Me and my hearing memories

Phew, today has been craa-zy busy at work. Since I rocked up outside my office in style this morning, *blush* it's been non-stop.

At lunch I popped out to get some air – but there wasn't any. Seriously, it feels as though all the air has been completely sucked out of central London. But then it's summer, so I should really suck it up and get on with it.

My head is aching today - it's affecting my hearing. The radio is quieter, the lights are brighter and as a result of those two combined, I'm having trouble lipreading.

However, that's not the weirdest thing. That would be that I just heard a phone ring.

There I was, tap tapping away at my computer, feeling full up from my M&S lunch and whatever else I have scrounged off the work filing cabinet today – mini teacakes being the most frequent nibble, and I don't even like marshmallow! – when all of a sudden:

Bleeeeat, bleeeat

I looked up, wondering if it was possible to hallucinate sound. Then…

bleeeat, bleeat

Sure enough, there it was again.

I looked around. People continued to work.

'Erm...' I said to my boss. 'Did you just hear that noise?'

And she nodded.

But before you get excited and think I am getting my hearing back – it was the lowest phone tone I've ever heard. It sounded like a sheep in labour – not that I've ever heard one of them either. But it was a low kind of bleating sound.

It was amazing though – I heard a phone ring and this excites me!

I mean after all, the last time I heard a phone ring, I had size 11 feet and was about 6 – I remember this as I got given a cool pair of blue rollerskates and I used to skate around the house and therefore always used to be the first to answer the phone. I have this really vivid memory of taking off down the hall towards the telephone table to answer it and sending a tuppaware box of phone number cards flying.

It's nice to have these hearing memories – like I can still remember what a cat meowing sounds like, and a car alarm, and a green man beeping. I can also remember story tapes, and TV without subtitles, hearing from the back of the car and playing chinese whispers. These memories are so incredibly important to me – it's like a part of me I will never get back so I don't ever want to forget it.

Most of the time however, I don't even think about them, but then, when I hear something like a phone ring, even if it's very low, it unleashes all those hearing memories and they flood my head again, causing me to indulge in a little light daydreaming.

It really is the little things sometimes isn't it!

*sigh

Hot, hot, hot

Today, I feel like I’m doing an impression of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz – everytime I step outside I want to squawk, ‘I’m melting, I’m melting!’

It’s seriously hot in my little flat – think tropical humidity with no breeze – not least because I haven’t quite worked out how to get hot water without heating yet.

Poor Miss K, she was greeted on her first morning in her new flat by hot radiators and lukewarm water! Whoops!

Anyway, so yah, I now have a new housemate! Yesterday I drove oop norf to Kilburn and picked up Miss K.

I looked at my little car, I looked at the growing number of bags and boxes that kept appearing to go in it. But sure enough, after 40 minutes of traipsing, packing, pushing, pulling and ramming, we were ready to go.

It was a challenge just to pull out of the parking space though. I couldn’t see a thing out the back window, had a drying rack tickling my left ear and poor Miss K was wedged in the passenger seat with various bags propped on top of her.

*Phew!

But we made it back to my side of town, albeit in a car so heavy it had the stopping distance of a jugganaut, and with some hoping and praying while zooming around Hyde Park Corner.

And so, after all that drama, it seemed only fair we had some bubbles to celebrate, chill out in the sun, and marvel at the size of Miss K’s TV!

Anyway, today it’s back to work, back to sitting in an air conditioned block while real summer is occurring outside.

But I will console myself with the fact that after work’s out, I have almost five hours of daylight and sun to play in…

…can’t wait!

Decisions decisions

Today is Thankful Friday and most of all, I'm thankful that First Uni Housemate's fiancé is back from Afghanistan.

They're getting married in September and she was counting the days until he was back in England. And now he is! Hurrah!

I'm also thankful for my Deafinitely Girly Umbrella, which I bought from my Deafinitely Girly Shop. The rain is due to come down in bucket loads today so I think it will come in very handy.

So will the new roof on Center Court, too, I'm sure!

Slowly but surely the Deafinitely Girly merchandise is getting out there. Soon there will be a pair of Chav Pants
in Vietnam along with an ‘I Heart DG’
T-shirt.

Oop Norf, there are 2 Deafinitely Girly T-shirts and I've heard a rumour that the Micro Clog baby clothing is soon to grace South Africa!

And, seeing as over half of my friends seem to be pregnant right now, hopefully there'll be a surge of sales in my baby wear section!

And ahem... back to reality.

Which is that, in the light of Michael Jackson’s death (rather shocked to find this out from Ex Penthouse Flatmate), there’s an awful lot of his music playing on the radio. I never ever bothered to learn to the words to his songs – so I guess my colleagues will be in for a quiet day as I can’t sing along.

Anyway, this week has flown by, perhaps because I had Monday off work, or maybe because it's been so busy. All I do know is Friday seems to have come around in the blink of an eye.

And, to cap it all off, I have eight hours to make a decision about my future, which is not good as at the way time is going right now, it'll probably feel more like eight minutes.

I’ve had good advice from amazing people about what to do, which has been very useful, and then I read my horoscope, which I try to never do. It said to follow my heart when making a big decision, and I’m going to do just that.

Miss K's moving in!

Ah, what a lovely day it is today again. I knew it was going to be a good day, as I woke up smiling – after a fabulous dream that Snowboarding Boy and I were um… snowboarding together.

Halfway down the mountain I decided I was rubbish at snowboarding and magically a pair of skis appeared on my feet and I swished off down the slope after him.

The sun was shining, the snow was soft and powdery and the most brilliant shade of white. All in all it was rather wonderful, particularly because, as it was a dream, I could hear perfectly – something that I find always happens in my dreams.

Anyway, do you know it’s nearly a year since Lovely Housemate moved out to her own little pad up the road and became Shakira Shakira!?

Where has the time gone?

Well, now once again it’s time for another housemate of mine to spread his wings – again to a pad of his own just up the road. It seems to be a thing that my housemates do.

I’m very excited for him, as it’s actually his. He owns it. No more rent. No more dealing with his housemate’s sleepwalking antics and girly products all over the bathroom.

And, now for the really exciting news: in his place I am getting a brand new housemate – and quite a lot of you know her – Miss K!

The timing was quite unbelievably perfect – Miss K needed a place to live, and I needed a lovely housemate. What a brilliant combination eh?

I remember when she used to live 100s of miles from London, in zone 3, we used to talk about how lovely it would be if we could share a flat. Well, it looks like someone was listening.

So this weekend, I’m trundling up to Norf London, where she’s living right now, in my little car to try and squeeze everything in. She has a big TV, which I am slightly concerned about as it’s quite possibly bigger than my car, but fingers crossed we will manage it all in one trip.

Miss K has been on an incredible journey already this year and I hope that my little flat will be a place where her adventures can continue. Not least because I absolutely LOVE hearing all about them, and as Miss K is so good at being my ears, I never miss any gossip!

Hurrah!

Where's my deaf awareness?!

Perfect, perfect weather! Usually during Wimbledon, it rains, but not so far! I mean now they've spent millions on a roof for Centre Court, it seems only fair that we get wall-to-wall sunshine in the opening days, with good prospects of it continuing!

I love waking up to sunshine – it always makes me happy. When I lived in Pompey, my bed was in a bay window overlooking the sea and every morning I'd wake up and just look at the view out of my window. The big ships would be coming in and out of the Solent, sounding their low horns as they went.

Wonderful!

Now, in all fairness my current view isn't so enticing, but after just 10 minutes of looking at the blue, blue sky this morning, I was ready to face the day.

Anyway, last night just as I was dropping off to sleep, I got an email from Ma.

Ah-ha, I thought, I wonder if she's logged into her email chat. So I logged on, and sure enough, there she was.

‘Ma,’ I typed, ‘are you there?’

No response...

‘Coo-ee!’ I typed…

Still no response.

Five minutes passed and I read my new Katie Fforde book. And then all of a sudden my phone buzzed.

‘Hello,’ Ma typed. ‘I wondered why the computer kept pinging and then saw your message.’

I explained to her how email chat worked, and so, we chatted.

It was so lovely, and I think even more so for her as her hearing is quite bad these days and she really does struggle on the phone.

It's strange having a Ma who's going deaf. You'd think I'd have advice for her, be aware of her needs and things like that. But I'm a bit rubbish to tell you the truth. I'm learning to gradually spot where she might need help and to nag her to get her hearing aids re-tuned, but I also forget a lot that she's not able to hear me so clearly anymore.

It's kind of been enlightening actually. It's made me understand how people can forget I am deaf. It's made me realise that when people get impatient with me, or can't be bothered to repeat something and instead say never mind, that they're not being mean.

The other day, Ma and I were in her kitchen, preparing dinner. She said something to me while she had her head in the fridge.

‘What?’ I said, waiting for her to turn around so I could lipread her.

She did, and as I replied, I started getting the plates out of the cupboard, making quite a lot of noise.

‘What?’ she said, to me, unable to hear from the din I was making.

And so I stopped making a noise and repeated myself.

This bizarre conversation continued. Each of us being amazingly un-deaf aware of the other one.

And if I'm that bad, then maybe I should just give everyone else a break.

