Not Quite British

Last night Mr Grumpy regaled me with tales of his adventures whilst he was in Skegness yesterday. We got to the last bit and he told me about RUNNING - he's nearly 76 - to the bus stop and waving frantically to the bus driver.

Apparently this behaviour was because no one was waiting at the bus stop ... the driver did stop and he was clearly amused.

I was appalled, doesn't he realise how totally un-British this behaviour is? I mean, yes ... if there's only one bus a fortnight and you've got your snow shoes under one arm, an unamused cat under the other, a mosquito net shoved down your vest and a canoe strapped to your back ... plus enough supplies in a dozen shopping bags to get you through those next two weeks. Then by all means ... an apologetic little wave to the bus driver might, just might, be in order.

But we're talking about Skeggy here, with at least one bus every 5 minutes ... and he was carrying nothing more taxing than a pack of new biros for writing his bets.

Which makes me wonder ... 'What nationality is he? because it's definitely not British'.

Several times last year we tootled off to Mablethorpe, I know I've possibly mentioned it to friends what I'm up to ... but I'd hate anyone to miss out on how riveting my life is. But he mentions it THERE what we're doing ... like when we were in a charity shop, I'm browsing the book shelf - for him, I use a kindle - and I can hear him announcing that we're in Mablethorpe because the Skegness Lidl is 'but a pile of rubble' as they're about to rebuild it bigger. It's about this time that I can feel the tops of my ears going red.

Next stop, the pet shop for our badger and bird supplies and the conversation goes ... "We usually go to your shop in Skegness but they're rebuilding Lidl, is it your daughter who works in the pet shop there?" ... by now I'm several aisles away pretending I don't know him ... I do this a lot.

Lidl itself ... I'm shopping, he's chatting. Two aisles away I can hear him ... "Will you be going back to the Skeggy Lidl when it re-opens?". He's obviously cornered a member of staff he recognises as they were sent to different stores. I turn the corner and see him, he's found new victims to tell them 'What we're doing here'.

He sees me coming and announces ... "Here's my wife, I was just telling..." too late they've made their escape.

In the early days I used to think that everyone he was chatting to was someone he actually knew. I'd turn up from whatever shop I'd been in and they'd make a hasty retreat. I took this to mean they liked him and thought I was horrible, so I started to practice smiling ... this was not easy for me, I'm not a smily person ... remember, I am British.

It took me several months of wearing a rictus grin whenever I went out, to realise people just thought I was as big a barmpot as he his. Bless him...

Last Trip Home

I hate today. I've got to put everything away and wigwam the furniture - this includes the bed I'm still in, and not wanting to get out of.

All this has to be done around a frantically yowling cat - who is also still in bed yet - I'd put her outside in her carrier but it's too cold and damp for her old bones.

Then we've got to splodge through wet muddy grass to the car - which is parked miles away near the gas tank, with bags and bags and bags of important stuff that I can't live without.

Fingers crossed the car is ok this time. The last few years it's thrown a wobbly for our last trip home. First it wasn't firing on all cylinders and we were really struggling to get going after every junction ... 0-60 in 10 mins.

Then two years ago we'd packed the car, went for a last look at the sea and his window wouldn't go back up.

It was getting dark, pouring with rain, and the AA man - who couldn't fix it - drained the battery and we had to stay another day - I had to unload the car - again splodging through wet muddy grass while the window had a plastic bag taped over it.

Thankfully the on-site boys got us going next morning with jump leads from the tractor and the window was - temporarily - fixed at a local garage.

Mr Grumpy was NOT his usual happy self and I was in meltdown because we'd got a wedding to go to and my dress still didn't fit ...

Tweaking Maintenance

Waiting with my BIG camera for the Advanex Tour de Skeggy to finish

I'm still tweaking things slightly on a weekly basis. Saturday and Sunday I had one meal each day at 7.00pm, today I had one at 4.30 and will squeeze something in around 8.30pm. The rest of the week will be a 6 hour eating window every day.

