Last day of April showers?

Today, is the last day of April. This is good as it's pay day...

*phew

But while I was hopeful this morning as I saw glimmers of sun through the cloud from the view outside my kitchen window, it would appear that hope was to be short lived.

April is having the last laugh, and dumped quite a shower on me this morning.

Pah!

Now, as a result, I have a crown of irregular curls around my face that don't really go with the rest of my hair.

Vain? Moi?

So, swine flu fever fear is gripping the world it seems. While my thoughts are with those affected, the paranoia of people who will probably never be affected never ceases to amaze me.

This morning, I sneezed. Hand up, tissue at the ready, and the person next to me got up and moved.

Now, had I been coughing, sniffing and generally looking like I might cark it, I'd have understood, but frankly this was downright insulting.

Then, the person she sat next to began to cough, and so the game of bus musical chairs began.

I swear that by her third move, it was other people that were trying to get away from her as they all clearly thought she was unhinged.

So anyway, today is Thursday, it's nearly the weekend and I'm very excited because tonight, I have a wedding bake trial with NikNak and Country Boy 1. I'm baking their wedding cake don't you know, and we need to check that asking me wasn't an act of insanity on NikNak's part.

I love baking. It's very therapeutic seeing a cake rise from a big blob of goo, then transforming it with icing, sprinkles and a whole host of other bits and bobs.

When I first began baking, I was rubbish. I used to put the timer on and forget that I wouldn't hear it go off. Once, I baked flapjack and forgot about it for so long that the kitchen smelt for weeks and the ingredients were so fused to the pan that I had to throw it away.

When I get my dream kitchen, I will make sure this never happens... somehow.

Does anyone know if you can get vibrating oven timers?

Deaf sounds of summer

Today I am writing this from my Pinkberry, in the middle of a massive traffic jam.

It’s most annoying as I think it’s going to make me late for work.

Anyway, the gorgeous amazing sunshine that is streaming through the bus window has got me thinking...

Is summer nearly here?

I really hope so.

I love summer. I love all the sounds of summer.

For me, these are the drones of lawnmowers, the hum of the acrobatic planes near The Rents’ house, the whirr of aircon and the bass line from music drifting out of open windows.

Before I went as deaf as I am now, in fact when I was about 5 years old, I had very different sounds of summer. On holiday in Menorca one year, I remember drifting off to sleep to the sounds of crickets chirping, the low murmur of The Rents talking on the terrace, and the sound of David Fishel, the resident singer at the local bar singing about the worlds most dangerous man.

I didn’t know I was deaf then, no one did. Not even when my mum said ‘no’ and I thought she said ‘go’, and I ran out in front of a truck.

I wouldn’t really recommend doing this. There was blood. But on a plus side, everyone kept giving me presents!

But it never occurred to me that I might be deaf, nor to anyone else. They just thought I was being me, which at 5 was a big whirlwind of enthusiasm for doing everything at a 100mph.

So really, I guess I was just being me!

The hiccup cure

After the success of the Russian hiccup rhyme, Deafinitely Girly was inundated with requests for this amazing little cure. So she dropped her personal Russian expert Tsarina a line, and she has very kindly not only provided the phonetic Russian version but also the English translation, too.

So what I would suggest is eating a piece of bread really quickly to give yourself hiccups and then giving they rhyme a go, but read it carefully as I vill write this only once:

Ikota Ikota peredi na Fedota
Se Fedota na Yakova
Se Yakova na vsyakova

And here’s what you just said:

Hiccups Hiccups move onto Fedot
From Fedot to Yakov
From Yakov onto any other

Did it work? Write to me and let me know please!

My ears are dead

Holaaaaaaaaaa!

Well, Deafinitely Girly had a most fabulous weekend in Barcelona – in spite of the torrential rain and thunderstorm that blighted her breakfast yesterday.

It would be fair to say that Miss K and I hit Barcelona in style and deafinitely absorbed all the city had to offer: Cava, absinthe, tapas, Absinthe bars…

*ahem

I mean, Gaudi, Picasso, incredible architecture, culture and sea views.

Actually, I think we managed to effortlessly combine both and it’s still a magical mystery to me just how we managed to fit so much in.

It was my first time in the city and I found it’s hard not to walk around always looking upwards, spotting the beautiful Gaudi buildings that slot seamlessly into the modern streets. I love the idea of passing one of these on a daily basis.

Saturday night, Miss K and I ventured out to a club called La Fira, which was amazing. It was decorated with old fairground paraphernalia including dodgems – one of which I didn’t see on my way to ladies and fell headlong into!

Anyway, it was all good. Miss K got chatting to a rather dishy Frenchman and I danced the night way, quite happily not talking to people – the accents and the extremely bad and loud Spanish pop made it an almost impossible task.

Also, I once again found the language barrier meant it hard to explain to people that I couldn’t hear them. They saw me talking and laughing with Miss K and wondered how I can do that with her but not with them.

When I used to go to France a lot, I told people in French that my ears were dead – that usually did the trick, although I got a few shocked looks, too. And when I visited Big Bro in Clogland, he taught me to say that I was blonde as he felt it was a better explanation for my inability to follow conversation. And he may well be right…

*Teehee

Anyway, I have vowed start preparing now in my quest to make it easier to socialise in foreign countries for the next time I go away. So, I’m off to learn: ‘I’m hard of hearing and need to lipread you’ in every European language.

greetings from Barcelona

that is where I am...

the keyboard is terrible, the sun is shining so I am off.

hurrah hurrah
x

Happy Birthday to Deafinitely Girly

Hurrah, hurrah!

Today, Deafinitely Girly is 1 year old! This time one year ago, I finally plucked up the courage to get writing – to put fingers to keyboard and type about what I really feel about, um… well everything really.

Sometimes this has been seriously written and studious prose (ha!) while other times it’s been quick posts when I’ve been a little bit busy. But, nearly every week day, without fail, I have written.

So here I am, one year later…

…and what a year it’s been.

There have been births – Big Bro’s latest son, Micro Clog; weddings – Friend Who Knows Big Words and French Boy’s; and one death – Adrian Sudbury, a fellow journalist who I didn’t know but who’s courageous blog I followed daily until the dreaded day that the post didn’t come from him.

There have been tears, laughs and a good few tantrums, too – namely about the BBC, who have since redeemed themselves magnificently with the help of RedBee Media and the now wonderfully-subtitled iPlayer.

Anyway, no birthday should be without celebrations and so after weeks of beavering away, I am proud to announce the launch of Deafinitely Girly’s shop!

Ta da!!!!!!!!

Eh!?

Um, yes – well it started out by accident you see – I decided to make myself a hoody with Deafinitely Girly on it and the company I bought it through encouraged me to set up a shop…

So I did!

There’s something for everyone – and a rather fetching pink sun visor that’s probably for no one. Although Gingerbread Man does play golf – perhaps he’d model it on the course for me?

Anyway, I think it’s utterly brilliant, and so does Friend Who Knows Big Words – she’s already ordered her chav-tastic tracksuit bottoms you know…

Now, now, don’t all go crazy buying stuff – we are in a credit crunch you know – but have a look, and a laugh, and wonder where I’ll be this time next year.

Perhaps by then, I will have my own range of Deafinitely Girly pink deaf-friendly gadgets…

Move over Aston Villa hearing aids, Deafinitely Girly’s on her way to Global domination! Now if you haven’t already, take a peek, HERE or visit www.deafinitelygirly.spreadshirt.net!

A million words!?

Did you know that according to the Global Language Monitor there are nearing a million words in the English language?
When I first read this on BBC breakfast news subtitles this morning, my first reaction was, ‘Is that all?’ But it’s true – I went online and checked it and the word count stands at 999,205.

But still, a million seems like quite a small number to me. After all, a million pounds is totally imaginable. Look through the papers and a million is an everyday London currency.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, words. Well, as you know at the Beeb, viewers are encouraged to email in on the news stories of the morning and when Bill and Kate started reading out favourite words emailed in, the subtitles has a total meltdown. I still have absolutely no idea what the jumble of letters on the screen was meant to read! Although I was given an ‘ono’ a ‘mat’ and ‘oei’ so I would hazard a guess that some bright spark viewer’s favourite word is onomatopoeia.

Does everyone have favourite words? I do. Mine are envelope, said like the hug not the mail out, and regurgitate. I’m sure I’ve said it before, but both those words are quite simply the nicest words to say. They roll around in your mouth like a giant gobstopper and verbally taste quite delicious.

I am also confident that I can pronounce them, which is partly why Versailles and Cadogan will never be on my favourite words list... as apparently I don’t say them right!

Having had a think this morning about all the words I already know, that’s when a million seems like a lot. For an English graduate, I first discovered my vocabulary was shockingly small when I compared my A-level essays to those of my peers. This did not please me. I think at the time my crazy hearing therapist told me this was because I didn’t hear as many words as them. Whether she was just trying to make me feel better or if this is true I don’t know, but from that day on, I began to really read words. Not just paying attention to the sentence or point they made as a group, but what they meant individually. And gradually my vocab grew.

*Phew

OK, I still get it wrong sometimes, I use peruse when there is nothing to read and profuse when it isn’t, but I’m confident that I’m a lot better than I used to be.

Do I know a million words? Um don’t thing so. But I’ll tell you a girl who does...

Friend Who Knows Big Words of course!

It's really, nearlly almost my birthday! :-D

Today, I am excitedly awaiting a parcel.

I love getting post – it reminds me of being a kid and waiting for your birthday to arrive and seeing cards turn up on the doormat in the days before.

Anyway, this parcel is a long-awaited birthday present for Deafinitely Girly – this blog turns 1 on Thursday you know – so I thought I’d do something to celebrate.

Sometimes I can hardly believe I’ve been nattering on for one whole year – finding things to talk about, rant about, cry about and laugh about. Looking back, the first post seems like yesterday, the events that have followed are still clear in my mind’s eye…

And, when I get old and grey and forget them all, I can become my biggest fan and read them all over again.