The whooping, cartwheeling deaf girl

Phew, where has the time gone!? I just looked at my watch and saw that it's almost too late to blog.

Today, the weather is perfect. At lunchtime I sat in the square near my office, and let the sun warm me as I closed my eyes. It honestly
felt as though I was all alone there in my square. No real noise to distract me – just me and my deafness, my deafness and me.

It's like we're inseparable life partners. Did I promise to love, honour and cherish it? Did it promise me that, too? Can I divorce it?

The answer is, of course, no. But just sometimes I feel like shaking my deafness off – like when you're a kid and an annoying older kid tickles you because they're bigger and stronger. And so you kick out, but you can't shake them off.

And then I realised, with a little help of course, that if you go with the flow, let yourself be tickled and relax, it's actually not that bad after all. So I think that's my plan right now. No more deafness sulking.

Anyway, my long weekend drew to a close last night with a fabulous meal out with London Aunt, London Cousins 1 & 2, and the Blanco Family. We went for tapas as it was Paparazzi Blanco's 13th birthday.
There were 10 women and Blanco. What a lucky, lucky man he is!!!!

I was telling the youngest Blanco about my blog and she decided that she should choose her own blog name. I was more than happy to let her do this – I don't let people do it very often – but she put up a good argument. And so she named herself
Kalamari Blanco.

So then, we just had the middle Blanco daughter to name – she plays the flute like me you know, so I settled on Tootfloot Blanco.

It was great to hear them all talking excitedly about school, music exams, singing, dancing, and holidays. When we finished dinner we all went onto the green and they cartwheeled and handstanded their way around, whooping with delight. I almost joined them, except I haven't done a cartwheel in quite some time.

Maybe I'll do one after work later – so look out for a whooping, cartwheeling, dizzy, deaf blonde girl in Hyde Park – it might just be me!

Subtitles? on Top Gear? Am I asking too much?!

OK, here’s the thing: to my knowledge, the BBC is an extensive, if not 24-hour service. Between BBC1 and 2, and 3 and 4, and the news channel and the World one, it must put out hundreds of programmes a week.

I have but one request – that it successfully subtitles just seven hours of programmes. Seven hours!!!!!!

While I know that the Beeb has other companies helping it with its subtitles, ultimately, in my opinion, it is wholly responsible when things go wrong. And as I am paying a licence fee to watch it, and as we are in the 21st Century and things as simple as subtitles shouldn’t be going wrong, this makes me VERY mad.

So here we are – last night was the first in a new series of Top Gear (21 June). I must confess that since the iPlayer redemption, I have forgotten about the BBC’s rubbish subtitling of the last series of Top Gear, so when I settled down last night I wasn’t even contemplating that my viewing might be ruined by this.

Apparently, The Stig was going to be unmasked. Hmmmmm, did anyone fall for this?

And they had a race in the fastest motor things from 1946 – a Black Shadow bike, a pretty Jaguar and a stonking great steam train (which wasn’t the fastest train at the time but they used it anyway).

I became engrossed in the programme. I laughed, I giggled and I yelled, ‘Rubbish!!’ at the TV screen when The Stig allegedly came out as Michael Shoemaker.

And then, when there was just 15 precious minutes to go…

NOTHING

Not a subtitle in sight.

Then, I’d get the odd sporadic word. Then nothing again.

To make matters worse, I was missing the most exciting bit. It was the end of the race from London to Edinburgh. Jeremy Clarkson looked like a chimney sweep from stoking coal, Richard Hammond was quite possible infertile and had a posture resembling a scarecrow from bouncing along on his little Black Shadow, and James May was looking unphased and unruffled tootling along in his pretty Jag.

But I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

I asked Pa, but in all fairness, he was quite engrossed in actually watching Top Gear and had no wish to translate for me.

So I sat there, and missed most of the end of the first edition in the new series of my most favourite programme EVER made.

*sniff

I guess, on a plus, this season of Top Gear is seven episodes long – well, that’s what JC said yesterday – so that means that the BBC has six more attempts at providing decent subtitles for one hour on a Sunday night on BBC2.

And on another plus, if it continues to muck it up in this hugely annoying, rant-inducing fashion, at least I will have something to write about for the next six Mondays after this one.

But to be honest, I’d rather just have decent subtitles so I can follow JC’s inane but endearing ramblings, laugh at Mr May’s attempts to fight off being bullied by the other two, and marvel at how, when Hammond starts to whine, his voice actually disappears right out of my frequency.

Here’s hoping…

Here’s hoping.

My lo-oooooooooooooooooong weekend

Today, I am not at work.

Tomorrow, I will not be at work.

Monday I will not be at work either.

I've gone oop norf to see The Rents for a long weekend and a spot of respite in the country. It's Father's Day on Sunday (psst - Big Bro, don't forget to call Pa) so I thought I'd come home and see Pa and thank him for being, well... fabulous.

I'm also going to recharge my hearing assertiveness batteries. They've been failing a bit of late.

Take yesterday for example when, at lunchtime I popped out to my favourite salad bar to grab a salad. The man behind the counter asked me a question.

I thought it was, 'Would you like a bag?' so I said, 'Yes please.'

He looked at me weirdly, and muttered something under his breath to his colleague who started to laugh.

*sniff

Now, normally I would speak up and say, 'I'm hard of hearing' but yesterday I just stood there like a lemon and let them laugh at me.

Not my finest moment...

When he did eventually ask me if I wanted a bag, I said yes and grabbed it and ran out the shop, a good few shades of red darker than when I went in.

Then, last night, Snowboarding Boy and I went for sushi in this fab little Japanese restaurant. Walking in, I recognised a girl from work and said hello and started chatting. Halfway through the conversation however, I realised she was a different girl from work, who worked on a totally different floor, in a totally different office. I'd been guessing what she was asking me as it was quite noisy and as she wasn't who I thought she was, it meant none of my answers would have made any sense.

*cringe

When I eventually realised this, instead of explaining my blondness/deafness, I stood there, rooted to the spot, yakking at her, making a total idiot of myself. Honestly, I seriously considered death by chopstick to make it all go away.

Snowboarding Boy however, reassured me that I didn't look like the lemon I felt and so we settled down to munch on raw fish.

But all this has got me thinking. Why am I all of a sudden so reluctant to backtrack and explain that I haven't heard something right or have got confused. This head-in-the-sand approach to my deafness is something I used to do when I first went VERY deaf as I wasn't used to cocking up all the time.

And then I realised, while glancing through past columns, that I recently mentioned that I was feeling less and less deaf at the moment. Which means I appear to have forgotten all my one liners and face-saving sentences I dish out when I'm heading for a catostrophic situation.

So this weekend, while enjoying some R&R, I am going to think about ways to stop me forgetting my deafness. Just for a little while. Just til I get my groove back.

Hearing my dreams

Last night I had the weirdest dream.

Friend Who Knows Big Words and I were fleeing some kidnappers and had to climb down and across a massive cliff overhanging the sea to get away.

I remember feeling the wind in my hair and hearing the rush of the sea below as it surged against the base of the cliff. Rather usefully it seems once again, I wasn’t deaf in my dream so I could hear Friend Who Knows Big Words yelling at me to hurry up as I traversed a particularly tricky bit in front of her.

Such was the clarity of the dream that I was also thinking about climbing techniques, thinking about where to place my feet, how to shift my weight and I even remember being quite impressed at my strength and ability to hang on.

As we neared the bottom of the cliff, I fell and landed in the sea – I remember it being icy cold and seeing the fear on Friend Who Knows Big Words’s face. But I managed to haul myself up onto a ledge and we made our way into a secret room where French Boy was waiting, pacing the room, looking at maps and generally acting a bit stressed out.

After much discussion we finally escaped on a sea plane and that was the end of that.

See what I mean…

WEIRD!

I wonder what it means – all this running away, cliff climbing and French Boy acting like a member of the French resistance. Anyone know if all that’s in a dream dictionary anywhere?

What it does mean though, is that I feel absolutely exhausted today. I feel like I spent all night climbing down a cliff face and running away from bad people. I don’t feel like I’ve slept. I also feel extremely hungry…

I must however, keep reminding myself that just because I dreamt that I climbed down a cliff last night, doesn’t mean I burnt off those calories, so I can’t stuff my face with Waitrose New York Cheesecake, however much I might want to.

I think I’ll go for a brisk walk at lunch and then devour some Waitrose New York Cheesecake instead!

Lipreading London

Yesterday, Friend Who Knows Big Words came for dinner. She leaves for Vietnam in two months so I am seeing as much of her as possible before she goes.

It was great. I found out all about her recent holiday in Columbia, where she had a mud bath in a volcano, and I also quizzed her some more about her new home-to-be – Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC)...

*sniff

She's still working on her plan to get me to move there and set up a cake shop, but I'm really not sure I'd be able to lipread Vietnamese that well!

Speaking of friends trying to get me to move, tonight I am seeing SuperCathyFragileMystic as she's in town unexpectedly. She's just got a GP placement in the Wild West um... Country and is looking at buying a gorgeous flat in Bath or cute chocolate-box cottage in one of the surrounding villages.

The house prices are slightly more palatable compared with London, which makes me a teeny tiny bit jealous, as I can barely afford a parking space right now, let alone a building with four walls and a roof over it.