My problem with one meal has never been hunger, but rather I'm too hyper until I eat. This was fine Saturday as I was out waiting a couple of hours to photograph family and their work colleagues - oh yes, and mine, I forget I work there - to finish their 70-100 mile - depending on where they started - bike ride for charity. This meant I could jig about. strut up and down and wiggle my bits without really drawing too much attention to myself.

Sunday was different, I was working all day to get ahead because my friend is coming to stay tomorrow and I was climbing the walls. I simply have too much energy. It's not coffee or tea causing it - I don't think - because I hardly drink any, but artificial sweeteners in my very cheap diet lemonade could be to blame.

Today I was fine because I've been very busy ... washing - the old fashioned way using a washer and spinner (I'm at the tin hut), baking a bread and butter pudding - yum - preparing the guest bedroom, and after all this I decided that outside the tin hut, veranda and steps needed scrubbing (I wasn't wrong), yawn. Only got the ironing and cleaning left to do ... which rather disproves the point made by some daft, ill informed bint that we'd be fainting every fart's end and be unable to function after missing one meal, never mind two ...
 

.....

1. Me and Alternate Day Fasting
2. Me and Alternate Day Fasting ... Three Weeks On
3. Five Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
4. Eight Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
5. Ten Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
6. Alternate Day Fasting Three Months On
7. Alternate Day Fasting in Winter
8. Alternate Day Fasting Over Christmas
9. Me and Zumba
10. Saying Goodbye To My Curves 
11. Eight Months Of Alternate Day Fasting And Me
12. Growing Up 
13. A Year Of Alternate Day Fasting 
14. 60 Pounds Of Blubber - Vanished
15. The Perils of Alternate Day Fasting 
16. Mr Grumpy Is Losing It
17. Mr Grumpy Has Lost It
18. Fasting For Maintenance
19. Tweaking Maintenance
20. Weight Gain 
21. Still Maintaining
22. Four Years Of Intermittent Fasting

  .....

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Skeggy And Back

We've been to sunny Skegness to open our 'tin hut' by the sea. Of course the first thing we all do - after the boring, de-wigwamming of the seating and mattresses, collecting swimming salt dishes, cleaning and finally hanging three miles of colour coded [so I know which of the nine windows it belongs to] nets - is to check that all our near neighbours are still not dead ... it's what caravan owners do after winter because most are of a certain age and winter is when we tend to drop off our perches.

As luck would have it, we had no losses this year [unlike last] so all's well with our little world.

Our badgers have been visiting again, it only took a few nights of peanuts left out before we saw one. Then a week went by and although the nuts were gone every morning we never had another badger sighting. The fox did pay us a visit but he's like lightening and won't pose for a photo.

A couple of nights before returning home we decided to wait up until a badger came but had to give in about 2.00am. The following night the cat woke me up at 12.30 [we were too tired to wait up again], I went to threaten her with violence see what she wanted and she ran into the living room to look through the window.

There he was - a badger munching loudly on his nuts. They are very noisy eaters who wouldn't be invited to eat at my dinner table [my grumpy old man only scrapes through by dint of it being his table]. I woke grumpy up so he could have a look and apologised to my clever cat who purred her way back to bed.

It took approximately two hours for most of the birds to return once the food was out, including twelve greenfinches, two thrushes, chaffinches, goldfinches, great tits, blue tits, robins, blackbirds, ducks ... and house sparrows - which strangely enough we don't see in our bit of Langley Mill.

We do have dunnocks at home - who stupidly nested in a bush next to our kitchen window, lining the nest with my neighbours cat's fur. You'd have thought the material used would have told them that it wasn't a good idea. Anyway it was sadly abandoned with one turquoise egg dropped in a flower pot below by the time we got home.

Hmm, home, well that's another story ...

A Game Of Bowls

Ahem, we went bowling yesterday ... and that's the very last time I refer to all those old dears in off white 'uniforms' as a 'bunch of decrepit geriatrics' - oh, I ache! I have muscles in my legs I wasn't aware of. There were old codgers beetling up and down after their balls - 'bowls', I was oft corrected, to which I was to reply 'but they're just deformed balls!'

My team won, totally without my help. We were being taught to play by our caravan neighbours who play most days throughout the season at Skegness. I was partnered by John and the grumpy old man by Betty, this meant that I could chat to her at one end and grumpy could bore him at the other.