By then I might have pink bionic ears, have fulfilled my ambition to be a concert violinist and played a game of Chinese whispers without totally mucking it up…

What an exciting thought, eh!?

The Russian hiccup

How can it be Monday again already? Eh?

*sniff

However, this terrible fact is made better by the gorgeous weather and the fabulous weekend I had!

In the midst of sunny walks, BBQs and Monopoly, I also discovered something most interesting – if I speak Russian, it stops me hiccupping!

I know!!!!!

I discovered this at BBQ at Friend Who Knows Big Words' house. She's the one who married French Boy recently don’t you know.

Anyway, after nearly setting light to the fence and smoking out the entire neighbourhood, we finally sat down to a delicious supper of sausages, ribs and jerk chicken. My contribution to the event was a large couscous salad and this gave me hiccups.

Hic

Hic

Hic

Actually, it gave me hics...

After a while people started to notice, and there were numerous suggestions to drink water backwards, and various attempts to shock me – but with Friend Who Knows Big Words, very little could. Then, Tsarina, who was also at the BBQ decided to teach me the Russian cure.

Hmmm, I thought sceptically. I can't even lipread my own language well enough to get the pronunciation right sometimes, how am I gonna cope with something like Russian?

And it's fair to say that we had a few hiccups, both literally and pronunciation wise. But then, I got into the swing of it and performed this rhyme, which is about sending your hiccups away to various different places in Russia. And at the end?

Nothing!

Not a hiccup in sight!

But that's not the best thing. Nope, that was when Tsarina said my Russian pronunciation was excellent.

*blush

How extraordinary!

After discovering I speak Turkish sounding like their equivalent of an Essex wide boy, this left me beaming with pride.

Just don't ask me to remember how to do it again, please!

French Cousin 3

Today is Thankful Friday – and for that I am thankful.

Last night, while pondering on some rather dark news I received, I got an email from French Cousin 3 – it was lovely. In it, he raved that I looked like a young Meryl Streep – he’d recently watched a movie with her in from the 80s and thought it was me – and that everything in his life was perfect.

His enthusiasm was infectious – it made me smile.

So today, I am thankful for French Cousin 3

Can I fix it?

It is with achy fingers that Deafinitely Girly brings you today’s blog.

The reason for this is that I finally decided to get back into climbing and hit the wall with Fab Friend and Flo. It was great fun – although Fab Friend is still technically recovering from a recent foot operation. Flo has not been slacking like me, or having foot surgery like Fab Friend, and still climbs regularly, so she shinned up all manner of things very efficiently with me following, arms pumped, fingers burning and head asking me what the hell I was doing!

When we were about three climbs in and I was about to embark on my next route, the manager of the wall came up to us and said something. Fab Friend as you know is also deaf like me, and the two of us looked completely baffled as to exactly what it may have been.

Actually, even Flo looked a bit confused!

Two tries later and we finally established he wanted me to fix a loose climbing hold on the way up the wall and that he was Northern Irish. I asked him for the ratchet tool and he expressed surprise that I knew what it was called…

Um… doesn’t everyone?

And so, off I went, with the funny-looking tool thing (a ratchet!) attached to my harness ready to fix the wall.

It was great fun actually, I got to hang on the rope, bash the hold into place and fix it so it didn’t spin round anymore – it was a nice change from just going from A to B, which is what I normally do at the wall.

I like fixing stuff – not in a dungaree-wearing Wendy-from-Bob-the-Builder kind of way – but it’s quite satisfying to take something apart and put it back together again, working. Although it’s always worth remembering how to put it together again – as I discovered with my washing machine, two floods later…

As well as liking mending stuff though, I am also good at breaking stuff. This is my fifth computer keyboard you know – they don’t like it if you throw tea over them as I have discovered four times already.

Actually

*blush

Make that five…

Yesterday, in a fit of clumsiness, I catapulted my mug across my desk sending the contents spewing over my shiny white keyboard and Pinkberry.

*sniff

Alas, I don’t know how to fix either and somehow I don’t think knowing what a ratchet is, is going to help me on this one!

The lady on the bus says what!?

Deafinitely Girly's country mouse alter ego burst forth with gusto yesterday, and for the first time in a long time, London made me a tad bit claustrophobic.

It was the weirdest feeling, like I couldn't catch my breath. I didn't want to be on the bus, indoors, I just wanted to be on a big green hill, at the top, gulping in lungs full of air.

I think I've been feeling this way since my dream about the Wild West um... Country – since I saw the amazing view from the hill again, the one I used to see every day growing up. I miss that view right now.

I told this to Snowboarding Boy, and he was happy to walk with me as I gulped in the air, focussing on the green things and ignoring buildings taller than three storeys, and do you know what? It's worked.

I woke up this morning soothed by the bustling city around me, fascinated by the cross section of society right there walking along the pavement as my bus pottered past.

Speaking of which, I had the oddest bus ride to work this morning. There were the usual subtitles telling me which stops were coming up, but in addition to this, there was another quieter announcement in a lady's voice that was not subtitled.

It kept being said and I was most intrigued as to what it was. By the tenth or so time it occurred, the first word was clearer and I was pretty confident that it was WARNING.

‘Eh,’ I thought, no one seems very bothered by this.

In the end my inquisitiveness got the better of me and I asked the paper-reading, business-suited businessman next to me.

And do you know what the announcement was saying?

‘Warning, smoke detected!’

Ummmmmmm

Now, as a non-hearing person I am not sure how many warnings a day hearing people hear, and whether they just zone out from these announcements unless it's something they can honestly believe is going to happen.

But this was my first warning of this kind, aside from ‘Mind the gap’ on the tube.

Was I meant to sit there and ignore it too?

In the end I sniffed, and breathed in and out as deeply as possible to see if could detect any smoke. I couldn’t, so decided to join the hearing peeps on this one and sit tight.

But it did get me wondering why the bus company religiously subtitles every single stop that’s coming up, but doesn't warn deaf people that the bus could potentially be about to burst into flames...

Most odd I thought…

Easy listening

Ahhh, what a lovely Easter break I had.

French Cousin 2 came over from Paris and we visited The Rents, which involved lots of tea drinking, delicious food eating and movie watching – all with subtitles – HURRAH.

We had planned picnics and bike rides but the atrocious weather put a stop to those ideas...

*sniff

However, on our return to London yesterday we were greeted by some sunshine, so we walked our feet off in a vague attempt to repent our chocolate-eating sins and had a great rummage through fabulous charity shops in posh areas – some great bargains were found!

But spare a thought for French Cousin 2 today, because she had to leave my flat at 4.30am to get the Eurostar back this morning. It was with bleary eyes that I waved her off, her suitcase laden with crumpets, chocolate raisins and Golden Syrup, before I returned to bed.

I lay there, aware that it was stupid o’clock, but quite unable to get back to sleep. So I did something quite unlike me – I listened.

I didn’t assume I couldn’t hear things, instead I lay there and tried to hear things. Trouble is, because I don’t know what I can’t hear, I don’t know what I didn’t hear. But here’s what I did hear…

*phew!

Three motorbikes, one siren (this pleased me as I am not normally aware of these), a door slamming downstairs (blimmin’ neighbours), several cars zooming by, an engine running for a while nearby. It was rather soothing, this listening business, so soothing in fact that I was soon fast asleep again.

And when I woke, I discovered I had slept through my vibrating alarm, New Housemate clattering around the flat and leaving for work, the start of rush hour traffic chugging past my bedroom window, and several emails buzzing through on Pinkberry.

Disaster!

I was late

and tired

And as many hard of hearing people know, tiredness is not conducive to easy listening. So I’m preserving my energy and not doing any at all today.

Until later that is…

*blush

Good Friday

Today is Good Friday

The sun is shining, the birds are most probably singing - well the ones that haven't been eaten by The Rents' cats that is - and I am in the countryside for Easter.

French Cousin 2 and I completed our epic journey up here in the dead of night and she's currently still sleeping it off. But being a morning person, I was up bright and early, not wanting to waste a minute of the day...

Actually

*blush

that is a complete lie.

Here's how my morning really went:

There I was dreaming about being on a lush green hill overlooking the most amazing blue lake when all of a sudden everything started to shake...

I woke in that kind of panic mode you get, sitting bolt upright like a vampire rising from a coffin(thankfully I was sleeping alone) and realised that the shaking was still occuring from the depths of my duvet.

Frantically scrabbling around, I eventually located my alarm clock, reading 6am! Does it not know today is holiday!?!?!

Anyway, once the adrenalin levels get as high as they did this morning, it's very hard to get back to sleep, so I lay in bed for a few hours, willing my heart rate to return to normal and wondering at the incredible shake-awakeability of my alarm clock that I found in the bargain basement bin of a gift shop in the skanky end of town.

Tonight however, it will be turned off...

I want that lie in!

The visit of French Cousin 2

This week, I don't get to name the days of the week. Tomorrow won't be Thankful Friday, it'll be Good Friday, and today is Maundy Thursday and yesterday was Holy Wednesday.

Today, I am most excited because French Cousin 2 is coming over from Paris to stay. She's quite excited about the whole situation too, and sent me an email about keeping goats in the south of France.

Hmmm, yes...

I think she's another lucky family member who inherited the ‘eccentric’ gene.

Do you know, when she was about 11, she set up a cult called the Soldive Melon Cult? She converted a load of people at her school, had them worship her as an idol and had this catchy prayer chant with actions that to this day, I can still remember.

One Christmas she even baptised London Uncle – with melon juice.

*Should I be telling you this?

Anyway, while I should point out that French Cousin 2 is not still in the habit of running religious cults based on fruit, she has carried this refreshing originality with her throughout her life.

And this is good for me because whenever I visit her in Paris, she always finds the most utterly brilliant things to do.

Regular readers will know that last time I went [see Life On Mars post] she took me to an bar with fake grass and deck chairs where we watched a Russian silent movie full of propaganda and um... aliens – or a Martian princess called Aelita to be precise.

The live music accompanying it can only be compared to the sound of a million castrated dogs howling and by the time it finished, there was barely an open eye in the house – including mine.