Knowing this fact, she announced that she wants a housemate... or neighbour… and thinks I’d be ideal.

‘Affordable housing,’ she said to me.

‘Love my actual job in London,’ I replied.

But really, a cake shop in the Wild West um... Country – could that work?

The main part of me thinks no, because although it is actually my childhood home, I would be following a whole load of ex- and RICH Londoners there who have already set up the cake shops, bought the country piles and pushed the house prices up. And I don’t really want to be a social cliché that looks like it has walked straight out of the starched pages of Country Life.

*GAH!

And come to think of it, I'm not that convinced I could lipread the West Country accent that well either!

But perhaps I could have a chain of cake shops, in addition to my lovely day job – one in London, one in HCMC, and one in the Wild West um... Country?

I could call it, ‘Around The World In 80 Cakes’ and have 80 different varieties of icing and cake mixture, while writing books in my spare time, and...

*sigh

…back to reality…

…which actually isn’t all that bad. After all, I can actually lipread the London accent and I think if I left, there’d be one or two things I’d miss… just one or two.

*blush

The lettuce and the supermarket

Wow, what a weekend!

Firstly, I’m ashamed to say that I got my first bout of sunstroke on Sunday! I was sick as um... a sick person, as I forgot to pack the hat that Snowboarding Boy bought me. And so, I sat in the sun for two hours during a picnic and felt the sense evaporate from my brain.

So Sunday night saw me, very poorly and feeling very sorry for myself.

*sniff

Anyway, the rest of the weekend was marvellous! It was Penthouse Flatmate’s son’s Christening and First Uni Housemate and I went up to the Wild West um... Country for it. Her first baby is my goddaughter you know – I was chosen to teach her how to be fabulous apparently!

On the Saturday we caught up and marvelled at how much Goddaughter has grown. I bought her a dress, which she loved, and every five minutes she begged her mum to let her wear it NOW!

She’s talking lots now, too. Although I can’t really hear her yet. If I really concentrate I can decipher bits and bobs – the best one being when she told me she loved me.

*grin

Anyway, something most odd happens to me when I’m reunited with Penthouse Flatmate and First Uni Housemate – I start behaving like a kid.

Maybe it’s because they’re both settled and doing grown-up things with their lives, like weddings and babies. I dunno...

But I do know I do some odd things.

While shopping for the picnic stuff in Sainsbury’s, I let them take charge and followed them round getting restless. To keep me occupied, Penthouse Flatmate sent me off to find lettuce, which I did. I returned to find them further up the aisle than they had been previously so, for some completely unknown reason, I high bowled the lettuce at the trolley.

Except I’m not good at bowling lettuces and missed. I am however good at throwing things hard, so the lettuce took off at speed and thwacked a poor unsuspecting woman who was standing a good 10 metres from the trolley.

*cringe

Penthouse Flatmate and First Uni Housemate stood stock-still, open-mouthed staring at me, and I swear I shrank to the size of a Borrower.

*eek

I thought Penthouse Flatmate was going to put me on the naughty step!

*mental note to self – there is a 20 in front of the 8!

Keen to redeem myself, I was up at the crack of dawn on Sunday making fairy cakes for the Christening. As I’m in training for the wedding I jumped at the chance. But it turns out that Penthouse Flatmate has slightly more fancy beaters than me, and they pinged the mixture all over her lovely kitchen.

Redemption = 0

Thankfully, I managed to locate my inner adult during the christening and at the picnic afterwards. And in typical adult fashion I forgot sun cream and shade and the fact I have an English rose complexion that burns quicker than a chip pan fire.

And so here I am today, tired, burnt and… um glittery.

Hmmm, it turns out the only aftersun I have is a sparkly one – I presume designed for application after beach frying and before clubbing... Or to cheer up sunburnt toddlers as it ‘looks so pretty!’

I got it free, I promise.

So, here I am, covered in glitter, at work, on a Monday.

Attempts at being an adult = 0!

BBC subtitles go awry!

Right, today is Thankful Friday and I'm afraid I am going to start with what I am not thankful for, and this is for the prepubescent schoolboys on my bus.

It's a rush hour bus, it's rammed and they are each taking up two seats each with their giant school bags and oafish figures.

They are so, so noisy, too! If I close my eyes I could be back on a school coach – I feel about 10 years old right now!

Next they'll probably start throwing things!

Ok, so now onto Thankful Friday! Well, I am thankful for the BBC subtitles as ever for being...

Ow! I just got smacked on the head by a tennis racket...

Damn these boys!

Um, where was I, ah yes, this morning the BBC subtitling service informed me that millions of Jews are murdered every year at the top of Snowdonia!

I was so shocked that I nearly choked on my tea, and I'm still not sure what good old Bill Turnbull actually said, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t that.

Ooh hurrah the boys are all getting of the bus, thumping every aisle passenger as they go with their HUGE bags! What have they got in there?

Recently I feel as though the deaf-related rants in this blog are getting fewer and far between. This is both good and bad. It's good because it means that, for some reason, I have been facing less obstacles regarding my hearing, but it's bad because soon I will have to rename this blog ‘Girly’.

Snowboarding Boy told me the other day that he often forgets I am deaf. This time last year when I was writing this blog I'd have replied, ‘I never forget I am deaf, not even for a minute.’

But just recently I have been. It's quite bizarre...

I wonder why this is?

I am still deaf and I am still girly.

Harrumph

Perhaps I should rename my blog Defiantly Girly instead…

All change!

OK, I have news.

I’m going to say it quickly, like when you need to pull off a plaster and the build up is always worse than actually doing it.

Friend Who Knows Big Words and French Boy are moving.

*phew

There, I said it.

Now, they’re not moving to a different London postcode – that would be easy for me to say.

Nope! They’re moving over 6000 miles away to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam!

Now, first things first, congratulations to French Boy as this is a new job for him and a brilliant opportunity, too. Plus, I know that the sunshine and heat will make Friend Who Knows Big Words happy, as she really isn’t made for English weather. She’s the only person I know who can wear more layers than me.

But since she arrived on my doorstep over 4 years ago, fresh from her travels in Asia, I have loved every minute of having her in London. Even the vomiting-in-the-hood episode – which is a whole other story.

It was so unexpected you see. In our yearbook at school, we said she would be the one who lived in a far-flung country with a hot man. And I guess that has now come true. Which means that all that’s left to come true is me ending up in a padded cell.

*gulp

I am so happy for them both, I really am. But I am sad for me. I am sad that I won’t be able to go around the corner for a feast of dead animals on their smoking BBQ. I am sad that the time difference will mean that I won’t be able to email Friend Who Knows Big Words quotes from Stewie in Family Guy and know that five miles up the road she too is sniggering behind her computer screen. I am also sad that meeting up for a quick bit to eat will involve a long-haul plane flight.

Since we met in the corridor of our school on the first day of 6th form, we’ve been through a whole lotta stuff and now I gotta go over 6000 miles to go through more! But then that’s the good thing isn’t it?

You see, by going on her own awfully big adventure, she’s paving the way for me to have one, too – by going to visit her! Hurrah!

Currently she is working on a plan to encourage me to move to Ho Chi Minh City too, and set up a ‘Hello Kitty’-themed cupcake shop – apparently that would go down a treat there – but I think for now, my place is here in London.

But even once they’re gone, there are email and text messages, and they can keep up to date with my antics through Deafinitely Girly.

It’ll all be fine, I know.

It’s the start of something new and exciting.

Tube strike issues? Not me!

Today chaos reigned in London as the tube people striked.

There were queues for buses snaking around the block, cars backed up in massive traffic jams and to top it all off, a good dosage of English rain!

Pah!

But did I suffer?

Um…

*blush

Nope!

*Deafinitely Girly grins from ear to ear

And why not? Because I got a lift with my very own knight in shining armour – on a bright yellow motorbike.

And so, while people stood exasperated unable to squeeze onto already-rammed buses, I got whizzed through the streets of London by Snowboarding Boy, hanging on tight, loving the low growl of the engine and only closing my eyes once – in the tunnel under Hyde Park Corner…

…it wasn’t scary as such, more just; OK that bit was a little scary!

It was quite amazing to rock up at work on time, no stress, no bother and with only a little bit of a helmet-hair situation to worry about. It made me wonder – should I get a motorbike? A pink one, with a matching pink helmet? I could be the Lady Penelope of the bike world.

Actually, on second thoughts, imagine, me on a motorbike – with less road sense than a drunken hedgehog. It could be quite catastrophic.

But then, it could also be very very fun.

I’m off to Google pink Vespas

But shhhhhhh…

Don’t tell Snowboarding Boy as he doesn’t think Vespas are real bikes.

Do they make real bikes in pink?!?!

Counting hippopotami

Dammit!

This sleeping thing is really bugging me now. Last night I was telling Fab Friend how I wasn't sleeping and I dropped into the conversation that I was going to have a soothing cup of green tea!

And she told me off! It's littered with caffeine and would keep me up all night, she said.

So instead I had a hot peach squash, dimmed the lights, read myself a story and drowned my pillow in Champney's pillow mist.

Ho hum…

Tap, tap, tap, tap

Still no sleep...

