It's two years since I posted about this and it was time to go again to have my eyes tested to within an inch of their lives. Same lovely young optometrist, always encouraging as I stumbled along the lines of rapidly-diminishing letters: A, Something, Something, O or Q, Z, Something. "Not too bad!" he replied every time. I had the bright lights and thick yellow eye drops, a fascinated look at my retinas on screen, and noticed that rather more time was spent looking into my left eye than my right.
It turned out that I was wrong about needing stronger specs - my sight was fine. But I have a cortical cataract starting in one eye. And I'm only just 61! At least this wasn't something you could blame yourself for, I said, thinking about diet (excess of) and exercise (lack of). Life offers so many rich opportunities for self-recrimination, regret and guilt. Young optometrist was reassuring, but of course I googled it when I came home. Horrible pictures....
Then I went off to browse the John Lewis sale therapeutically, hoping that my eyes weren't still wolf-yellow from the drops, bought a bed sheet, resisted a new HD-ready flat screen television, another DAB radio or a cupboard-load of gorgeous china, and came home on the bus. Cataract, bus pass, sensible approach to the sales; I'm getting old.
The girl next to me on the bus made several calls from her mobile phone. Clearly she did not like her job. Snippet:
"Boring.... I hate the weekday staff.... they all smell bad.... what?....no they don't really smell. You know what I mean...."
And when I got home, I found that the boys had been paddling in their clean water, now filled with debris. Actually, it appears to be cat litter. Maybe they aren't playing at all, but exercising their fastidious standards of paw hygiene. I wonder if they would appreciate a foot spa next to the cat trays?