So this weekend when French Cousin comes over, I need something wonderfully original to take her to.

Something that beats a Russian propaganda silent movie watched on deck chairs and fake grass.

Suggestions on a postcard please!

What's really real?

Yesterday, after a fab catch up with Clever Katie, I indulged in an episode of Colleen’s Real Women. This week saw her searching for girls who could be the new face of KitKat Senses and she found three who seemed lovely.

But then something rather sad happened. On presenting the girls with their portfolios, the quirkiest of the three announced that she hated her shots and didn’t realise she was that ugly.

It seemed a genuine shock reaction, not fuelled by a deep-set insecurity but a here-and-now realisation of ‘I look like that!?’

She pulled herself together on the surface but I wondered how it really affected her – to have this new vision in her head of what she looked like.

I don’t think she’s alone in this horror though. I mean, you’re the one person that can’t actually see yourself. Sure, you can see everything except your face and a bit more if you’re really bendy, and with a mirror, there’s a clear image of yourself staring back. But how do others see you? And does everyone see the same? And what the heck influences what people see?

When I was growing up, I always wanted to look like someone else. I thought that by putting on clothes that were like that person’s, I would achieve this, or by styling my hair in a certain way, I would magically transform my face.

Thankfully, over the years, I’ve come to like the me I see when I look in the mirror, and the me I see grinning back at me from photographs – which as Emma discovered often don’t look how you’d expect them to.

I thought I’d moved beyond all those insecurities. So just imagine my shock when it happened all over again...

Aurally or maybe orally!

You see, at the weekend Jenny M, Advertising Girly and I were driving along with Abba blaring out the car stereo. The sun was setting and creating the most incredible light, so I started to film Advertising Girly singing, looking out of the window.

Aside from the insane wobbling of the camera, it made quite a good film, but as we were playing it back, I heard the most hideous sound – my voice!

It sounded posh, nasally, and quite frankly wrong! Red faced, I deleted the video and asked Jenny M if I really sounded like that.

She laughed at me and informed me everyone hated the sound of their own voice, but to other people it sounded normal.

It’s so weird. It’s almost like we are prisoners inside our own heads. Our eyes and ears are there but neither gives us a clear perception of how we really look and sound.

So which one do you believe? The mirror, the photograph, or other people’s view? The voice you hear in your head, or the voice on the recording of a home-made Abba video?

But then, on second thoughts, does it really matter? I can’t change my voice or my face and someone out there is bound to think both are quite nice.

And this is what I want to say to the quirky girl on Real Women. To quote the biggest cliché of all time, Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, and while she might think she looked ugly, I think she was pretty alone in that thought.

Designer hearing aids

OK, OK, so I know the blog posts are becoming later and later, but it’s not my fault I promise…

I’ve been a little distracted recently.

Anyway, as all of the above is strictly confidential, I had a quick look at today’s deaf news and discovered that you can now get hearing aids with Aston Villa football team’s logo emblazoned on the mould.

Now, rather bizarrely, the one and only time I ever followed football – for three brief weeks in Year 8 at school – I supported Aston Villa as it was where my pen landed on the list in the newspaper when I closed my eyes. I was a rubbish football supporter as I find watching it less interesting the putting pins under my toenails. However, had I ever succumbed to the addiction of football, would I have wanted to advertise this on my ears?

Um, no…

But then, let’s just translate this into to girly speak and ask myself the same question but replace an Aston Villa logo with something like the Chanel logo or maybe Marc Jacobs. Hey, I could get a pair to match my glasses.

Um…

Still no actually.

While I am sure young Aston Villa fans will love the idea of logo moulds, it’s just not my cup of tea.

I often laugh when I hear about people who don’t need glasses buying designer frames with clear lenses to look more intelligent or because they suit their face.

But just imagine – if hearing aids do succeed in becoming fashion accessories in their own right, with designer endorsements and celebrity followers, will you be able to buy dummy versions that don’t actually work just to follow the crowd?

I eagerly await my first celebrity sighting!

My Wild West um... weekend

I find that Mondays are always much more manageable if the weekend that preceded them was fantastic – and perhaps that’s why I am having such a good Monday!

As you know, I went to the Wild West um… Country to see Jenny M, Advertising Girly and Earth Mother-to-be. It was brilliant to see them all and we did the usual bits and bobs – shopping, tea-breaking and of course a slap-up meal in honour of Earth Mother-to-be’s soon-to-be new arrival.

Now, ahem, I am no expert on pregnant women or anything but Earth Mother-to-be could be a Government advert for how to look during pregnancy – and how to do all the right things, too. She’s a picture of blooming health and has been doing wonderful things like yoga classes – while coping with the stresses of moving house. It’s incredible – I guess you could say that pregnancy seems to be agreeing with her.

Anyway, we all said hello to the bump and it got me thinking about what I heard when I was in Ma’s womb. I mean, I know I wasn’t as deaf as I am now, but did I hear all the sounds you’re meant to hear like Ma’s heartbeat and Pa’s voice – or was the world a total shock when I arrived?

If it was the latter, it may go some way to explaining just why I screamed for the first three months of my life – I was probably desperate to get back to the nice quiet world of the womb.

And do you know, I can still be like that sometimes – minus the womb part – but I still crave quietness occasionally. I have this fantasy of having a house in the northernmost point of Scotland where I can go when I want that silence.

Super-Cathy-Fragile-Mystic and I went there once on holiday and as I ran up to the cliff edge and breathed in, I felt completely relaxed. Up there, I know I’d would be surrounded by the sounds of nature, which would seem loud to most hearing people – but they wouldn’t disturb me.

Even on the day we visited, the sea was crashing against the cliff and the wind was almost making it impossible to stand up – but my world was still wonderfully quiet. There were no police sirens to make me fall over, no noisy neighbours with their thumping bass music, none of the low noises that make my world seem louder than it should be.

Time to start saving for that holiday house I think…

A pigeon on a megaphone...

Today’s blog comes from Pinktop in a little café opposite my house. Pinktop hasn’t been working so well recently so I took her to Snowboarding Boy and he sorted her out and now she’s working a dream. Hurray!

*blush

Which reminds me, today is Thankful Friday and I am thankful that I have another day’s holiday. It’s timed quite well as I still feel rather poorly, with a very sore throat and a bunged up nose, so I can take it easy, eat lots of toast and drink Lemsip.

What an exciting life I lead, eh?

This weekend, I am off to the Wild West um… Country, to visit Jenny M. She’s a hotshot director don’t you know, with her own theatre company, so we’re going to spend some time designing her new logo. She doesn’t want it to be pink apparently. Deafinitely Girly thinks everything should be pink!

It will be nice to be back in the county I used to call home. It’s quite a beautiful place with rolling hills and tiny villages nestled away in the valleys. I think living there was one of the reasons I never noticed my deafness because everyone who visited our house used to remark at how quiet it was. And of course, I couldn’t help but agree!!

Thinking back to my days in the Wild West um… Country, it really was very quiet. I never heard the birds that used to hang out in the garden, although this could have been because our cats had eaten them all. Although, come to think of it – there was one time I heard a bird, and I nearly fell over with shock. There I was in the lounge, watching Neighbours after school one day when all of a sudden I heard this ‘Coo-coooooo-coo’ clear as a bell.

Eh? I thought to myself… what the hell was that?

And so it continued, ‘Cooo-cooooooo-coo, cooo-cooooo-coooo.’ Eventually, after much wandering around, I tracked the noise to the fireplace and further investigation outside revealed the fattest wood pigeon in the West sat atop our chimney. Outside, I couldn’t hear him, but inside, the chimney acted as a megaphone making it sound like a pigeon the size of a house was sat on our house.

But I loved it! I loved the fact that I could finally hear a bird, albeit a pigeon. And for that reason, they will always be my favourite birds – even the mangy, skanky London ones.

April Fools' Day

Deafinitely Girly had a dream last night and Jeremy Clarkson was in it.

Anyone who had rude thoughts after that sentence, please wash your minds out!

I dreamt that I was the star in the reasonably-priced car on Top Gear and it was great. Being anonymous as I am, I was wearing a pink version of The Stig’s outfit and together we caused quite a stir.

Now, some dreams can be premonitions, while others can show your deepest desires and I think this dream falls into the latter category, rather sadly, as if it was a premonition I’d be jumping up and down with excitement. Then there’s the third category of downright weird – and I’ve had plenty of these, which will never be blogged.

Anyway, I do so want to be the star in the reasonably-priced car. Just imagine how much fun it would be. I’d be so happy, but only if my time is quick and Mr Clarkson is as nice and complimentary to me as he was to Will Young.

*Ahem

So, today is April Fools' Day and I am on red alert for anything out of the ordinary occurring. Except today, in London, everything out of the ordinary is occurring. President Obama is having breakfast with Gordon Brown – not ordinary. Half of the City of London is on lockdown – not ordinary. The sun is shining – not ordinary. I quite fancy a Cadbury’s creme egg and it’s not even 10am – OK that is ordinary…

But honestly, how am I meant to work out what is an April Fool and what is some G20-related issue?

Did you know that today is my last working day of the week? I have tomorrow and Friday off – I met Friend Who Knows Big Words for dinner last night and she was not impressed to hear this and is now even more convinced that I am incapable of working a full week.

Anyway the reason for my time off is that The Rents are visiting as it’s their wedding anniversary and we’re going to do some fun stuff – starting with the theatre tonight. Which reminds me – it’s not subtitled so I really should stop nattering on here and start learning the words.

Hope no one makes and April Fool out of you!

Zoom, zoom, zoom

Deafinitely Girly did something quite different yesterday and went on a motorbike.

Now, being a mini driver originally and now in another four-wheeled friend, I have never been overly enthusiastic with the idea of getting on the back of a bike, despite all best efforts to persuade me over the years. But what do you know…

I loved it!

It was quite the most unique experience that it’s almost hard to describe, I simultaneously found myself grinning and wanting to kick myself for leaving it so long.