One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus, three…

Yup, they're definitely more effective than sheep as that's just about where I drifted off.

But on the subject of the hippopotamus, there was an error in yesterday's blog. It was pointed out by Snowboarding Boy, the only other person in the world, apart from Pa, who seems to know more useless information than me.

And I thought I knew a lot!

Anyway, it turns out that one hippopotamus only covers 330m not a mile as I previously thought.

I would love to tell you how many hippopotami are then in fact in a thunderstorm mile but I struggle with working out how much a handbag with 25% off costs – and that's when I'm actually motivated to do the maths. So I don't stand a chance here.

Maths has never been my strong point. I once got 10% in an exam when I was about 9. It was horrible.

But physics, I am even worse at. Just remembering those little stick men on the seesaw that you had to balance, brings me out in a cold sweat. I remember I once got 3 out of 23 in a physics test and promptly threw up in the science lab sink with the stress of it all.

I think some of it was that I couldn't hear in class and was also totally incapable of teaching myself, like I did in all my other subjects.

But I think most of it is that my brain just doesn't work that way. It sees numbers and scientific problems and shuts down.

I had a year of weekly physics coaching to get me through my GCSE, with an old man called Uncle Frank. Best Friend And Head Girl and I used to go to his house after school, and his wife, Aunty Mary, would feed us home-made Eccles cakes.

We'd begin and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, I'd fall asleep.

Best Friend would be studiously paying attention and I'd be slumped in my chair, one eye open, willing myself to stay awake long enough to learn why x over y equals q

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ah-ha! I've got it. Tonight, when I can't sleep, I will study physics. It's bound to work, in fact

*Yawn…

Just the thought of it is working already.

*snore

News Flash: Thunder wakes Deafinitely Girly

Deafinitely Girly is not sleeping at the moment. Not sure why this is exactly but it's very frustrating.

I go to bed, I lie there, I count sheep, I think non-stimulating happy thoughts, I say 'om...'

OK, I don't do the last bit, but I do do the other bits.

Anyway, on Saturday night, I actually did get to sleep at a reasonable hour, much to my relief. Until...


BOOM, rumble, rumble...

Something woke me up! Something actually woke me up.

BOOM, rumble, rumble, rumble...

I was so shocked to be woken that I lay awake, heart pounding, trying to work out what it was.

And then, after one more BOOM, rumble, rumble, I realised it was a massive storm.

I got up, just in time to see a huge flash of lightening.

BOOM, rumble, rumble…

And peeked out of my bedroom window, pressing my ear to the glass, I could just about hear the rain. Then...

Boom, rumble, rumble...

Argh

I would not recommend having your ear pressed up against glass when thunder occurs. It was kinda like hearing through a megaphone!

With all this racket going on at 5.30am, I decided little sleep would get done, so made a cup of tea and sat in bed drinking it, counting one hippopotamus, two hippopotamus, after each lightening strike to see how many miles away the storm was. At one point it was just one hip away!

So it's not surprising I felt slightly groggy yesterday, and still feel a bit groggy today.

My weekend, was to be fair, an action-packed whirlwind of creativity and culture, with baking with NikNak, craft with um... me, and a trip to the Tate Modern followed by cocktails at the Southbank with Miss K.

The giant cupcake, NikNak and Country Boy 1's top tier, has been practised… twice, and it's actually not looking too bad! Although I'm now wondering if my inability to sleep is somehow connected to licking the beaters every time I made buttercream icing...

Sugar high?

Hmmm maybe a little!

But now it's done, and I've perfected the art of spiral-piped buttercream, I'm feeling more prepared for my role as wedding baker.

Hmmm, yes...

Deafinitely Girly, wedding baker...

I like it!

Deafness… bovvered? Course not!

Today is Thankful Friday and I am immediately thankful that I didn't keep thinking it was Saturday, which is what I initially thought when I woke up this morning!

I am also thankful that NikNak and I have planned some baking practise over the weekend! She's gonna help me work out how to bake the giant cupcake that's going to be the top tier of her wedding cake and then Country Boy 1 is going to eat it!

Thankful Fridays have become something of an institution here at Deafinitely Girly. I like them. They're a great way to remind me of all the amazingly fantastic people and things in my life...

Good grief I sound a little Like Pollyanna and the Glad Game right now don't I?

But I think it's important to recognise these things otherwise it's much easier to focus on the negatives...

On the days that I wake up with this incredible optimism, I often test myself with things to see how unwavering the feeling is, and to see how strong it's making me.

One of the things I test it with is my deafness.

'Am I bovvered?' I ask myself

'No,' is the reply...

Obviously if you asked me to do a phone interview with an Irish boyband or work in a call centre then obviously the answer would be yes, very bovvered. But right here, right now, in my life...

Totally not bovvered.

Everything is just fine the way it is.

And for that, I am thankful.

Cast your vote

This morning I left the house a little bit early to go and vote in the European elections.

I used to be a bit rubbish at using my vote (much to my Gma’s disgust), but this year I thought I'd better as, in the light of the recent expenses palaver, lots of people probably won't vote and we'll end up with some crazy party winning a seat, giving them loads of money and unmonitored European expenses.

Anyway, casting my vote means I am now on a different bus to work. It's the bus that The Writer gets every day and she's always claimed it's the poshest bus in the world.

Now, the bus I get is pretty posh. There are people called Araminta on it with big hair, big sunglasses and even bigger bags, but this bus wins the posh contest hands down. It feels like I've been upgraded to first class!

For a start it's so quiet. Although I can't hear it, I swear the loudest thing is the tap-tap tapping of Pinkberry as I write this blog. Everyone is sat up straight, too, hands genteelly folded in the laps. There are no MP3 players, no toast being munched by people in a hurry, no people coughing and wheezing, and no annoying children. It's like a weird bus twilight zone. To my left is a beautifully manicured woman reading a frightfully intelligent looking book. To my right is a man with suede loafers, a signet ring and matching cufflinks. He's impeccably turned out and on his mobile right now, but his voice is so hushed it's barely audible.

It honestly feels that if I started to cough, eat the cereal in my bag, or read a gossip magazine an alarm would go off and I'd be dragged off the bus and thrown into jail.

However, I can pretty much guarantee I will never take this bus again. This is partly because the subtitles are driving me nuts. At every bus stop I get the muffled announcement saying, ‘Please keep all your personal belongings with you’, ‘Seats are available on the upper deck’, and ‘Please move down inside the bus’. It’s driving me batty! That, and it's currently stuck in the biggest traffic jam and I'm going to be late for work.

So tomorrow I'm going to downgrade to economy, travel with the coughing masses without stoopid announcements and be on time.

The spider that came to tea

*Yawn

Can you catch a yawn by reading one? Are you yawning now?

Anyway, the reason I am yawning today is because last night I saw London Aunt. She organised a brilliant private view of student photography, paintings, sculpture, graphics and jewellery at a central London gallery and I went along to support her.

It was excellent fun and I nosied at the work while sipping beer and eating delicious canapés. Blanco and Mrs Blanco – London Aunt’s neighbours – were there too, and it was great to catch up with them both. Blanco is going on some extreme survival week soon where you only get food for the first two days and the rest of the time you ‘live off the land’ – sounds deeelightful…

Not

Anyway, afterwards we all piled into a taxi and went back to London Aunt’s house for some takeaway from a new restaurant that had dropped a menu through her letterbox. London Aunt ordered it on the phone while Mrs Blanco and I opened some bubbly and then all of a sudden I became aware of London Aunt pointing at the floor. Looking down I realised she had spotted the most enormous spider – I am not kidding, it was about the size of a coaster and had thick hair legs.

I screamed, Mrs Blanco screamed, the cat flew out of her peaceful slumber and skated across the kitchen work surface sending post, magazines and a lone satsuma flying. The man on the other end of the phone at the restaurant probably thought he was on the phone to a load of nutters…

Um…

Anyway, in the commotion we assumed dinner had been ordered so settled down to wait for it and catch up with another lot of London Aunt’s Neighbours – The Human Resources – who had popped in to say hello.

One hour later…

No dinner. Deafinitely Girly’s stomach was rumbling so loudly even I could hear it.

I suggested we call the restaurant to ask where it was and on doing so we discovered that they didn’t deliver and our food had been sat there going cold for the last 45 minutes with them wondering where we were. I think in the screaming spider situation some wires had got crossed, although London Aunt swears she gave him her address for delivery.

But Blanco – in true extreme survival skills tradition – saved the day and dashed out to pick it up for us. The sheepish restaurateur halved the bill and promised a delivery service as soon as they could sort out drivers and insurance…

The food? Delicious and well worth the wait

The reason for my tiredness? The mad evening of tango, salsa and hip-shaking that followed.

*snore

Summer lovin'

Today, instead of writing my blog, I went for a walk in the sun with Gym Buddy.

I treated myself to some new Benefit make-up using my Boots points and then we bought an ice lolly and wandered slowly through a square. It was amazing feeling the warmth of the sun on my head, the gentle breeze fluttering through between the buildings, and just about hearing the hum of London traffic in the distance.

It reminded me what it is I love about London in the summer – it’s so alive, so full of people soaking up the rays, chilling out, reading books, lying in parks heads rested on stomachs. You really can have the most perfect day simply by adding an ice lolly and some green space to that equation.