I often got to place the mat as my partner was good and we kept winning, this also meant I got to chuck my ball first at the distant white speck aka 'the jack' - see I'm learning. I was also to learn things like 'bias' and 'jack high' [yeah, I thought that was cards too].

Like any poor loser/worker I blamed my tools, or in this case - bowls [woods, oh yes!]. They were too light being size 0's, I really wanted to try 2's but they were already out, grumpy had 3's, and bugger me - he was good at it, I mean really good - was I jealous? Not a bit, he's got to be better than me at something. So ... no, I'm not in the least bit bothered, not jealous at all, I don't know why I mentioned it really - it was just that I needed to fill up this paragraph that I'd already started [t**t!].

Of course [yes, I'm still in excuse mode], I would probably have played better with a screen around a good portion of me to blot out the view of my derrière when I played my bowls. Now why I should think anyone is interested in the size of my gluteus maximus is a mystery, because Skeggy is the big bum capital of the east coast in summer and mine seriously isn't that big [no it isn't].

It didn't help that the opposition standing next to me and giving me excellent advice - 'aim for the darker green patch' or ' the vibrant green bit' [depending on which end we were playing from] - is very slim and petite. She approached the mat with graceful, fluid movements and sent all her bowls in a perfect arc toward the jack. Whereas I lumbered up like a Russian shot putter, madly dusting my bowl as I went - giving me time to have a sneaky look around to make sure there were few, if any witnesses to the eclipse that was shortly to occur.

Unfortunately, being more aware of my bum instead of concentrating on the job in hand meant that instead of taking my time, I just lobbed the bowl to get rid of it as fast as I could, often sending it straight down toward the jack instead of curving it. This resulted in them frequently dribbling out of play and occasionally to nestle comfortably amongst the bowls of the neighbouring players - yeah, yeah, OK. I've done with the feeble excuses now.

I was to finish our game with a stagger and handshakes all round [and a hug from the grumpy old man]. Oh heck! It was m-i-l-e-s back to the car. When we'd finally got there [a few minutes later] and I'd draped myself somewhat melodramatically over the passenger seat, I realised my left leg was still hanging about outside [yes, it is attached before you ask]. I begged it to lift itself up and in - it completely ignored me so I gripped the hem of my shorts and dragged it in. The GOM - usually big on sympathy - said I'd be fine after I'd had a couple of paracetamols - PARACETAMOLS!!  - I wanted walking sticks or preferably a Zimmer frame.

Betty and John arrived back at their caravan shortly after us. They asked today if we'd gone straight out as they didn't see us again. Well, no they wouldn't, I'd rushed into the caravan - after having more severe words with my legs about how long they were taking to mount the steps - had a hot shower [no bath to soak in here] and then tottered down the caravan going 'oooooh, owwww' to plonk down in front of the telly to do a bit of crocheting - making the cat a bright orange and fluffy pink blanket as punishment for turning me into a zombie while she was missing.

And this pathetic wreck of womanhood was achieved with just over an hours play. What made it worse was the knowledge that our fit neighbours have regularly played for several hours, come back at teatime to immediately start a bit of intensive - on your knees - weeding and lawn edge trimming, whilst I was to be found watching them lazily over the top of my book from a sun lounger ... yawn.

'Will we be playing bowls again?' I hear you ask, you bet we will - just as soon as I've recovered - in about a month's time. Oh yes, and when I've got me a big portable screen to hide my a**e ...

Badger Watch At Skegness

Last time we were at 'the manor' the grumpy old man looked through the one of the lounge windows at 12.20am and was astonished to see a badger. I - being me - went out for a close up view of them, fortunately they didn't see me because of their poor eyesight and twinkle-toes that I am, they didn't hear me. But I have to ask myself why I did this barefoot considering how many slugs were in the vicinity - ugh, the thought of it now makes me shudder but at the time I just didn't notice.

Of course my camera which has always completely baffled me with it's various settings, ensured that I didn't manage to get any photos that night - unless you count the fuzzy grey and black blobs. I should really have been ready for this event after an owl posed nicely a couple of years ago for five whole minutes with not one recognisable photograph to show for it.