And it’s got me thinking about other things that I assume I won’t like but haven’t tried – even deaf-related things. OK there are some things that I know won’t be fun – such as a Shakespeare play without subtitles or an hour long phone call with a mad jibber-jabbering person…

But I reckon there’s got to be a whole lot more fun stuff out there that I’ve got to give a go.

It even got me thinking about getting a bike of my own. Just imagine Deafinitely Girly zooming by on a pink Vespa. I got lost in the daydream for while until I was informed that apparently a Vespa isn’t a proper bike and I’m not sure I’m quite ready for something with an engine bigger than my car!

As a passenger though, on the bike with an engine bigger than my car’s, I loved that I didn’t feel isolated, because I didn’t have to hear. There was no straining to lip read that you get in the car, no trying to hear from the back seat and feeling left out – all I had to listen to was the growl of the engine – and a very nice growl it was, too.

I hope I get to do it again some time…

Spring forward...

Fall back!

I love that expression, and it’s the mantra that stopped me being early or late once a year for my Sunday job as a ski technician when I was at school.

I also love that when the clocks go forward and back we are offered a consolation each time. Sure, in March we lose an hour but what we get is lighter evenings, more time to sip gin and tonic by the river and warmer weather.

And in October, sure it gets darker, but that extra hour we get in bed deafinitely makes up for that. Maybe it's just me but for the week after I feel like I am having a permanent lie in!

Anyway, Deafinitely Girly is almost on the mend and not quite as Lemsip reliant as she was. I am, however, in danger of being the woman on the bus who goes cough, cough, cough and my head, to be gruesomely honest, is a quite phlegm-filled. And, as a result my hearing is totally, completely and utterly stuffed up.

Everything is muffled much more than usual! Take yesterday when I was in the car with Ex Housemate and Ex Housemate's Boyfriend – he had Radio 2 on and in order to hear anything, even though I was reassured the volume was quite loud, I had to hold my head against the speaker, which as it was by the side pocket of the door, was not conducive to travelling in comfort.

I travelled in silence instead, occasionally breaking into the BBC Radio 2 jingle as if listening to my own pretend radio.

I have to say I am looking forward to this hearing fog clearing. I miss hearing the bits I normally hear and am upset that they have joined the things I normally miss.

If my hearing is back by Friday, I guess I'll know what to be thankful for!

in sickness and in health

Today I am most definitely the former... So it is not a Thankful Friday. I think that the woman on the bus going cough, cough, cough may have given me her germs... Either that or it was Snowboarding Boy, who has been poorly himself recently.

I hate feeling ill, mostly because I am never usually ill. Last year, I got 100% attendance at work...

This year after today, I won't.

But what I have discovered is the wonders of Lemsip! This wonderful potion can have you feeling almost human again for a four-hour window, before it's time to have another! It's a magical remedy.

However, in my sickly brain fuzz, I've compeletly forgotten what today's post was meant to be about.

Guess you'll have to wait until Monday.

DG x

The woman on the bus goes cough, cough, cough

Sometimes, I am just not deaf enough

*Haha, ahem, sorry, just typed dead, which actually isn't that funny either…

Anyway, where was I, ah yes, not being deaf enough...

And here's why:

Last night I picked the last seat left on the bus and sat down. Everywhere I looked there were tired workers, eager to get home for a spot of TV and a glass of wine.

Then

Cough, cough, cough

The woman behind me clearly wasn't well.

Wheeze, cough, wheeze, choke, sneeze

Seriously, I kid you not, she sounded to me like she was at death’s door. My actually hair moved in breeze caused by it all, and at that point I started to feel glad I'd had my TB jab.

And so she continued and her coughing was really all I could hear – it was a low throaty cough and low frequencies are all I really have left.

Now, I know it wasn't her fault or anything, and to the other people on the bus there was probably a whole other host of squeaks, chatter, creaks and mobile phone tones to add to her choking to death, but to me, that's all there was and it was driving me insane.

But it got me thinking about all the noise I make that I don't hear. Does it drive other people insane? I remember one time at school being told off for clicking the top of my pen repetitively. Apparently it made quite a din and my teacher was close to breaking point.

I also didn't know sweet packets made a rustling sound... cue lots of dirty looks at the theatre. And, when I was much younger and in a music lesson at school, I once spent a full 10 minutes hitting a triangle as I liked the vibration that travelled through my fingers, completely unaware of the noise I was making. I thought my music teacher might actually explode with rage.

Now I am older and wiser, I am better at judging what might make noise but I still wonder, do the keys of my mobile phone make noise as I tap away?

My flute is the weirdest thing in this category of noise I make but cannot hear. Over half of it simply disappears into thin air and yet, other people can hear it clear as a bell. In a flute lesson not long ago, I was getting frustrated as my teacher told me I wasn't getting the high notes on a certain scale – they were coming out as a lower fuzzy harmonic apparently.

But being the most amazingly switched-on guy, he then gave me a tip – to visualise the sound, to see it in my head and then it would come – along with the right diaphragm tension of course. But it worked and I started to get the notes and really feel the music in my head more – it was inside my ears already so it didn’t matter that I couldn’t hear it.

And, do you know what? You can do it with anything. So as I write this, I am imagining in my head the tap tapping of the keyboard, the din of phones ringing in my office and the higher notes of the music playing on the radio. And when I have had enough and need some peace and quiet, I will imagine it all away!

Hello…

This morning I walked to work.

After a pizza with Clever Katie last night, a meal with Snowboarding Boy the night before combined with the closure of my gym, I thought I’d better do something.

It’s 4.7 miles apparently and a lovely walk through the richer parts of London. There were children skipping down the road wearing blazers and berets and all the other trappings that private schools demand. There were windows to peek in – basement kitchens filled the hubbub of morning routines, people making mad dashes for the bus and little dogs in Burberry dog coats being walked by their Burberry-clad owners!

But that wasn’t the weirdest thing…

Nope, that was the fact that people kept saying hello to me. Blokes mainly. It was most odd. I was wearing my gym gear, had my hair scraped back and was being rained on but yet these guys all said hello.

Originally, I thought I’d misheard the first one – he said morning and then turned to look back as I strode past in Rosemary Conley power-walking mode. The second time it happened I actually stopped to check my reflection in the window to see if there was something up – was my top tucked in wrong? Had I forgotten to rub in my concealer? Was my hair particularly eye catching?

But it was none of the above…

I kind of wished I had hearing so I could have heard the comments that went with the hellos and the mornings because as it was I just had to stride on pretending not to hear them – oh the irony.

It was a nice ego-boosting experience but it never happens when I make an effort to look nice. Perhaps I’ll stick to my gym kit from now on!

Writers Block

Help!

Deafinitely Girly has writer’s block! It’s come out of nowhere and hit my creative juices like a juggernaut on an ice rink and, in short, I am struggling.

Anyway, this got me wondering about the expression ‘writer’s block’ and where it came from.

And so, I whacked it into the every-trusty Google and this is what came up courtesy of Wikipedia:

‘Writer's block is a phenomenon involving temporary loss of ability to begin or continue writing, usually due to lack of inspiration or creativity.’

Hardly a groundbreaking definition but then I read on and discovered that writer's block can be closely related to depression and anxiety…

*DG sits for a moment thinking, but doesn’t feel either

Then, reading on some more, I found another interpretation of writer's block, mentioned in the book Silences, by Tillie Olsen. She apparently argues that historically many women and working-class writers have been unable to devote themselves to, or concentrate on, their writing because their social and economic circumstances prevent them from doing so.

*DG checks her FB friend list and internet banking and finds she’s quite satisfied with her social and economic circumstances

And here’s a third interpretation from author Justina Headley who says that for her, writer’s block comes from losing touch with the characters about whom she is writing; and that by discovering who they are again, the block disintegrates.

*DG wonders if it’s possible to lose touch with herself and pinches herself for good measure so see if her touch is lost

While I can see the merits of all these interpretations, I think today I will blame my writer’s block on the fact that I actually don’t have anything deaf-related to moan about, nor do I have a humorous tale of a child licking a bus window, or Araminta’s next bus/holiday installment to tell you about.

But what I do have is a secret or two.

I wonder if they can cause writer’s block…

The wheels on the bus…

Today's blog is being written from a train, a Virgin train to be precise, and it is running 20 minutes late. As a result, there were a lot of passengers on the platform when I arrived who were, like me, planning on getting the train after this one, but as this one is quicker and direct, decided to surge forward and squeeze into the 5 economy carriages at the back.

The front four carriages were 1st class and all of them were completely empty. This meant that we were all squished in like sardines while half the train was peopleless – MR BRANSON, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

It’s clear that when a train ticket costs more than a monthly mortgage payment – which on The Rents’ line it does, people are not going to spend any more than they have to, so why doesn’t some sort of passenger research give Virgin Trains a clue that half the space on their train is wasted.

I think it’s insane,

Anyway, something usual happened this morning – I eavesdropped!

*DG pauses at the enormity of this…

It came as quite a surprise, not least because of what I heard. When I finally made it on the train, I somehow was lucky to see a seat near the door. In the aisle seat was a man and next to him, my seat. I asked politely if I could sit there and instead of getting up to let me in, he scowled and shuffled over. He then said to who I can only assume was his wife opposite him something about pikey people getting on at my station and changing the tone, or dare I say, lowering the tone of the train. Wow, what a nice man!

Anyway, my weekend was jet-settingly action packed. The Rents and I flew to Clogland on Saturday to visit Big Bro. Apparently that morning Mini Clog had announced to Big Bro, ‘Aunty is coming and she's bringing buttons!’

And being Cadbury's buttons I did. Take two as I had eaten the first lot in a fit of Lent rebelliousness!

*blush

He was very happy with his stash, which should last him a very long time as he only gets them as a special treat.

And what of Micro Clog? Well, he is quite fantastically cute and was extremely quiet and sleepy when we were there. I gave him a cuddle and he opened one eye at me as if to say, yup, you'll do for the time being, and then dozed off again.