As a former Country Mouse, I thought I’d always miss summer days in the Wild um… West Country but recently I find myself quite content in the city. Sure, I have my escape routes to The Rents, Brighton and Pompey when I need some greenery or sea air, but I don’t have the burning desire to leave anymore.

It’s something that started to fade within me some time ago – and while I think I may leave London eventually, I’m quite happy, right here, right now, exploring, enjoying and finding my way around. There’s so much I haven’t yet seen and done and I’ve decided this summer I’m going to cross a whole lot more off my list, starting with theatre.

So using Stagetext.org, I am going to locate all the subtitled productions I can find and go and see them all. Then, I will book up some Proms at the Albert Hall, and maybe get some galleries in to.

If anyone fancies joining me, let me know…

Can't hear, can't say… will say!

The sun has got his hat on, hip hip hip horray!

It’s weird waking up to warm weather in the UK. Normally it’s warm in the afternoon here, but recently it’s been warm in the morning, too.

I had an amazing weekend visiting Guru Tambo and her son Little S in Brighton. We walked along the seafront, had burgers for lunch and then sat in her garden drinking Kir Royales while Little S played with a bucket of water.

Little S’s real name is of Irish origin you know, which makes it hard for me to hear – lots of s sounds and different vowel combinations. When I first met him I was too afraid to say his name in case I got it wrong. But it sounded so weird not using it that I had to fess up that I couldn’t hear how to say it.

Guru Tambo then taught me, so we marched through The Lanes saying Little S’s name until I got it right – I think!

*Phew

But, it seemed that I was doomed for a weekend of mispronunciation. I said wrath with a northern ‘a’ and promptly got corrected by Ma... Apparently even northerners don’t say it the way and I put an audible p at the end of corps...

*Dammit

As a result, I’m reluctant to use all these words. However, quite often when I’m reluctant or scared to do something, the best thing to do is do, or say, it repeatedly. So I’m going to make sure I say Little S’s name, ‘wrath’ and ‘corps’ repeatedly today until they automatically come out right.

Just for good measure I might pop a Marseilles, Versailles, schizophrenic and a few other tricky ones in there, too…

…oh I pity the people I speak to today!

Dairy Milk for breakfast

Today as you know is Thankful Friday! And I think I am most extremely thankful for the weather! It's gorgeous! Proper warm it is! I only hope it lasts for the weekend as I'm off to Brighton to see Guru Tambo!

Guru Tambo is my old boss from my first ever London job and since I worked with her, she's upped sticks with her hubby, moved to Brighton, got a dog and had a lovely baby boy. I haven't seen her since she did all this so I’m very much looking forward to catching up on the beach! Hurrah!

I am going to take my new and lovely hat to wear so I don't fall over in the sun.

Anyway, I had the most interesting conversation with my friend Tigger the other day. He's the one who came to stay and did a cartwheel in the Tate Modern.

I asked him if I could have dairy milk for breakfast.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It's not bad for you and contains calcium.’
I thought for a moment wondering if he was being sarcastic, but he really wasn't. He honestly was encouraging me to have dairy milk for breakfast.
‘What about the sugar content?’ I asked.

‘Sugar?’ he said, ‘what are you on about?’ And then he sent me a breakdown of the vitamin and mineral and everything content of dairy milk.

‘If you're really worried,’ he said, ‘you could have rice or soya milk.’

Tick, tick, tick, tick

And then I twigged…

He thought I meant the white stuff that comes from cows – dairy milk, whereas I meant the brown stuff that comes from Cadbury's – Dairy Milk.

Tigger was horrified at this – he runs marathons and does terribly healthy things like not eating Dairy Milk for breakfast.

But I checked and a bar of Dairy Milk contains the equivalent of three quarters of a pint of fresh liquid milk in every half pound of milk chocolate, which means technically I'm getting calcium, vitamin B12, and vitamin D, along with a host of other things that are found in milk if I eat enough of it that is.

So maybe I can have it for breakfast after all!

And that's just one more thing to be thankful for today…

Marmite dreams

Last night I ate half a block of the new Marmite cheese that's just come out. Snowboarding Boy will be glad he wasn't there to witness such an act – he’s quite a hater of the stuff. But it was truly delicious – a wonderfully gooey mixture of cheese and Marmite all in one mouthful. All it needed was a dollop of salad cream to make it a gourmet feast! Yum!

And then I closed my eyes and boy, did I have some weird dreams – Pete Burns was in them. But not like that! Ew!

Google tells me that cheese giving you nightmares is something of a myth, however a study in 2005 found that different types of cheese can give you different types of dreams! Apparently, Cheddar, which is what I had, makes you dream of celebrities… and I guess Pete Burns is kind of a celebrity.

I wonder if the added Marmite aspect made the trip any worse. Or it could have just been that Pete Burns just happened to be in a taxi next to my car as I was on my way to climbing last night and his face became indelibly ingrained on my memory. Google him and you'll understand!

Anyway, so where are we... well it's Thursday and it's nearly June! My, my, doesn't time fly eh?
Except on this morning's bus journey. My bus is being held at every stop briefly in order to help regulate the service!

*Argh!

I'm going to be late.

But it has given me the time to people-watch out the window, and once again, there goes Reading Girl.

I see her most mornings walking along the road, laden down with bags and reading. She navigates other pedestrians, dogs on leads, main and terrifyingly busy roads, and uneven pavements all while not looking up from her latest novel. It's quite incredible!

Of course, I do wonder if she's ever had a mishap doing this or if she is quite simply capable of walking without looking where she's going.

All I know is, I am not. One of the pitfalls of lipreading is that it does rather prevent you from looking in the direction that you're walking in if your talking to someone, which is why, yesterday, while going to get some lunch with Gym Buddy, I walked smack bang into a bollard.

*blush

Thankfully, I work in a busy part of London with lots of crazy people wandering around, so the site of a blonde girl maiming herself on a bollard wasn't too out of the ordinary, but for me, it was mortifying and hilarious all in one go. To be honest, I'm not sure whether it was injury or laughter that prevented me from standing upright afterwards.

So what I want to know is, it is possible to perfect the art of looking where you're going, without actually looking where you're going? Reading Girl seems to have managed it. Has anyone else?

What's in a name?

I am getting blonder every day I swear! Take yesterday, there I was sat on the bus home, getting a bit bored so I thought I'd drop Onion Soup Mate a line as I haven't been in touch for a while!

So I wrote her a nice text starting, ‘Hello Cupcake’ and sent it to completely the wrong person in my phone book. So then I sent an apologetic message to the person I'd called cupcake and then sent them the hello cupcake message all over again!

*cringe!

I always seem to be giving people nicknames, from the aforementioned cupcake, to chica, bird, mate, lovely, dear, sugarplum, Mister Man…

The list is endless.

In fact, I do it to everyone in this very blog, where Snowboarding Boy and Gingerbread Man rub shoulders with Fab Friend and Friend Who Knows Big Words.

I think one of the reasons for this is that I don't use people's names much when I speak to them. It stems from often not having heard it in the first place so therefore I have an acute fear of getting it wrong.

In fact, whenever I am introduced to someone, I swear I go twice as deaf when their name is said, as I never seem to hear it.

Then, I find myself afraid to use the name I thought I'd heard in case that wasn't it. But did you know, it's good social practice to use people's names when you speak to them... so I've been told anyway. I have friends who say my name 10 times in a conversation, who never greet someone without using their name and who actually seem to constantly spout names – I wish I could be like this sometimes.

But instead, I come out with all manner of bizarre nicknames to avoid the issue!

I like nicknames though. Growing up, I was called Sticklebrick and Motormouth, the latter being because I never stopped talking, the former because...

Actually, I have no idea, I'll have to ask Ma... Ma, why did you name me after a prickly plastic toy?

Stress-free travel

Wow, it really does feel like I've been on holiday, more so because of the pouring rain cascading down the windows of the bus right now.

I was in Devon this weekend with Miss K. She's a country lass you see, and her Ma and Pa still live there, in a town about 10 minutes from the sea.

We had a brilliant time and spent the whole of Saturday basking on the beach in the most amazing sunshine. It was unbelievably warm, and had it not been for the chilliness of the sea, it really wouldn’t have felt like England at all.

Then there was the veritable feast the her Ma and Pa cooked up, which included the most delicious BBQ and pavlova – I have no idea where I put it all… although I think my belt does as it seems to be on a looser notch today!

*blush

Anyway, enough about my double-figure figure.

Did you know that I feel less deaf when Miss K is around? She effortlessly becomes my ears – from car journeys to announcements on trains – she always tells me what’s going on, even when I don’t ask her to. It’s great!

Take yesterday for example: There we were in travelling back to London in First Class – Miss K’s Ma treated us to an upgrade – when all of a sudden she told me that the train was broken and certain carriages were going to be removed at the next station.

I had absolutely no idea there had been an announcement about this and had I been alone, I could still be sat in a broken carriage in Salisbury right now wondering what the heck was taking so long!

OK not reeeee-eally, but I would have had a moment of panic wondering what everyone was doing vacating the carriage, and had I been engrossed in a book, I might not have actually noticed them doing a runner.