Anyway, I stayed up until 1.00am for the next two nights - yawn - armed with my now tweaked and beaten into submission Samsung L830 - and yes, I read a few instructions after downloading the manual [this has to be a first, I don't do instructions] - no badgers, but the fox made an appearance each time.

Oooer, I've just put the news on to see that they've stopped the badger cull in Wales [I'm waiting for the Asda traffic bit in Langley Mill]. I can hardly believe the coincidence, I've been going to write this for weeks and finally got around to it today - spooky, but I mean ... well bugger! that was to be one of my grumpy bits.

I'm a bit sort of deflated now albeit extremely happy for the badgers. Sorry farmers, there must be another way of controlling bovine TB rather than killing our indigenous wildlife. It's not like they're premeditatedly schmoozing up to cows and deliberately infecting them now is it?

I'd read about the proposed badger cull when I was searching on-line for what to feed them [apparently they like honey sandwiches and peanuts], and decided there and then that this was something I could and would be grumpy about in my badger post, I mean it's not even been proved that culling badgers significantly decreases the cases of bovine TB.

Even worse, I also read about badger baiting - against my own advice [because I know I won't sleep thinking about it] - where supposed human beings [trash] find bizarre entertainment in setting dogs onto badgers, not once but twice, first they drag them out in the day to thoroughly traumatize them with a good shaking, then again later to be ripped apart - all good fun isn't it? SICK BASTARDS! - and I make no apologies for swearing.

Right back to my badger watch - on the third night we were treated to not one but two badgers, who obligingly posed for my camera. Although their eyesight is poor, the same can't be said for their hearing, it's very sharp which is a bit of a bugger because the grumpy old man doesn't know how to whisper, sending them dashing off as soon as he opens his mouth.

I tapped on the window of the caravan next door every time the badgers had settled down to eat [they were still up, we don't do early to bed around here], but even that gentle tapping sent the badgers running so our neighbours didn't get to see them in the flesh until the fourth night.

The badgers came every night after that munching on a handful of peanuts that we'd spread out, it was probably dropped bird seed next to the fence that had attracted them in the first place. One night alas, I missed a potentially fantastic photo of a fox and badger face to face. But my nosy cat sitting on the windowsill, started an odd growling and the fox turned back the way it came, funnily enough she sits quietly for ages watching the badgers but has a hissy fit whenever the fox passes by.

We consider ourselves very privileged to have seen - and heard - the badgers and hope they come often to give us more late night viewing. We're lucky to have the many birds, ducks, rabbits and squirrels visiting during the days, and now the badgers at night. Our family and friends have suggested that we keep feeding them to make sure they get to see them when they stay at 'the manor' with us.

Hmm, In view of all this 'free' entertainment, I may have to start charging more board for our select lodgings [yeah, yeah, we've already done the tin shack in an old turnip field bit] in a wildlife reserve. So, may I suggest that as well as the customary charge of a box of teabags and bag of sugar - you bring your own nuts ...

Our Obsession With The Weather

I often eavesdrop telephone calls, not because I'm interested in what's being said, but more because I'm surrounded by fairly deaf [as well as crumbly] people, so they tend to shout into their mobile phones. Therefore it is in fact difficult if not impossible to avoid hearing scintillating and fascinating one-sided conversations.

This morning I was treated to [from 2 rooms away at about 80 decibels] -
'Is it sunny where you are?'
'Is it cloudy?'
'Is it raining?'
'I wonder if it'll come our way?'
This to a five year old who like me, couldn't care less about the weather.

I'm wondering how much money we Brits are wasting on our mobile phones making inane enquiries about the weather of the recipients of our phone calls.
My grumpy old man asks about the weather of everyone he phones, then he'll tell them what it's like where we are even if they're only 2 miles up the road!
Of course Asda Mobile is happy about this as it makes his phone calls 3 times longer than necessary. In fact because of our obsession with the weather I'm sure all the mobile phone companies must be rubbing their collective hands.