He only stirred once or twice during the 50 renditions of The Wheels On The Bus that Mini Clog and I performed.

And now I’ve got it in my head I shall probably be humming it all day. Altogether now – The Wheels on the bus go round and round…

Clogland here I come…

Thankful Friday is upon us once again! Today I am most deafinitely thankful for the AMAZING weather… the sky is so blue that even Wise Friend should have no complaints – he’s a blue sky connoisseur you know… one cloud and it’s not nice weather!

I am also thankful for a chance meeting I had with a toddler on my bus home last night – she made me laugh so much I nearly fell off my seat – she actually did fall off hers.

So there I was, sat there, minding my own business when all of a sudden this little face popped up from the seat in front of me, bunches bobbing and the biggest grin you’ve ever seen! ‘Hello!’ she shouted at me and waved too, for good measure.

‘Hello,’ I said back. She then, for the rest of my 40-minute journey proceeded to talk to me, at me, lick the window, play peekaboo, and tell me she’d had chicken and coooouscoooous for lunch. She held court over the entire bus and told me she had only had one finger – she had 10 but don’t think she had quite got to grips with counting yet.

She also knew just how to embarrass her mum, shrieking at the top of her voice about her last toilet break and various other things that I couldn’t hear – thankfully judging by the blushes of my fellow passengers.

When she got off, several stops before me, saying goodbye to everybody individually and waving too, the bus got a little bit duller and a whole lot quieter!

It reminded me how happy I am that I am off to see The Clogs tomorrow – I will be able to meet Micro Clog for the first time and see how much Mini Clog has grown. I will wear a wafting outfit, smell of violets and make sure my cheeks are suitably covered with rouge, and then I will smother them with kisses.

I will never be a sensible aunt…

Spring in my step

Good morning! The sky is blue, the sun is shining! Three cheers for that I say. This morning on my way to work, I was struck by how alive everything is right now. At one bus stop I came face to face with the most beautiful blossom that I actually took a picture of it on my phone.

I love spring as a season. It's often warmer than the English summer and my favourite flower, the daffodil, is available in abundance.

It's also time for having a clear out – mentally, emotionally and materially – and lately, that's just what I've been doing.

I've taken a big bag of stuff to the charity shop and begun to think about what's really important in my life.

What's great about this is that it provides a new perspective on everything. I have more room in my wardrobe so can see what clothes I have and therefore am wearing things I haven't worn for ages. I've also discovered my recipe books, which were buried under my well-thumbed collection of Katie Fforde and Freya North books, which has given me a new enthusiasm for cooking. Last night Niknak and Country Boy 1 got a taster of exciting things to come! I’ve branched out into brownies – although they still want cupcakes for their wedding.

But even more significantly, I am seeing my deafness is a new light! I have a new enthusiasm for things I struggle with, and just lately I’m less fearful of things. On really dark days, when I’m tired of lipreading, or struggling with something, I often wake up and my deafness is right there, staring me in the face. This morning, I woke up, with my vibrating alarm clock, and greeted my deafness with a smile!

Colourful I love you

Last night I watched Colleen's Real Women, a TV show where Colleen Rooney searches for ordinary girls to go to castings for big brand names.

It's actually quite interesting as very occasionally the brands do veer away from the tall, leggy, and of course skinny, stereotype and plump for someone um, plumper.

Last night a Real Woman did get the job, but she was the skinniest of the lot and the most model like of the three. Now I could get on my soapbox about this but I won’t as I don’t really care about the size zero debate and also because what I really noticed last night while watching the programme was Colleen's accent and how bizarre her lip patterns are.

Now, I pride myself on being able to lipread accents. With the Irish, the lips are almost pulled back into a semi-permanent grin, which affects the vowels – I imagine them to be quite clipped and throaty. With the Scottish accent the lips go the other way, making the vowels rich yet hollow – visually they seem to bounce off the cheeks.

So what of Colleen's accent...

Well if I am honest, it was a bit like trying to lipread someone at the end of a dinner party, when everyone's relaxed and probably warmly drunk on red wine. Seriously, I kept thinking she was going to say, 'I blurry love yur!' at any moment.

I think it's because she's the first Liverpudlian I've spent a long time lipreading that it was so bizarre. The words almost seem to drag her mouth down and it looked like it was an effort to talk. At one point she said the word, ‘girls’ and it lipread to me as yeuch! Go on, try saying ‘girls’ in a Liverpool accent while looking in the mirror, and you’ll see what I mean!

Perhaps the most famous lipreading misunderstanding is ‘colourful’ and ‘I love you’ – but thankfully I have never lipread this one wrong yet. But I think, just to be safe, I’ll wear black on my next date. I mean picture this – Deafinitely Girly meets a guy for a drink wearing a bright pink T-shirt – not unusual for me. He says to me at some point during the date, ‘blah, blah, blah colourful.’

Deafinitely Girly does a runner…

*ponders for a while

Ahhh perhaps this is why I am so perpetually single!

I had a dream

I am writing this post from the bus this morning as it sits in stationary traffic. It's not moving and I have no idea why, but it's bloomin' annoying!

Today is Tuesday. There are four sleeps to go until I meet Micro Clog and five sleeps until I wish my Ma a very happy Ma's Day. And only 1 sleep to go until NikNak and Country Boy come for dinner. Hurrah!

Anyway, last night I had the strangest dream. It started in Japan. I was there with Big Bro, who had his skateboard with him. There, we met Lovely Guy who I hung out with – he also had a skateboard and nice hair. Next thing I know, we're in the Dominican Republic – Big Bro has gone and Lovely Guy is still there, but to complicate matters, there's another guy in the picture – but he's not as lovely.

Anyway, at this point, Ex Boyfriend turns up and tells me to ditch Lovely Guy as he has no prospects and his job is picking up body parts of the battlefields, as there's a civil war raging just across the street from the bar we are sat in. The other guy is apparently a scientist and according to Ex Boyfriend, my perfect man.

And then I woke up!

Now, I could spend the next few minutes deliberating over what the hell that means, but that's not what's actually important.

What's important, is that last night, in my dream, I was not deaf! It was most odd! I could hear Lovely Guy whispering in my ear, the commentary on a video that Ex Boyfriend showed me to try and convince me to break up with Lovely Guy, the conversations of others in a bar I was sat in, Lovely Guy calling me from a distance, and even the civil war that was raging.

But what's even more interesting is I still felt completely lost. Having hearing didn't make me follow life any better! Therefore I can only conclude that thank goodness I have my hearing to blame my ditziness on! If I didn't, I'd have to blame it on my hair colour!

Micro Clog is here!

Deafinitely Girly interrupts her usual broadcast of deaf wisdom this morning to bring you exciting news:

MICRO CLOG FINALLY ARRIVED!!!!!!!

Phew!

He made a speedy entrance into the world after just a 3-hour labour at 12.17am on Saturday 14 March 8lb 8oz. I was watching Comic Relief when I got the text and, as I read it, this film about a woman who had died in childbirth was being shown. It was then I realised how flipping privileged we were that Micro Clog and Maxi Clog were safe and well. So out came my credit card for a donation – apparently my money could save lives – and I like that thought.

Anyway, Big Bro says Micro Clog is absolutely gorgeous and I have seen photographic evidence to confirm this and totally agree. It’s great being a very proud Aunty of two now, and I have a day trip to Clogland with (GrandMa) Ma and (GrandaPa) Pa to visit the Family Clog planned for next Saturday.

Now, on to my weekend and well, I can well and truly confirm that New Neighbours paid me back for the toast-and-tea-up-the-wall and general noise episode from a few weeks ago! They had no less than two parties this weekend – one Friday, one Saturday, and both took place underneath my bedroom.

Now, Deafinitely Girly prides herself at being able to sleep through anything – but this weekend, that was not a possibility. Although I can confirm that they do have the same taste in music in me, so it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience.

It was just so loud – me, a deaf person found it too loud! And it wasn’t just the music – there was the endless door slamming and running up and down stairs… not to mention the smell of martini that kept wafting through the letterbox…

On the Friday, I went into the living room for some respite – there’s only so many times you can listen to Womanizer by Britney before you want to throw yourself out of the window headfirst on to the pavement below. There, was New Housemate, lying listlessly on the sofa, also looking like he was about to throw himself out of the window – I don’t think he’s a Britney fan at all!

By Saturday, I had a plan, and plugged my cordless headphones in to my TV – it kind of worked, except it is actually not possible to sleep in them as they’re quite cumbersome – so I kind of had to slump against some pillows like the Elephant man and ride it out.

At 1.30am, the music stopped… I could hardly believe my ears, quite literally – and momentarily wondered if I had gone totally deaf from the violent audio onslaught my ears had been subjected to. But I hadn’t – the party was indeed over.

As I lay in bed, contemplating my new Aunty-of-Two status with only the gentle hum of the traffic outside, I really appreciated that silence is in fact, GOLDEN!

Chocolate tax

Thankful Friday is here again – how on earth did that happen?

Well, today I am thankful for the fantastic evening I had last night with Lovely Freelancer. She’s Deafinitely Girly’s unofficial editor – along with Pa of course – and she comes to the rescue when I make unbelievable stoopid speling mystakes!

Anyway, so yah, we had a fantastic dinner and catch up and chatted about her wedding – the next one on my list I do believe.

She’s worried that I am not going to be able to hear the speeches – what a caring, thoughtful Bridezilla she is! I told her off for worrying about me and told her to get back to worrying about more important things, like drunken guests and inappropriate best man jokes!

I have promised her that I will be on hand to tackle any inappropriate behaviour – although she might have to have a non-deaf person monitoring the conversations as eavesdropping is not something I am particularly skilled at. I suggested that she have a sniper on hand with a stun gun to zap anyone who got out of control. She looked at me like I was insane – once again, a very caring Bridezilla.

If I ever grow up and get married I hope I will be a caring Bridezilla, and not the type who throws a hissy fit because the napkins aren’t folded in the shape of mating swans. Although I do think I may file the sniper idea away, just in case.