It was only when I got back to London that I realised just how stress free she had made the journey by being my ears. It was a wonderful novelty.

Why being deaf is good

Woohoo! Today is Thankful Friday and I am most deafinitely thankful for the forthcoming weekend as it has a bank holiday Monday in it – meaning more time to do fun stuff!

This weekend I am off to Devon with Miss K – her rents live down there and the promise of chilling out, catching up and tasty BBQs had me booking my train tickets quicker than you could say, ‘Mine’s a burger please!’

Today, I am also thankful for the lovely comments I have got since my new column in the Hearing Times was published, including one from Demented Demon
who also writes for the paper.

It’s a very exciting thing to know that I have a monthly column in a real paper. At first I was a bit nervous in case Gemma – the lovely person at the Hearing Times thought it was rubbish. But phew – she didn’t! I haven’t seen it yet but can’t wait to have a look at it in print!

*blush

Anyway, about every six months, I get quite down about my deafness – it’s like my tolerance threshold starts to get low and I find myself getting frustrated about things that wouldn’t normally bother me – like missing out on chitchat at work, or mishearing something someone says.

When this happens though, I have string of ‘there-there dear sentences’ I say to myself to remind me that life's alreet really.

These include things like:

Your deafness makes you more headstrong and determined to get what you want in life

Or

It means you get free and discounted travel

And so on and so forth…

But just sometimes, I am reminded completely out of the blue of the good things related to my deafness.

And that's just what happened on my bus journey home last night.
There I was, surrounded by people nattering away on their mobiles or reading the paper but in the absence of the London Lite Text Column, I found myself looking out the window.

Now, one of the things I’ve discovered as a deaf person is that my eyes do the job of my ears quite a lot. They look for sounds, such as sirens, people’s lips moving, and things flashing or vibrating. And what this also means is when I look at things, I don’t just glance, I really drink them in. Commit things to memory, look in every corner of the horizon, up, down, left and right.

And it was while I was doing this that I clocked the most magnificent sight. Two huge swans in flight together high over the London rooftops. It was amazing to see these white long-necked creatures cutting across and sunny sky and I watched them until I could see them no more.

And do you know what, I felt incredibly privileged to see that sight in my own little muffled existence.

It's like someone took away clarity of sound and in return gave me a secret vision of the world around me.

That's is of course until I take of my glasses...

Then, well, I have to resort to smelling things!

No kids allowed

Is it me or are local councils, water companies, gas and electric companies and a whole host of other zealous work men constantly digging up roads that looked absolutely fine as they were?!

It certainly seems that way where I live right now. It doesn't seem to matter how early I leave for work this week, I still end up late, trapped in a traffic jam, on the bus, listlessly staring out the window surrounded by people coughing, sneezing, wheezing and doing their make-up.

Gah!

Oh dear, I feel bad for blaming it completely on the people mentioned above as I have just seen the cause of the jam. A man has parked his car on a bollard, and judging by the look of his puce face, I have a feeling it wasn't intentional.

The bonnet of his VW Passat has completely caved in and there's a mixture of oil and water spewing onto the road. Thankfully he seems OK, just a little irate and perhaps embarrassed as three packed buses and a host of Chelsea Tractors are gawping at him wondering how on earth he managed to not see the massive bollard in the first place.

What is it with my road and accidents at the moment?

Anyway, last night I had the most brilliant time being a kid again.

Snowboarding Boy and I went and investigated a late-night opening of the Science Museum and not really knowing what to expect I was pleasantly surprised.

I mean for a start, you could wander around sipping beer while looking at the all the exhibits and there were no annoying screaming kids running around the place.

But what we also discovered is that adults are even worse at sharing than children.

In the sciency experimenty section, you literally had to fight your way onto things, but once on them they were great fun. Snowboarding Boy and I almost made a record-breaking brick-balancing thing, cycled to generate electricity and laughed at the people who were on a spinning thing and making idiots of themselves.

I would highly recommend a visit to the next one, which is happening in June. In fact, I might just go myself!

I didn't hear it through the grapevine

I never imagined Deafinitely Girly as being a platform for book reviews but girls, if you read one feel-good book this summer, please make sure it's Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend by Jenny Colgan.

This was the book that caused me travel woe on Monday due to the fact it distracted me from noticing I was on completely the wrong train, and last night, it meant I didn't sleep until the wee small hours as I simply had to finish it!

It was utterly brilliant, utterly captivating and utterly heart-warming.

Read it!

Anyway, now I am stuck for something as good to read, but it does mean I can get back to blogging on my bus journey to work.

This morning I am stuck between a pile of boys at the back of the bus. I say pile because they all seem completely unable to sit upright and are instead slouching at varying degrees of um... slouchiness.

One of them is dropping croissant crumbs all over me while the others are having a conversation I wish I could overhear as the rise and fall, the speed of the syllables makes me think it would probably be quite entertaining!

Dammit!

If I had hearing, I think I would be the nosiest person in the world! I would listen to absolutely everything going on around me and be one of those famous authors who say things like, ‘Yah, the opening chapter of my book was inspired by a conversation between to women in the toilet of Boujis darling.’ Or ‘I owe this amazing storyline to the school boys on my bus whose morning chatter was an inspiration.’ And then I waltz off the stage holding my award.

*Deafinitely Girly daydreams for a while

But what I get instead is the most incredible level of unclear background noise and an awful lot of croissant crumbs.

Hmmmmm

I mean the only thing I overheard recently was a sweaty man yelling, 'Put it between your legs' to his friend at the climbing wall, and short of moving into porn writing, I'm not really sure what to do with that and all the things I mishear, don’t hear and make a complete idiot of myself over…

Oh wait, yes I do...

And you're reading it!

I heart my Freedom Pass

One of the great benefits of being deaf in London is the gift of free travel given to me by my local council in the form of a Freedom Pass. It’s quite simply the most wonderful perk in the world to tell you the truth.

It is tough getting around in London with a hearing loss sometimes – buses terminate for no reason and don’t think to put out a subtitled announcement so I’m left sitting on the top deck looking like a weirdo, and announcements come over the tannoy at tube stations causing people to tut and roll their eyes while looking at their watches, and I can only wonder what is going on.

But sometimes I do feel a little bit spoilt by having a Freedom Pass. Until yesterday…

Yesterday, I went to London Aunt’s for a catch up and dinner, and to deliver London Cousin 1’s replacement flip-flops – she left the first pair by the side of the road while doing handstands in Tobago… darlink!!

Anyway, on the way I thought I would stop off and do some shopping and so as a result, it was quicker to take the Tube.

*Yeurch

On arriving on the train platform, the screen announcing the train destinations wasn’t working and there was a man announcing them instead. When the train I needed pulled in, I double-checked the sign on the front, which said where it was going, and hopped on.

Then, I began reading Jenny Colgan’s new book, Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend – which I have nearly finished after just two days, it is that brilliant – and that’s where it all went wrong.

You see, I think somewhere along the journey, the train driver must have announced that the train was changing destination but I didn’t hear him. And the book was so captivating, I didn’t look up, until…

I had already travelled five stops in the wrong direction!!

*Argh!

Looking up and seeing a random tube station name instead of any of the ones I was expecting was quite a shock, such a shock in fact I nearly didn’t make it through the doors as they closed to depart. People were staring, probably wondering why I wasn’t taking any notice of the door closing alarm, which I can’t hear, and also probably wondering why I felt the need to make a mad dash for the doors when the train had been sitting at the platform for a few minutes already.

*blush

And so I retraced my steps and arrived at London Aunt’s, three tubes and two buses later, late, frazzled, and having not done one speck of shopping.

Freedom pass? Essential pass more like!

The way to a toddler's heart

My goodness, it’s Monday again!

Today, I am yawning as I had to get the 6.30am train back from The Rents’ house to London. There are people on that train who do that commute every single day…

I have absolutely no idea how they do it.

So, what a brilliant weekend I had, seeing quite a few of my favourite people.

Friday saw me chilling out with Snowboarding Boy – in an I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours evening…

…favourite movies, that is!

It was kind of a ‘I can’t believe you haven’t seen this!’ movie night and so it began with Top Gun – am I the only person in the world who hasn’t seen this? – and ended with Sex And The City… I really couldn’t blame him for not having seen this…

So yah, Top Gun was good, although I am pretty sure that had I watched it when it first came out I would have been swooning over Tom Cruise rather than cringing at his cheesy one liners and oiled up chest. And crikey – there’s a LOT of sweat in that movie!

On Saturday, we went shopping and I got a hat – I love this hat

*blush

and it will save me in hot weather from talking gibberish. You see, being blonde and a bit English rose-y, I am not awfully good at sitting in the sun without factor 50 on and a bit of shade.

I first discovered this when I was younger and on a tour of a dilapidated unfinished house near where I used to live in the Wild West um… Country. We had taken Gma there for the day and the first bit of the tour was the grounds and took place under the blazing midday summer sun.

Suddenly I began to feel awfully cold, then the world started to spin, and then, whoops, I fell over. And, if I am not careful in hot weather, this still happens on regular occasions. It’s like all sense evaporates from my head the minute it goes in the sun and the only way to stay upright is by drinking lots of water and eating salty food.