Now me, I hardly ever talk about the weather unless it's an obvious chance to show off -
'Oh dear, is it raining there? What a shame, I'm sat in the lovely sunshine getting brown and there's a nice sea breeze so I'm not too hot'
I suppose I'm lucky, I rarely, if ever worry about what the weather is going to do, this is:

1. Because I'm waterproof - as are most of us.
2. Because I'm idle so don't need to venture out.

Take last weekend for example, I was informed by several people on Friday that it was going to be sunny on Saturday, so I did the sensible thing and Saturday was spent topping up my tan. Whilst doing that in a snoozy half-reading my book kind of way, I overheard yet another mobile phone conversation from the caravan next door that informed all that it would be dull on Sunday, so I decided that Sunday would be a good day to top up my blog - there were some menial tasks that I was going to mention that I'd done but I like to give the impression that I've got a maid for the washing and ironing, so I won't bother.

I know for a fairly small island we can have an amazing variety of weather all on the same day, often all in the same place. But why do we keep talking about it? I suppose that with our British reticence it's a great way of breaking the ice and probably without the weather to talk about we'd be struck dumb.

We can walk to the sea front and speak to at least half a dozen people and there won't be one of the conversations that doesn't include the current weather, also what it'll be like later and often what it was like this time last week or even last year: -

'Ay up me duck'
'Int it luvly?'
'Yeh, burrit it rained in t'naight.'
'Did it? Ah dint hear it'.
'Oooh yeh, there wus six raindrops abaht 'afe past three and it blew a gale. It were dark so ah switched laight on ter ay a look at t'clock.'
'Well I dint know owt abaht it and I nivver shut me eyes cos ah wo too 'ot t'sleep, yo musta been dreaming.'
'It were 'otter than this last wick, wo yo here then? It melted yer icecream afore yer could pay ferrit.'
'It's gunna be cowd next wick, ah saw it ont'weather.'
[We're a mixture of Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire if you were at all worried about the dialects]

These aren't even conversations with holiday makers, who I can quite understand worrying about our great British weather when they've saved up for a week at the seaside - only to find they've missed the brief glimpse of sunshine because they inadvertently blinked at the wrong moment [been there, done that, got the t-shirt]. No, these are fellow caravan owners gathering on the sea front for a moan - I'm in such good company ...

Yay! Blimp Season Has Arrived.

We went for our constitutional this morning via the bookies, where I was entertained no end by the strange antics of a man using one of the gambling machines. He pressed the buttons of his choice [I think he was playing roulette], then he walked away ... turned round ... walked back ... bent his knees twice and swung his arms back and forth. I watched this whole process repeated a dozen or so times before my grumpy old gambler declared that he was ready to leave.

We carried on with our walk to the sea front where I couldn't help but notice that there was a certain chunkiness about the new influx of holiday-makers. Aha, 'Blimp Season'. This is a well known phenomenon [well it is by me], in high summer Skegness could be renamed 'Tubbyness'.

For the next eight weeks we'll be immersed in a sea of blubber where I'll blend in nicely. In fact I'll probably be mistaken for a slim person, which in normal circumstances would never happen [ok it'd be impossible]. But summer in Skegness is absolutely 'flabulous'!

Short shorts and strappy suntops it is then, with my chunky tree trunks dangling and bingo wings flapping ...

Got My New Glasses!

Been for my final [hopefully] visit to Specsavers for the next two years.

I was sorted out by a really nice lady as my new bezzie mate was dealing with another customer, although he wasn't too busy to pass comment about knowing they were going to have problems with me when I passed him with my cheesiest grin [I'd have been disappointed if he'd simply forgotten me].

It's taking me a while to adjust to varifocals again but at least I can see better rather than worse through them, I only nudged two shelves whilst at Morrisons this time rather than trying to take the entire toilet roll display with me.

I'm now peering at everything at varying distances, of course avoiding the mirrors as my wrinkles appear to have wrinkles [obviously an illusion caused by the way the lenses curve].

Now all I've got to do is find a way to get rid of the letters & numbers etched? on both lenses & I'm well away. Fine sandpaper should do the job don't you think? ...

Just One Evening In Skegness.

We went for a pleasant tootle along Skegness sea-front. I was forced to eat an ice cream dipped in hot chocolate against my will [yum].