This week has been marred by not being able to eat chocolate – I gave it up for Lent you know – and have only failed one, um three times after the temptation of new Toffee Crisp Clusters proved too much. But since then, my resolve has been steely. But then, imagine my horror when I read about plans to put a tax on chocolate – ARE THEY INSANE?

If this happens then there may well be a large proportion of the country who, as a result, actually do go insane. OK, so I know it’s full of calories and that I would happily eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner – I so should have been born an Aztec – but the point is, I don’t, so therefore my BMI is spot on and I can get out of bed without the help of the fire brigade – although the thought of a fireman helping me out of bed…

Crikey, my mind is wandering today!

But I am going to hazard a guess and say that I’m pretty sure it’s not just chocolate that is making the nation obese. Factor in all the other junk food available and I reckon chocolate would come out surprisingly well. I mean, it’s the only junk food I eat alarming quantities of, and I have had no crashing headaches since giving it up. Sure I want it – but I want cherries and blueberries with the same regularity, too – and no ones suggesting they are addictive.
(Am sure there's a valid natural and refined sugar-addiction argument that should be addressed here – but I am not going to)

But what I do know is that most humans, when they are told they can’t have something, or something becomes more exclusive, want it more. So taxing chocolate to me, will only have the opposite effect and I will end up spending more money on chocolate than ever before. And if it’s the same throughout the nation then aren’t we going to be plunged further into debt? Surely that can’t be good for Global economy.

Discuss!

Pink drive

This morning, in my sleepy state I unwittingly made a discovery – soluble vitamin C tablets clean tea stains off mugs! I found this bizarre fact out when I popped one into my mug of hot water, instead of the glass of cold water sat right beside it, on arrival at work this morning. It exploded in a shower of hot fizz and threatened to overflow out the mug all over my keyboard. And, on tipping it down the sink, I discovered my mug was shiny white inside – it was like being on a Daz advert.

But enough about that.

Deafinitely Girly went out for dinner with Snowboarding Boy last night and it was lovely to catch up.

I heard all about his latest holiday and my eyes turned green. I miss the snow...

*sniff

Anyway, Snowboarding Boy knows me quite well and is privy to all my computer breakages, tea spillages on keyboard x5, blowing up of CD disc drive etc etc. He was also on hand when my computer hard drive went into meltdown and I lost everything except a Moomins picture I didn't know I had in the first place.

So anyway, as I was saying, he knows I'm a disaster with computers.
Yesterday I was telling him how earlier in the week I'd mislaid a memory card with all my writing on – about 30,000 words in total. I ripped my room apart searching for it and thankfully, two hours later, exhausted and looking at the sheer carnage of all my belongings, I found it, in the first place I should have looked.

'But you had it backed up, right?' he asked me, knowing the answer already.

‘Ummmm,’ was my sheepish reply.
And that was when he gave me my belated Christmas present.

First there was a hard zip case – a good thing for me to own – which when I opened revealed a portable hard drive! Hurrah! But you want to know the best bit? It's pink! Snowboarding Boy did good!

But that's not all! Given my track record of breaking things, this hard drive is called a Tough Drive... It's the Rambo of the hard-drive world, in pink obviously, and the instructions boast that it can fall up to 2 metres onto a flat surface and be OK.

I think that without a doubt going to become the most useful piece of technology I own – or the only piece that I own, as I will probably break everything else!

Hair today, gone tomorrow

This morning on the BBC, amongst the news about the new bout of terrorism in Northern Ireland and a multiple shooting in America, and the subtitles reading as fart instead of far…

Hahahahaha

Ahem, god I am so immature

But that's a whole other story!

…I discovered that Francis Rossi, the guitarist from Status Quo has cut his ponytail off, saying, ‘A few weeks ago it dawned on me that it I looked ridiculous. So I decided to forget clinging to my youth and it was time to grow old gracefully.’*

Not wanting to sound like Janice from Friends here, but

Oh... My... Gahd!

Since when did an ageing rocker's hairdo warrant a slot on Breakfast News?

I guess the thinking behind it was to create a discussion about long hair on men. But it actually got me thinking about long hair on women.

Cast your mind back to when you were at primary school... secondary school even. Can you think of any female teachers, except perhaps your eccentric art one, who had long hair? I can't! Not even the ones who seemed old but were probably younger than I am now.
It seems to me that long hair on adults is something of a current trend. When I look around, I see lots of 20-somethings, a fair few 30-somethings, and even quite a lot of 40-somethings who have long locks.

I have long hair, it falls a good few inches below my shoulders and it would never occur to me to cut it right now. Shakira Shakira has long hair, The Writer has long hair, Fab Friend has long hair, Gym Buddy has long hair – really, the list is endless!

But what worries me is what if I go over the acceptable time limit for long hair? What if I end my days, a batty old lady in a velour bed jacket, 50 cats scattered around my ramshackle house, but still doing a weekly hair mask and getting sun streaks added to my greying bonce?

I mean that scenario is wrong on so many levels, right?

So the endless planner in me is wondering if I should start thinking about styles now... What would suit my, to be frank, quite circular face? A bob? Um, a bit dull maybe. A short gamine crop? Um, only if I am trying to look like Jim from Rosie & Jim. A Pageboy? Hmmm do hairdressers still do them?

Nope, do you know what, I can't think of a suitable style apart from the one I have now. To convince myself this is OK, I've been people watching this morning, to try and glean some info from others. To my left, there is a woman at least a decade older than me, actually she looks a bit like Araminta from last week except she’s meant to be in Malaga.

Anyway, guess what? She's got long hair! In fact I reckon half the women on my bus, old and young have long hair.

When I grow up and become a famous writer, I wonder if I will keep my long hair... I wonder if it will thin out on top and make a ponytail thinner than a pipe cleaner I wonder then if I will make the news when I finally get it cut off!

*Quote from The Press Association

Brain fuzz

I went to IKEA last night with London Aunt – we achieved a lot and had to sit down and have a rest in the warehouse, aisle 39, section 8. People stared...

and quite frankly, we didn't care.

There's something very weird about that place – I always get really excited about going and then as I trawl around the room views, I gradually get more and more dispirited. By the time I get to the market place my inspiration has gone and I end up putting some napkins and a bowl in my trolley that I never knew I needed. Very occasionally I will toy with the idea of buying a plant... but all my plants tend to die. So I don't.

What I don't understand though is why, at 9.30 at night, there are whole families in IKEA – is it the latest fun night out and I was the last to find out? While queueing for the checkout last night I had to clamber over no less than three squawking hyperactive toddlers while trying not to drop my bowl on their heads – would it be seen to be an accident I wonder?

I then had to contend with an entire family blocking the gangway as they excitedly added ketchup to their hot dogs and claimed their unlimited refills of fizzy pop.

London Aunt and I by this time were starting to lose the plot somewhat so she took me to McDonalds for tea. And it was there it all started to go wrong.

You see, I don't go for Maccie Ds much anymore – all I wanted was a cheeseburger, chips and diet coke. But the guy kept asking me all these questions. Through my IKEA brain fuzz I had absolutely no idea what he was saying and ended up saying pardon more times than I have done in my entire deaf life, which is quite something.

In the end London Aunt stepped in to translate and I finally got my meal...

and felt hungry 10 minutes later...

I know the nutritional answer for why McDonalds never fills you up, but it never ceases to amaze me how you can eat almost your entire calorie intake for one day and still fancy toast 10 minutes after finishing it.

IKEA and McDonalds – two things I don't understand – that look fulfilling from the outside but somehow leaving me feeling shellshocked and empty... respectively.

Hmmm think I'll have a salad for lunch and do some internet shopping.

Le wedding

Gosh, another weekend is over already and another week beginning! How on earth does time move so quickly nowadays? I remember as a kid everything took so long – days at school felt like an eternity, but equally, so did the summer holidays! So what is it about being an adult that makes the clock tick double time?

Anyway, if we pondered on that, we'd be here forever. So let's move on…

This weekend was absolutely fantastic, with perhaps the highlight being Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words' wedding. It really was the most romantic occasion and she looked truly beautiful! There wasn't a dry eye in the house as her and French Boy promised to love, honour and cherish each other for the rest of their days, and I was thankful that I had put waterproof mascara on the both of us!!!! (I was the hair and make-up lady, you know!)

The wedding was so true to both Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words and French Boy. There was no big production, no rambling sermons from vicars and, no speeches, which meant I could hear everything and felt like I really knew what was going on. At no stage in the day did I get the overwhelming urge to nod off due to the best man's 40-minute long PowerPoint presentation – mentioning no names here!

Then the partying began in earnest and, at 1am I could be found salsa-ing – badly – and drinking vast quantities of water out of a jug.

*cringe

However, this also meant...

No hangover on Sunday

Hurrah!

This was just as well, too as I was teaching London Cousin 2 how to make shepherds pie, in between bed moving and tea drinking with London Aunt.

Splendid, splendid!

And now the week begins in earnest... hopefully with the appearance of Micro Clog – who is now late. Tut, tut, that’s not very Dutch, is it!? He may take after Big Bro on the timekeeping front! And here we are back on the subject of time – I'm sure I'll blink at lunchtime and all of a sudden it'll be Friday again! Bring it on!

NikNak's fab party

Today is Thankful Friday. But let me get off my chest what I am not thankful for – mainly my red eye...

It seems somewhere between the last time I looked in the mirror and waking up, I burst some blood vessels and now I resemble something out of a horror movie.

OK, OK, I am probably exaggerating but how else do you explain having an empty seat beside me on the bus during rush hour!

*sniff!

And so, moving on – today I am thankful for the utterlly brilliant birthday party that we had for NikNak last night. She’s perpetually 21 you know.
Anyway, we had an entire restaurant to ourselves and it was so quiet and well lit, that Fab Friend and I could follow absolutely everything. The food was absolutely delicious and the service impeccable – right down the the free birthday cake they presented to NikNak. And the best bit – at 11pm it turned into our own private club – we had a DJ, a dance floor and not a single annoying lecherous man in sight!