But, to cut a long story short – a hat fixes all of this. It holds the sense into my head and means I can stay upright for longer, which is always a good thing I find, as I love the sun.

Which is why it was a shame there was none to be seen when I arrived at The Rents’ – but then it was midnight. But still, even on Sunday it just rained, and rained, and rained and rained. Even when Head-Girl-And-Best-Mate and her son, Northern Boy turned up the rain did not subside. This didn’t bother Northern Boy however, perhaps because he’s only 2, and so he dragged me out into the garden to look at snails and next door’s dog over the fence.

Now, Northern Boy is at that lovely age where he’s full of questions about what’s going on in the world around him. ‘What yer doin? Where yer goin? What’s that fur?’…

And, when he first arrived, I have to say I had no clue what he was on about. But after our third lap of the garden, I was becoming accustomed to his little Northern voice and, when he stared impatiently at me when I failed to follow him into the flower bed and said, ‘Curm ern,’ I even understood him first time around.

It was very exciting, as I had always assumed my hearing left me unable to decipher toddler speak.

And he seemed to quite like me. But then…

I fell from grace.

I broke the free plastic camera that he’d got with his Bob The Builder comic. He didn’t even know how it worked, or that he had to look through the lens to see pictures of Bob, Wendy, Muck, Scoop, Spud (wow, I’m a fast learner) but he knew I had broken it. How do toddlers know things like this?

I felt very guilty but sorry wasn’t going to cut it… so I smothered him with kisses, tickled his feet and ran him a deep bath with lots of Thomas The Tank Engine bubbles.

This is apparently the way to a toddler’s heart when you have broken his latest toy!

*phew!

Overhearing delight

Hurrah, today is Thankful Friday! And I don't think words can express how thankful I am that we are finally here.

But I'm going to try and find them!

Firstly, I am thankful to the person who went shopping in Deafinitely Girly's shop at 5am this morning – I don't know who it was, but they bought a hoody and T-shirt, which is most deafinitely very exciting.

Boys, that reminds me, I made a T-shirt just for you, and Big Bro, there are some for the Family Clog in there, too!

Anyway, I am also thankful for Fab Friend, who I laughed with so much I cried on our climbing trip last night.

She flies to Thailand today, so we got in a last minute session to make sure she was on form for her beach-side cliff climbing...

Jealous? Moi?

*sniff

Anyway, there we were nattering away as I was tying into my harness. And then, I pulled on the last knot with a bit too much enthusiasm and my hands slipped, causing me to punch myself in the face.

As I was seeing stars, Fab Friend was having trouble staying upright such was the ferocity of her mirth... and I had to laugh, too.

And then, all of a sudden, through the whirr of the air con and general din at the wall, a voice cut through loud and clear booming,

‘Just put it between your legs’

‘I heard something,’ I thought to myself, and one look at Fab Friend's face told me that she’d heard it, too!

As severely deaf girlies, we rarely overhear anything and, the fact that it was a sentence as truly bizarre as that, set us off giggling like a pair of school girls high on fizzy strawberry lace!

The poor guy who yelled it must have felt a bit put out by the hysterical women beside him but then, that's what you get for yelling things like that in crowded situations.

Anyway, between this and the punching, we couldn't stop laughing. We laughed our way up the yellow route, up the blue route – except in the difficult parts where I mouthed swear words to Fab Friend instead – and in the car home.

I think that's the only thing I've overheard this year...

Hearing people, tell me, is overhearing always that amusing?

accident waiting to happen?

Today is Thursday...

Can you tell I am counting down the days of the week here?

Right now I am running late, sat on the top deck of a bus, looking at a motorcycle accident.

It's not pretty. There's a big motorbike and lots of glass on the floor and two police people who don't seem to know how to direct traffic! One of them looks familiar, I think I may have served him coffee during the great freeze !

The motorcyclist is sitting in the road and talking to the ambulance people, so I am guessing he is not on the verge of death!

*phew

But it's the second thing to happen like this in the last 24 hours.

Last night, I was sitting on the bus chuckling to myself while reading the London Lite text column where Londoners can text in what they're feeling, ask questions and just generally word vomit while other Londoners respond, when all of a sudden my bus braked violently.

The horn sounded, people shouted and there, through the windscreen, I spied a rather stunned tourist, just centimetres from the front of the massive big, red and frankly hard-to-miss vehicle.

To be fair, I think she looked the wrong way.

Anyway, London buses, as many of you know, are packed more tightly during rush hour than a tin of sardines and so, not everyone has something to hold on to at short notice. Therefore, not everyone remained standing up.

We were turfed off the bus to allow people to help a woman who'd ended up on the floor and couldn't get back up. I can't really tell you much more as I didn't want to gawp at her. But I'm hoping she's doing OK today...

But it got me thinking how one person's stupidity can leave them unscathed but affects a whole load of other people.

Ok, so the tourist may have nearly had a heart attack and peed her pants, but she was essentially unharmed and totally unaware that, as a direct result of her mistake, there was another woman flat out on the floor of my bus.

I wonder what caused the crash today. Was it was the biker himself or some idiot not paying attention? If it was the latter, that means that someone is going about their business right now completely oblivious to the mess they've caused – the injured biker, the damaged bike, the closed road, and the hoards of people at each bus stop for the next 2 miles all wondering why they've waited half an hour for a bus.

It's weird when you think about it. And thinking about it has made me realise how much more likely I am to cause a road accident than say, a hearing person. I mean, you've only got to think back to the fire engine incident or when I ran out in front of a car and got hit after hearing Ma say go instead of no.

I can pretty much guarantee that getting run over was way more traumatic for the guy that hit me and my Ma who peeled me off the tarmac than it was for me. I mean I had cartoon birds flying around my head for goodness sake.

So from now on, I am going to pay even more attention so I don't end up unwittingly trashing someone else's day.

And if we all do that, maybe it won't happen so much anymore...

Service interruption message

Deafinitely Girly is unavailable to blog today for reasons beyond her control.

Deafinitely Girly would like to stress that these reasons are not that she ate too many cupcakes and is on an enormous sugar high, nor that she wants to look at some shoes in her lunch hour that she has fallen in love with.

The lack of blog is simply due to unforeseen technical errors beyond her control and she urges you to check back tomorrow for news of how the erm... cupcakes went down in her office and whether her new shoes are erm... comfy.

Thank you for taking the time to read this automated service message from the Deafinitely Girly Computer Networking Service Ltd.

*sheepish blush

I just don't know how to hear myself

So, today is Tuesday…

Only three more days until the weekend! Hurrah!

This week, Friend Who Knows Big Words has got me working on my pronunciation and vocabulary.

With the former, I had an elocution lesson on the District Line with her, while discussing her recent French holiday to Marseille.

Hmmmmmm

See, after the Versailles incident, this word is scarier to me than a whole sentence full of schizophrenics and Cadogan Halls. So I asked her…

‘How was your weekend in Marseillezzzzzzzzzz?’

And she looked at me the same way as when I told her I was going to peruse the shops.

‘Mar-say,’ she corrected me, in a way that only my close friends and family can. It still makes me want to dig myself a shallow grave in which to lie down in, but if a stranger corrected me, I'd probably dig them a shallow grave to lie down in.

Anyway, after blushing a rather violent shade of red, I tried again...

‘Mar-say’

At which point, Friend Who Knows Big Words burst out laughing.

Apparently I sounded like Del Boy from Only Fools And Horses when I said it.

And so it went on, like a tennis volley:

‘Mar-say,’ said Friend Who Knows Big Words

‘Mar-say,’ I said, while she snorted with laughter and I struggled to tell the difference between what she was saying, what I said in the first place and what I was now struggling to say!

In the end we gave up and I went back to practising schizophrenic and Versailles with the people sitting opposite us giving us very strange looks.

But I really do have a lot to learn from Friend Who Knows Big Words. I mean, she knows a lot of big words, and I want to know more. So in addition to the elocution lessons, I've started doing the crossword in The Guardian and The Times. Right now, I am rubbish and think that I'd be better with a Take A Break ArrowWord book, but I am going to persevere...

8 across: (horse) mottled with two colours

7 letters

Answers on a postcard please!

Ich miss das Wochenende

When a weekend is as good as the one I just had, it’s inevitable that the Monday after it should seem more um… crap than usual?

Yah?

Well, if this is to believed, then the crapness of today is a true measure of how fabulous my weekend was. And, where to begin?

Well, there was the visit from First Ever Friend and Swiss Boy 2 – it was so lovely to see them both. We walked our socks off in Windsor Great Park, Hyde Park and all along the river and more than made up for any calories lost with delicious meals and snacks and ice creams and… good grief, was the entire weekend about food?

Then on Sunday, we all met up with Bebop and RockSteady – who live oop norf and were down visiting, and Friend Who Knows Big Words. It was utterly brilliant to see Bebop again. Do you know, in 6th form we used to regularly turn up in the same clothes? Well yesterday when we met up, we were wearing the same clothes – apart from the leggings (Bebop has exceedingly good legs unlike me) – right down to the bangles!

*spooky!

After a fab catch up we then put First Ever Friends and Swiss Boy 2 on the tube to Heathrow, and it broke, and they missed their flight…

*sniff

Not a good advert to two people who come from the most organised country in the world where a train to the airport would not even be 10 seconds late, let alone stop working altogether.