As usual the local loonies were revving up and racing around the big car park near the boating lake. 'Wouldn't it be great if a police car came now? That'd make them behave.' was the general consensus. Right on cue a police car did a circuit of the car park completely ignoring the loonies who were by then miraculously sitting and behaving, then it carried on along the promenade.

We were a bit speechless, well I was, madam was busy talking to her hubby on the phone, covering all the obligatory subjects -
'What's the weather like?'
'What did you have for your dinner?'
'Did you go shopping?'
'Who did you see?'
'What did they say?'
'Did they wonder where I was?'
'What time did you go to the toilet?'
[I may have imagined the last one ... but only just.]
'Ooh, it's lovely here, we've got a sea breeze, we've been out in the sunshine all day without getting hot, aren't you jealous?'
'Remember me to everyone.' blah, blah blah ...

We carried on our merry way, admiring the flowers, we'd watched the gardeners planting some earlier in the day. You can say what you like about Skeggy but they always make a big effort with the gardens. We then sat and watched some firemen playing with their big ladder on the other side of what's left of the pier. When that entertainment proved to be less than thrilling we tootled off only to be met by a gardening massacre. There are new huge tubs with a Silver Birch in each with flowers planted around them. They were fine when we passed them earlier, but in the space of an hour someone had uprooted some of the plants and thrown them on the floor to die.

Just after this between the pier and the Suncastle is a new play area, it used to be a paddling pool. It was full of adolescents, lots of them were drinking [it wasn't pop] and there were empty cans strewn around. Why don't their parents know where they are or what they're doing? If they do know, do they really care? and who is selling alcohol to children so young? [or fetching it on their behalf]. No-one dare say anything to these [very young] teenagers, there's far too many of them together. You daren't even look in their direction for fear of causing unnecessary trouble for yourself.

A few minutes later we passed the Suncastle where we stopped to watch some crumblies playing bowls, then we noticed three boys crashing through the bushes, deliberately breaking them down, they were about 10 or 11 years old. We continued on our way back muttering and moaning. We managed to get madam past her favourite chippy without resorting to too much violence.

Now I'm not suggesting that as children we were in any way perfect. We weren't [I came pretty damned close though]. It's fairly normal for a child to rebel and to see how far they can push authority. The big difference is, we as children DID recognise authority and once an adult told us off [any adult], we accepted it and went on our way suitably chastened, obviously muttering under our collective breath. What we didn't do was answer back or intimidate by our sheer numbers. We were instilled from an early age with respect for all adults. This respect for others and their property has all but vanished.

For some reason a lot of today's children believe that adults are simply a minor aggravation somewhere convenient in the background as a source of funds and an endless supply of the latest gadgets and designer gear. I blame children's television for a lot of this attitude. they nearly always portray adults as moronic, interfering, stick-in-the-mud dinosaurs and children are always, ALWAYS right and proved to be so on a daily basis.

I know these are only minor, trivial misdemeanours that I'm moaning about but where will it end, if these little vandals carry on getting away with doing what they like and not recognising right from wrong then in a few years time they'll be the one's revving up in the car parks [or worse] and racing around and nothing will be done about that until someone is tragically killed.

It's a shame that Skegness is abused by losers who think it's an achievement to get an ASBO. Skegness is just one town and I can only write about my own experiences but it's a safe bet that this abuse of communal [and private] property is occurring in every town in our country by the mindless minority who give a bad name to the rest of the youth of today ...

Been for my Retest at Specsavers

Had the retest, as I half expected, there was no significant difference in the result between this one & my last.

I was taken back downstairs & handed back over to my new bezzie mate, where he again sat mentally scratching his head. He said they were the correct prescription even though I maintained everything was still a blur through my left eye, he tested the glasses twice. Now I was genuinely surprised as I'd thought the axis problem would have been picked up at this point, but I was wrong.

Ok then -
'Ahem, when I tilt my glasses in this direction, I can see clearly.' You could see the lightbulb starting to flicker above his head. He looked at his notes that he'd made when ordering my glasses & compared it to the computer print out that he took the prescription from.