As Hips Don't Lie came on, Shakira-Shakira did her stuff – most fantastically, too! I swear that the restaurant staffs' jaws almost dislocated as she shimmied her way around the room, hips flying this way and that, shoulders a-shaking. It was a formidable sight.

The Writer did a fantastic Britney tribute while I skipped around the room à la Lily Allen. Quite how the evening ended up being some sort of cabaret dance night I am unsure, but I laughed so much that I am wondering if that's how I burst a blood vessel in my eye!

And now I have the next party to look forward to – Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words' wedding. Did I mention that she was getting married? Or that I am very excited?

And on that note, have a very nice weekend everyone.

The art of people watching

This morning I am typing this on my Pinkberry, on the bus, on my way to work, while sat next to a woman who is wearing a dead animal for a coat, velour tracksuit bottoms and Ugg boots.

Then, looking out the window in my morning haze, I saw the cutest thing.

It was a bicycle made for three! There, at the front was a mum and one behind the other sat her two children, all pedalling away as though their lives depended on it, which come to think of it, they probably did, given the large red bus that was coming in their direction.

Um…

Sorry, the dead-animal-wearing woman is momentarily distracting me. She's forcing me to be nosey about the EasyJet boarding pass held in her acrylic-nailed hand. Where is she going I wonder?

*Deafinitely Girly unsubtly cranes her neck...

Ah Malaga, and her name is Araminta. What need does one have for a dead animal in Malaga? Haha, my Pinkberry just did a spell check on Malaga and came up with slags!!!!

Ahem...

Wow, Araminta has the biggest collection of diamonds ever on her left hand, and for the last 20 minutes she's been chomping on Food Doctor nuts and seeds before using her acrylic nail to scoop them out of her molars.

This would probably annoy most people, but because I can't hear the crunching and slurping, I am just thrilled at the chance to people watch her – it really is making my journey go quicker.

I love people watching. Yesterday, Gingerbread Man met me for lunch and a catch up and we sat across from a square near my office, people watching. We saw a famous actress, lots of fashionistas, and the usual array of colourful people that grace my working neighbourhood. It was the most wonderful distraction and was fun to wonder if someone was doing exactly the same to us.

Oop, Araminta has just got her Blackberry out and is busily tap tap tapping away. I wonder what she's saying about me?

Teehee!

Looking back…

Hurrah! We are halfway through the week and I am already getting excited about the weekend.

On Saturday, Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words is getting married.

Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words is one of my best friends – one of my ‘Inner Circle’ – if the BBC’s recent report on friendship is to be believed.

We were at school together and part of a group of four – the other two members were Best-Friend-And-Head-Girl and BeeBop.

Anyway, she's marrying French Boy and when she does, I will be the last unmarried one left out of all of us.

But when you look back at our high-school year book, it is kind of what we always expected! Best-Friend-And-Head-Girl 's entry said she'd be a primary school teacher – tick, be involved in the community – tick, be married to a lovely man – tick, and have babies – tick. The only thing that isn't right is she chose to do it all Up Norf.

Now, BeeBop... I think we said she'd get brilliant marks in her degree and then go off and do something totally unrelated – big tick. She's married to a Mr Jones and also lives Up Norf.

Then there was Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words. We said she'd travel the world and fall in love with a gorgeous hunk called Brad – tick and half tick as I don't really think Brad would suit French Boy as a name – not really Gallic enough!

And then there was me. Well for starters they said my ideal man was Mr Happy... a fat, round and yellow individual... Ummmm… thankfully I haven't fulfilled this prophecy.

And they predicted that I'd be writing for Cosmopolitan from a padded cell. Ummmmm... Well to be honest, and rather alarmingly, that's not too far off the mark! Although you might want to skip the insanity part.

I really love finding predictions like these, made years ago and comparing them to my current situation. Not long ago, I found a notebook at The Rents' house full of angst-ridden teenage poetry from the time I was losing my hearing. It was fascinating looking back at a younger me, at my despair with deafness and almost misery at the situation. But then I found a section at the back, written in 1998. It said that in 10 years time I would be living in west London and working on a magazine. I also predicted that I'd be single...

Tick

Tick

and…

Tick

I love the fact that even though I was in despair about going deaf (haha, ahem sorry I just typed dead), I never even contemplated letting it get in the way of my ambitions.

I also love the fact that 10 years down the line, I'd be wise to take a leaf out of my younger self's book. And so, that's just what I am going to do.

Three cheers for um… the BBC

Do you remember as a child being told by your mum that if you couldn’t say anything nice about something, you shouldn’t say anything at all? This was one of my Ma’s mantras when I was growing up and I do still try and be good and abide by her rule.

However, regular readers will know that I don’t always say nice things about people/companies who I think are failing deaf and hard of hearing people in some way, but usually it’s not without good reason. So I have added a sub clause to this old bit of advice stating exactly that.

But, I also believe that if you moan about something that subsequently changes, then credit should be given – and that’s what I am going to do today.

A while ago I posted my excitement about QI finally having subtitles on the BBC’s iPlayer. With the manicness of work, I hadn’t been back to check the development of this, until today, when I discovered that everything I clicked on was subtitled!

HURRAH!

This really is amazing – all that moaning, emails to the BBC and now look – subtitles. Now, don’t get me wrong – I am not taking the credit for this new development. I am hoping that it’s just a natural progression in the BBC making its content more accessible for deaf and hard of hearing people – but isn’t it great that I don’t have to moan about them anymore?

It gives me hope that in the long run, the battle to get more subtitled theatre and cinema will be won and I won’t have to learn things off by heart in order to follow them.

Take Friday, when I went to see Les Miserables in the West End. I first saw this when I was 17 and must confess, I fell in love with the music more than the plot – partly because I could follow the melodies but couldn’t hear the words. So I bought the music and learnt the words. As a result, when I saw it on Friday, the story unfolded in my head as much as it did on stage. I was almost in danger of singing along!

*cringe

However, I still can’t wait for the day that all the drama unfolds on stage instead. Here’s hoping…

Here comes the sun…

Sometimes I wonder if I am solar powered…

I woke up this morning and it was so sunny I had to shut my curtains to put on my make-up as otherwise I was squinting so much I would have had massive crease lines in my foundation…

Classy bird, me!

So, I pootled off, still half asleep, to the bus stop and sat on top deck soaking up the sunny rays that streamed in through the window.

I didn’t even read, which for me is a rarity.

And, by the time I got to work I was nicely energised and ready to go – like a Duracell bunny, the one in the advert where he’s climbing and has to hoick all the other bunnies up the cliff face.

Yup that’s me… except I am not pink, nor do I have long ears, or big goggly eyes, or batteries strapped to my back…

Umm…

Anyway, it got me thinking. If I am solar powered then maybe my hearing will work better with some more sun. Maybe I am only deaf because my batteries are low on solar charge. In which case I need to book my summer holiday immediately or failing that, stick my head out of the office window to catch the remains of today’s sun, which is quite risky given my known clumsiness and the fact I work five floors up.

Do you know, when I was little, I used to wonder if maybe I was deaf because a spider had crawled in my ear when I was sleeping and it was getting in the way. Sometimes, even though I don’t like spiders much, I used to wish and wish that one day my doctor would pull out this giant spider from my head and all of a sudden I’d hear my violin again.

Clearly now I am a grown-up, I don’t think that anymore, but I like the idea of the solar-powered hearing theory – but like all thinkers, I should try and disprove the theory to test it’s merit. It’s a hard life but someone’s got to…

So now I just need some sunny destinations (and a big, fat wad of cash). Perhaps I should send myself some ideas on a postcard…

And so…

Wow, it seems I was a bit premature about looking on the bright side of life yesterday… but enough about that, because after all, it is Thankful Friday and in the grand scheme of things, I can deafinitely find things to be thankful for.

High up the list is Fab Friend. She came over for dinner last night and was, well quite simply fab. She gave me balanced, considered advice and made me feel a whole lot better about stuff – and that’s got to be a good thing. Her full name is Fab Friend Who Actually Wears Her Hearing Aids and she’s the best pep talker when I am feeling like my hearing loss is a heavy yoke around my neck. Needless to say I woke up this morning feeling less like it is…

I am also thankful for the sun. Sun helps our bodies make vitamin D – which in turn ensures healthy bone development so at least I won’t be getting rickets any time soon.

Finally I am thankful for The Rents who are paying me a visit this weekend. It’s Ma’s birthday on Sunday and we are going to London Aunt’s for lunch to celebrate – it should be great.

Family are important when you’re not sure about much else – I know mine are always there when I need them and I’m very thankful about that.

I think, that as the news gets more doomy and gloomy, more people’s lives change course in ways they had never anticipated and the future takes on a new meaning, it’s a good idea to be thankful for those little things – they’re like the blobs on top of Lego that glue everything else together and stop it all tumbling down.

It’s not about the latest this, the latest that, whether you’ve ticked the boxes you expected to tick, or got where you wanted to go – it’s about remembering what’s really important, right here, right now.

And that’s really all I’ve got to say…

Always look on the bright side of life

Deafinitely Girly is feeling strangely emotional today. Perhaps it’s because she’s had a bit of a busy week with work, or is fighting the various bugs and ailments that are floating around the Capital.

Either way, nothing prepared me for the fact that I welled up while eating my breakfast and watching Neighbours. Big fat tears rolled down my cheeks as Harold Bishop struggled to come to terms with the fact that he’s dying of cancer…

*sniff

I can still remember when my bizarre but unashamedly-open love affair with this Australian daytime soap began. I was about 8 and it was when Mike (Guy Pearce) and Charlene and Scott (Kylie and Jason) were in it. The first episode I ever saw was when Lucy Robinson got stung by a bee…

Gripping stuff!

So anyway, yah, Harold is dying…

*sniff

I was still feeling oddly morose on my bus to work and this was coupled with mild irritation for the Chelsea Girl who kept flicking her blonde extensions in my face and smacking my knee with her stoopid bag.