*cringe

But what was interesting was that all day on Sunday, First Ever Friend kept saying, ‘I wish I didn’t have to leave yet’

And her wish came true!

Amazing!

So I am going to get wishing that this day gets a whole lot better – it’s bound to really as I am meeting Miss K after work for a gossip – and I am going to wish that all my worries of today are gone by tomorrow.

What would you wish for?

Das Wochenende

Today is thankful Friday and I am thankful for my wonderful friends – all of them!

Friends come in all shapes and sizes I find, and this weekend the ones I am seeing are coming from Switzerland, so they are Swiss shaped – whatever that may be!

The Swiss-shaped person coming to visit me is First Ever Friend – called that because she really was my first ever friend. We met in kindergarten and stuck together when a nasty girl
tried to bully us. I found that nasty girl on Facebook recently and it would seem she fell out of the ugly tree later on in her life and thwacked a few branches on the way down.

*teehee

First Ever Friend is one of my few friends that knew me as a not-deaf-but-deaf-really person – along with her and SuperCathyFragileMystic they thought what I thought - that I wasn't um... deaf.

It's not that it really makes any difference – but sometimes I do wonder whether you can define my life in two sections – Before Knowing About Deafness (BkAD) and After Knowing About Deafness (AkAD).
BkAD, I was full of these unrealistic hopes and dreams: I was going to be a concert violist, have a flat in the Wild West um... Country, write best-selling children’s' books (I didn't know that plagiarism of Topsy & Tim was illegal at that age) and live
on a nutritious diet of Smash and apple crumble.

AkAD, I was full of these unrealistic um...

*Oh crap

Except now, I don't want to be a concert violinist or a plagarising children's author...

I'd like to be the star in the reasonably-priced car, write lots of original stuff and live on a nutritious diet of London restaurants...

*sits and ponders the effects this may have on her double-figures figure

I think the main difference between BkAD and AkAD is that BkAD, I led my life and dictated where, however unrealistic, I wanted to go with stubborn abandon. But for a long time AkAD, I think I let my deafness do the talking about what I could and couldn't wish for.

Recently however, I've noticed chinks of my BkAD armour showing through, and I'm finding it quite refreshing

Maybe I should have some Smash and apple crumble for lunch...

Sorry I'm late

Today’s post is late…

Last night I went to bed late…

This morning I woke up late…

But what this did teach me is that I can shower, dress and leave the house in just 10 minutes. Previously I thought that only Shakira Shakira was capable of such an amazing feat, but I did it!

*phew

It’s weird being late as I never normally am. In fact, I am normally early – for everything – all the time. Just ask Miss K about my airport obsession in Barcelona and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

A fear of being late is apparently – according to Google – called allegrophobia.

I have this.

I think in order to cure it, I am going to try being late more often… just like this morning.

I am not alone

Did you know that there are an estimated one million adults in the UK who are unable to hear an ordinary smoke alarm!?

Yikes!

And, according to the Salisbury Journal, Wilshire Fire & Rescue service is urging people to get the right smoke alarm fitted in their home.

Burning buildings are one of my worst fears – I live on the top floor of a block of flats and my neighbours are prone to mad, drunken parties…

Irrational or not, whether I would wake when my fire alarm went off is a real worry to me. At Christmas I was reassured that I can actually hear the block’s fire alarm a little bit, when the girl downstairs set fire to her kitchen.

All of a sudden I was aware of an alien sound in my head and I ran around the flat frantically looking for the source of my discomfort and hoping I wouldn’t find flames licking at the front door. I didn’t – but I did find more smoke than an 80’s disco.

But then, when I was in Barcelona with Miss K the other week, some over-amorous Italians began banging on our door one night, presumably to invite us for a nightcap. I slept through the first series of knocks until Miss K woke me up for some advice on what to do about them.

We sat in bed, listening to the knocks, looking around for something heavy to smack them on the head with, but eventually they gave up – leaving flowers outside our door.

But what worried me most was, I didn’t hear the initial banging…

When I was at university, living in halls, I made the caretakers promise they would come and rescue me if the building was burning down – but in my flat, I don’t have anyone to ask – except New Housemate and he’s not always there.

I don’t really understand all the jargon surrounding deaf equipment – it seems to me it’s a bit more complicated that sticking something to the ceiling and pressing a red button to check it every month.

What’s more, this flat isn’t mine – I can’t afford to install a system that won’t come out again. Can I get one that’s compatible with the one installed by my agency? And can you get deaf fire alarms that only cost £10 like you can for hearing people or must I save up?

I mean, I know there’s no price on life – but I object to having for fork out more for a fire alarm just because my ears are broken…

And other thing – if this vibrates too, how long will it take me, in the event of a fire to try answering my phone, turning off my alarm clock and going through all my other vibrating things before I realise that…

*crap

The building is on fire!!!!!

So, I’m off shopping – and I may pick the brains of Chris – one of my readers who’s been kind enough to offer me technology advice in the past…

Chris?

I heard Kew Gardens

Today feels like Monday on account of yesterday being a bank holiday! Yesterday was also something else very important...

It was Snowboarding Boy's birthday – but he doesn't like fuss so, shhhhh...

I had an utterly brilliant long weekend. Tigger came to visit and I made him walk the whole of London, and I really do not over exaggerate! We went around Hyde Park, walked through Green Park to Soho, down to Covent Garden, over the river, up to the Tate Modern, back again, along past the aquarium, over Westminster Bridge and back home.

Phew!

We then fell asleep on the sofa and it was too late to go anywhere for dinner and drinks, so we went for drinks and then had Marmite on toast!

At the Tate Modern, there was an utterly brilliant exhibit in the Turbine Hall called – I have no idea actually as so far searches on Google have proved futile.

Anyway, when you walk in, you see yourself on a screen but everything is slowed down. Step to the left and your body moves like a bendy tree in the wind.

Walk quickly and your head is there but your body follows like a streamer behind, kind of making everyone look like Willow The Wisp!

It was fascinating, and Tigger and I spent ages working out what different movements looked like. Cartwheels made people stare and Tigger disappear, walking around the other person made a perfect person spiral and crouching down made you appear from the top again, like you'd been beamed up – and down – by the Starship Enterprise!

I loved it!

Then, yesterday Mrs Tigger came to visit too and we went to Kew Gardens. It was fab, in spite of the drizzle, and Mrs T and Tigger himself made it quite a unique experience for me. They told me the whole way round what they could hear. There were peacocks, robins, ducks of all shapes and sizes and each one was beautifully imitated by the two of them. There was knowing that rain makes a sound when it hits foliage and that a water fountain does, too. It was amazing really and as well as enjoying the gardens visually, I felt I got a chance to hear them, too.

Thankfully, Tigger did this for me right up until we were walking through the car park to go home. Being me, I was walking along in a world of my own, when he gently steered me out of the path of a car I hadn't heard.

*blush

Thanks Tiggs!

I heart Top Gear

This morning on BBC Breakfast News the newsreaders asked the stoopidest question ever

Do shows like Top Gear glamorise speeding?

Um firstly, since when is this headline news? And secondly, who cares!?!?

Now, having been in a nasty car crash several years ago myself, I am all for people driving responsibly – but for heaven's sake, if they are that easily influenced by a TV programme, then their IQs are probably so low they shouldn't be allowed to drive in the first place!

TV shows glamorise things. It's what they do! Cookery programmes glamorise cooking, soap operas glamorise affairs, ultimatums and scandal, and Match Of The Day um... still proves that football is the most boring sport ever!

Now, Top Gear is one of my favourite programmes. When it's on, I will cancel all my plans, put my mobile in another room and rid myself of all other distractions so I can sit there and read along... when the subtitles actually work

I harbour a secret desire to be famous enough, as Deafinitely Girly, to be the Star In The Reasonably Priced Car! I really, really want to have a driving suit and matching helmet like The Stig's, but in pink of course, and to get the fastest time on the board.

And then they'll invite me to be their guest reporter on deaf driving and...

*ahem

*blush

Seems I've got a bit carried away by the glamour of Top Gear doesn't it?

But this doesn't mean I'm going to take my car out tomorrow and drive like a nutter. And I think most people are like me!

Sure, there are the crazy ones who shout at actors in the street believing the characters they play are real, and there are boy racers high on drugs who plough into defenceless girls in limited-edition minis, but I'm figuring these people would have been crazy anyway, and I am also guessing they’re too busy being crazy to watch Top Gear in the first place.

The argument against Top Gear has simply been formulated by Boring People who want to take it off air because, well they're as dumb as the people who ‘allegedly’ think Top Gear harbours a secrets message telling them to drive recklessly.

If we were to deglamorise TV it would be a disaster. It would be like French TV was in the 1980s, and still quite possibly is. It would suck all the fun out of it!

Boring People, is that what you want?

If it is, may I politely suggest that you simply stop watching ‘glamorous’ TV programmes then you won't be able to ruin it for the rest of us.

And do you know what else? This stoopid news story got me so riled up that I forgot my usual Thankful Friday post for the first time ever.

But it is Friday, and I am thankful...

…for lots of things really.

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!