'Aha, I've found it, it's my fault' he said, 'read that line for me', I wasn't in all honesty expecting this as I'd thought it had been an error when the lenses were made.
But there it was - cyl 00 sph +0.25 axis 53. Only it wasn't, the axis was 153 as I knew from my copy but the 1 had printed on the line of the little box it was meant to be in so was all but invisible.

So it was 100 degrees out, not a bad guess on my 90 degrees. But to be completely fair, I'd have made the same mistake reading my prescription from that piece of paper.

'Couldn't you just sit with your head tilted to one side?'
'I think not'
'It'd save us some money'
'I'm not bovvered'
'BROWN', I said
BROWN he wrote
'how long?'
"2 weeks"

MORAL OF THIS SAGA

Don't knock Specsavers if you never go back with any problems. I found the staff to be professional [where necessary], efficient, polite & friendly. They were only too happy [or they did a damned good impression] to try & sort out my foibles. I couldn't do their job, not being of a natural pleasant disposition, I may be lovely [& modest], but not that lovely ...

My Experiences with Opticians

I sometimes wear glasses, have done since I was 19. My first pair were brilliant & I could actually see through them, They were also photochromic, quite heavy as they were glass & cost £39 + £5 for the test, a weeks wage.

The optician visited Edwinstowe where I then lived, on a friday afternoon every 3 weeks, he'd test your eyes one week & bring your glasses the next time he came.

I wore those glasses when I needed to, which was outdoors for the sun but mostly at work, I was in quality control at Mansfield Hosiery Mills [they made jumpers for Marks & Spencers by the time I worked there] which meant I was looking at jumpers for missed holes with bright lights behind them, nearly everyone in the same job ended up wearing tinted or photochromic lenses as our eyes had become sensitive to light.

A few years went by, I changed addresses & jobs but still wore my glasses whenever I went out to help with the light sensitivity, I could also still see perfectly well with them so don't think my prescription had altered much.

Eventually after about 12 years wear they ended up getting damaged beyond repair [yes I sat on them once too often], but then I could hardly afford the eye test, let alone new glasses so bought photochromic sunglasses from Boots as my prescription hadn't been very strong anyway.

By the time I reached 35 I decided it was high time I had an eye test, I went to Anthony C Stephens in Heanor. By then I was well able to afford decent glasses, the test was done & went to pick my frames. I wanted frameless glasses but the man said my glasses were for reading & frameless wouldn't cope with being constantly on & off so picked out some 'Joan Collins' frames, they were [and still are] lovely. As I'd been told by this man that I needed them for reading I didn't bother with any sort of tint.

I collected my glasses, looked through them, everything was huge & out of focus.
I tried them for a week, but couldn't read with them & was now suffering with headaches so went back. I asked the receptionist to check what my glasses were for because I could read perfectly well without them & with my book virtually at the end of my nose, I demonstrated it with a magazine for her, she wasn't really impressed.

The optician came out. 'They're not reading glasses, they're for distance'. She said that they are my prescription & was told to 'let your eyes relax into them'. The stupid man managed to look sheepish while the optician glared at him as she'd guessed what he'd said about them being for reading, obviously he was a complete t***er & I vowed never to return [very quietly, under my breath of course - I am English]. They cost £139, I can't remember how much the test was then.

I wore the glasses, they looked fab [I was told as I couldn't see myself properly in the mirror]. They made me physically sick, they seemed so strong, everything was swimming & I was dizzy. I persevered for 2 weeks until I could cope no longer with them & put them in the draw where they still live. I got them out the other day & was amazed at how strong they are.

For my next test I went to Specsavers at Sutton in Ashfield, I took my 'Joan Collins' with me as requested when I made the appointment so they'd know my last prescription.

Had my eye test, was told that my sight had improved since my last test, chose my frames, got 2 pair of glasses, 1 tinted brown, the other clear. Collected them 2 weeks later, hmm, 'everything is blurred' I said. 'Give them time', I was told.

I gave them 2 years, where I lived in a blur with them on so only wore them at work where there were no great distances to make me feel sick [they weren't too bad mid-distance] & went back to photochromic sunglasses for outdoors.

