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.

I trust you will take these circumstances into account when dealing with my offence.

 

Yours sincerely

 

Bogsey.

Blind Drunk

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.

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.

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.

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.

Of course, the danger in singing your way down the street is that passers-by conclude that you have been on the drink again.  Mind you, if you are singing into the end of your cane, or dancing seductively around it, they may well have a point.

 

Alive in the Sahara

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.

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.

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!!!

Eventually, a tired, somewhat dishevelled group of trekkers were dumped somewhere in the Moroccan Sahara and we were off!

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.

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.

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.

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…

Making the most of it

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”

Dear boss

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.

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.

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:

1.       I do not actually have a garden, merely a small rear yard, with quite insufficient lounging room.

2.       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.

3.       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.

 

I trust this explanation meets your approval and will see you tomorrow, weather permitting.

 

Yours faithfully

 

Bogsey

Stepping Out

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.

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.

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.

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.

It's no wonder some blind people don't go out much!