She had the audacity to huff when I folded the paper I was reading and it encroached on her space, so I sent her silent thoughts of anger while I was welling up about David Cameron’s son Ivan dying – a heartbreaking story.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, a crazy sign of the funny side of life was revealed to me that actually made me laugh out loud – the Chelsea Girl by this point had moved seats, not keen to sit by the snivelling, laughing lunatic she clearly thought I was.

There, in Knightsbridge, was someone vaccuming the pavement with a Henry Vacuum Cleaner! Seriously, this lady was walking up and down outside Benetton, the little red vacuum at her heels, cleaning up London grime.

How brilliant is that?

It reminded me to ‘always look on the bright side of life’ – I’d like to whistle after saying this sentence but I can’t hear myself whistle, or anyone else for that matter, so I doubt it’d be very tuneful.

How about you do it for me…

Micro Clog um...blog

Tap, tap, tap, tap

I am impatiently awaiting the arrival of my new nephew Micro Clog who is due to make an appearance very, very soon. It’s quite exciting that I will soon be an Aunty of two Clogs – I will have to make sure I wear lots of rouge, long floaty garments and pinch their cheeks a lot when I see them before smothering them in big kisses.

But it’s quite scary to think that Mini Clog will actually be a Big Bro himself as he’s still so diddy. Apparently he knows all his numbers and colours in Dutch and English and is quite a little talker. He also tells off Big Bro when he does something wrong by saying, ‘No, Daddy, no, no, no!’ It’s nice to know that there’s someone else to tell off Big Bro now we are separated by the sea.

I also hope that Mini Clog is as great a big brother to Micro Clog as my Big Bro iss to me. I mean, I was quite an annoying little sister – I knocked Big Bro’s front teeth out, nearly broke his nose and insisted on wearing exactly the same clothes as him as I thought it would make us twins – in my defence I was about 4 years old and an avid Topsy & Tim fan at the time.

Anyway, I guess it’s a waiting game – Big Bro has confirmed his impatience in waiting to become a dad for the second time, too! There were suggestions of star jumps to kick start labour but thankfully he thought better than to make Maxi Clog jump up and down at almost 9 months pregnant.

However, being knowledgeable on this sort of thing, I can recommend, eating curry, going for a walk and um,

*blush

nipple twiddling

*double blush

Want to know more? You’re going to have to Google it I’m afraid…

Perilous exercise

Ow, ow, ow, ow, and ow!

Deafinitely Girly is in pain today and I am afraid to say, it’s self-inflicted and centred around her neck.

As I have mentioned in earlier blogs, my gym has closed thanks to the trusty Crossrail scheme and so I must find an alternative form of exercise. Now, as I write this, I can hear running fans everywhere clamouring about how I should just go for a jog outside – it’s free, it’s great exercise, etc, etc….

Whatever!

I don’t like running – I have never liked running and much as I hope that if I ever took it up, I would become one of those beanpoles who proclaims how they couldn’t run for 5 minutes before but now they can quite happily run consecutive marathons – deep down I know this is about as likely as me suddenly waking up to discover my legs have grown to a reasonable length and my calves have stopped being obese.

It’s not actually that I don’t like running, it’s that I hate it with a passion usually reserved for Big Brother wannabes.

I remember once on a cross country run at school, my teacher actually gave me a piggy back as I was taking so long he was worried he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner and his wife would be angry. Doing well in the annual school cross country race was getting back before nightfall and during the athletics season I made sure I shone in rounders for both my year and the year above so I was always too busy to be called upon for the long-distance races.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely unfit, I don’t think…
I don’t wobble when I walk, I can do 2 pull ups on the handrail on the tube, will quite happily walk for miles, my BMI is apparently spot on, and I only just have a double figures figure. But I would like to keep it that way…

So anyway, as I was saying, while on the search for a credit-crunch, running-free exercise mode, I found an old exercise video under my bed. I’ll give this a go, I thought and rammed it in my video player before attacking the moves with gusto. What I hadn’t allowed for was the weird positions my neck would end up in, in order to keep lipreading the enthusiastic instructor while doing my crunches, lunges and goodness knows what else – I don’t think I was this deaf last time I tried it. So while my other muscles are slightly tender after my workout, it’s my neck that’s really feeling the burn and it wasn’t in need of toning up in the first place!

*sniff

But on a plus, I am actually doing quite a lot of exercise at my desk today as I cannot turn my head from left to right. So, instead I have to turn my whole body, which if you think about it uses more muscle groups… so perhaps I will benefit after all!

Who gives an Oscar?

Anyone being paying any attention to the Oscars’ results that are littered over every news’ website and paper this morning? I have been purposefully and perhaps a little stubbornly, ignoring it all.

I don’t care whether Slumdog cleaned up on 7 out of 8 awards that it was nominated for, or that Kate Winslet finally won an Oscar…

And here’s why…

I couldn’t see any of the films that won, even if I wanted to, because movie subtitling is still so rubbish!

A quick look at the Now Showing section of Yourlocalcinema.com and it’s easy to see how impossible it is for deaf people to add to their film resume – for instance, at the cinema nearest me I can see um… absolutely nothing at all. Last week I could have seen Revolutionary Road at 5.10pm – except realistically I couldn’t as I have a job and taking holiday to see a movie is, quite frankly, ridiculous.

In all fairness there are Sunday showings of movies – 2 weeks ago they screened The Secret Of Moonacre and 3 weeks ago they showed the Oscar winner itself, Slumdog Millionaire… once, at 2.30pm.

How great is that? One subtitled showing of a movie acclaimed by all.

Anyway, being girly and um…

*blush

…into predictable, romantic chick flicks, I’d really like to see Confessions Of A Shopaholic, and I was excited to find that it’s showing at another, slightly less local, cinema at 3.15 and 5.45 on Tuesday 24 Feb – that’s tomorrow and oop, surprise surprise, I am at work!

Gingerbread Man once commented that I moan about the same things over and over in this blog and it’s always the same story – but that’s part of the point. It is always the same story – nothing is changing or getting better when it comes to visiting the cinema and being deaf.

So, I am off to pen a polite-ish email to the Bigwigs and ask them what they’re going to do about it!

Teach yourself…

Today is Thankful Friday and a Google search proves I am not alone in celebrating Friday in this way. Pages and pages of results came up from bloggers left, right and centre proclaiming Thankful Friday – so many in fact, that I didn't show up until page 2!

*sniff

Today I am thankful for Sample-Sale-Pal – I work with her and last night, at a company awards ceremony, she was my translator! A comedian called Michael McIntyre was our host for the evening and he spoke faster than the speed of light and moved around even faster than that. I didn't have a hope in hell of hearing what he said. So, whenever anything was really funny, Sample-Sale-Pal would fill me in.

It's a bit frustrating missing out on things like this – comedians are hard to subtitle so even if I had stuck my neck out and shouted for more formal support at last night's awards, I am not sure there was anything they could have done to make it easier for me.

Plus, I think I am actually the only deaf person in my company... and that makes shouting for help at big events seem a bit weird. It’s kind of like saying, ‘Please do this for only me, even though it might inconvenience everyone else.’ And, that’s just not something I am good at doing at the moment.

When I was much younger and not quite as well acquainted with my deafness, I used to wish that I could be one of those people who went to the theatre, stayed awake for the whole play and came out knowing what they'd seen. I didn't put two and two together and realise that the reason I fell asleep was because I couldn't hear anything and that Shakespeare made no sense to me not because I didn’t get the language but, again because I couldn't hear anything – I just thought I was doomed to be uncultured forever.

But the problem is, I sometimes feel that being deaf does make me uncultured... I'd love to go to lectures at The National Gallery on Gainsborough and why so many of his paintings are unfinished, and see the latest plays and movies when I want to – not when an accessible version is aired once a year at their convenience and my inconvenience.

Sure I can read, which is why my bookshelf is groaning under the weight of a ton of reference books – right now I am reading unknown facts about England and it’s fascinating. God I am a geek…

But I guess, since I went deaf, I’ve always had to teach myself rather than glean info from other sources – I did it during my degree and even my A-levels – might explain some of my questionable grades and why I never contemplated being a teacher!

Hopefully one day in the future, Thankful Friday will be all about how fabulous it is that all movies are always subtitled, all plays have optional subtitles and all lectures come with transcripts or voice-activated subtitles. I know the technology is there – just got to convince people to use it now.

Good morning, bad morning

I have news: we have New Neighbours

I have bad news: After this morning they will hate me already, and this is why…

6am: Wake up feeling a little dry-mouthed after a lovely dinner with Clever Katie last night. Wander into kitchen missing the step and landing with a bang. Kitchen is above New Neighbour 1's bedroom – blindness and deafness first thing does not an elegant girl make.

6.03am: Turn on tap in kitchen and water comes out with a lunge, bang and wheeze – am pretty sure that for hearing people there's a high-pitched wailing accompanying it.

6.30am: Fall up the stairs with mug of tea and toast while trying to balance a glass of water in crook of arm. Wall now tastefully decorated with green tea and jam, New Neighbours privy to the crashes and colourful language uttered.

6.31am: Make mental note to self to use trays more often

6.40am: Attempt to tiptoe round room and succeed in slamming cupboard, getting drawer stuck and wrestling with it while it makes a weird grinding sound and covers my floor in sawdust.

6.41am: More colourful language

7am: Shower curtain falls down in bath – thankfully not while I am in there and makes a resounding crash that even I can hear. New Neighbours will definitely hear this.

7.01am: Pray that New Neighbours are a) also deaf b) at work already c) not already on their way upstairs to shout at me.

And so my morning continued in this similar fashion. I tripped over a pair of boots, sent my hairdryer flying in quite an impressive fashion and slammed the front door with excessive force when my scarf got caught in the letterbox. Cue more colourful language as I stomped downstairs only to miss the only working bus in South West London, forcing me to get on a rubbishy slow one with no subtitles to explain to me why we pointlessly sat at every bus stop for HALF AN HOUR.

*deep breath in
*deep breath out

But what's weird is that I love mornings, I am normally a morning person – perhaps tomorrow will be better...