I went to Specsavers [when reminded] at Sutton again.'why?' you may ask, 'still trying to fathom that one out myself' is the answer. Had the test, 'Oh your eyes have improved again'. I chose 1 pair of reactions [photochromic] as they were on offer.
At last I can nearly see, the reactions were great but things still weren't what I regard as clear.

3 years later, Sutton Specsavers again, had the test, yep same story 'your eyes have improved'.
New glasses, 2 pair, 1 of them reactions [wrong time of year for the reactions offer, so paid extra].

Another 3 years went by. After constantly being reminded that my sight test was long overdue I made us appointments at Skegness Specsavers as we spend more time at Skegness than at home.
They checked the strength of my glasses, had the test, 'there's no significant prescription difference from the glasses your wearing now but you need reading glasses', I had suspected this as I'd taken to wearing my distance glasses for reading. I was asked if I'd considered varifocals. I hadn't so decided that I'd just pay for the eye-test & buy some cheapo reading glasses from the £1 shop [I've got a pair in every room].

Two weeks ago, I again had my eyes tested at Skegness Specsavers which was a bit of a farce to start with, as the day before we were due to go, they confirmed our morning appointments by text then an hour later phoned to change them.

Of course this was whilst I was in Bon Marche changing rooms balancing on one leg, half way through trying on a pair of shorts. My grumpy old man usually phones me whilst I'm in roughly the same position to tell me that he's finished doing whatever he does at the bookies [he has explained how it works, many, many times, I so wish he wouldn't] & is waiting outside. Unfortunately [at times] my ring tone for him is a recording of him singing 'Chantilly Lace' starting off with 'Hello you good looking thing, this is the killer speaking, do I like what? I sure do like it baby' & finishes with me laughing when he's forgotten the words. This has caused many titters in adjoining changing rooms as it takes quite a while to find the phone in my small bag of many zipped compartments.

Anyway, to cut the phone conversation short as I'd got one leg & my bum stuck up in the air & was holding myself steady by leaning against the wall with my forehead, I told the lady that I'd call in to Specsavers to rearrange my appointment as I was already in town. They managed to get me in that afternoon & the grumpy old 'Jerry Lee Lewis' fan the following afternoon.

Had the test, you know how it goes, flash! flash! photo's of your eyeballs, look at the balloon, then sit to wait your turn with the optician.
I went in. The optician had a good look at my eyeballs which were healthy as usual. Aha, crunch time. I'd now decided that I wanted glasses I could see through so told the optician [optometrist, whatever] that I couldn't see though my glasses & wore them outdoors out of habit because they were reactions but found I was mostly looking over the top of them. He said "no, you won't be able to, [you've guessed it] your eyesight has improved". He told me to read the letters with my glasses on, I got to the 3rd line & got no further, "ok, try without your glasses" I read that line & the next, he tried 1 lens, "better or worse?" "about the same" I told him. That was the extent of my test apart from the peripheral test I had afterwards.

Decided to give varifocals a go this time as my most crumbly friends are always extolling their virtue.
Picked nice 'elegant' frames with the aid of one of the friends. Was sorted out by a lovely man, the offer was either 2 pair of glasses, £49 off the total or free reactions. My choice was obviously the reactions.

Went to pick them up last Friday, S**T, 'um, my distance is blurred'. 'varifocals take some getting used to, try them & any problems just come back'. My other half also collected his glasses at the same time, he'd had the same, varifocals & reactions. Just before we came away the nice man looked at our paperwork & said to my grumpy old man 'yours will change to brown' then to me 'yours will go grey'.

I was rendered speechless by this statement, I'd once tried grey photochromic sunglasses, I had them a week, I threw them away as they were so depressing. Everything, even though it was summer looked wintery & dull.

I hadn't been offered a choice of reaction colour & automatically assumed they'd be brown as it had never entered my head that they offered grey. My frames are gold so the grey lenses look naff as well as being depressing, I made my other half look through them to prove my point about how depressing they are, he agreed, they're awful. Apart from that, I have got used to the varifocal bit but I still can't see through them clearly through my left eye, not without turning my head to the left & looking through them at the inner most point.

Guess where I'm going tomorrow? Put it this way, I ain't paying £234 for 'reading' glasses I can only wear in the dark! ...