Deafinitely Girly has news!
*catches her breath and squeals
She’s has won a competition!
It’s making Deafinitely Girly talk like Dobby from Harry Potter.
Erm, anyway – today Deafinitely Girly is struggling somewhat after a rather adventurous night out. It started very civilised in my favourite Thai restaurant with Snowboarding Boy. I stole his scallops as they were very good.
Then, we went to an Austrian bar in Notting Hill to meet Friend Who Knows Big Words and co, and it all went down hill from there. Do you know they serve litre tankards of beer there? They were so heavy that I burnt calories and built muscle just lifting one – and I lifted one many times.
It’s a truly crazy place. There is karaoke but only songs from The Sound of Music are sung, with the occasional Bohemian Rhapsody thrown in. I was desperate to sing something but I don’t know the words to songs – unless I actually sit down and learn them – and it wasn’t the kind of karaoke where the words show up.
Instead, I got talking to an old man who was singing and attempted to sing along without knowing the words, which went something like this…
Mamaaaa, just killed a man, dedededee-de-de head, pulled the trigger now he’s dead. Mama lalalala-lala
Hmmmm!
Thankfully, the litre tankards of beer numbed the hearing of poor Snowboarding Boy who was sat right beside me.
And today…
I have a sore head. Which makes for a very tricky Thankful Friday.
Ah yes, I remember now though, I am thankful for the fact I have won a competition. I’m going to wait until Monday before telling you all about it though as that’s when I find out more.
*squeak
One more thing I’m thankful for, is Onion Soup Mate – she’s coming to visit this weekend. There will be no onion soup as she’s sleeping in my room.
Nuff said really.
I’m off to dance around the office with glee about winning this competition, before having a nice cup of tea and a sit down.
Friday, 31 July 2009
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Go away noise
Just recently, I've been looking forward to weekends so much that Thursday has become the new Thankful Friday.
And today, was no exception. My teenage renaissance has passed and I jumped out of bed, looking forward very much to the day ahead and the anticipation that the weekend would soon be here.
I whizzed around my flat, washing my hair, tidying up, drinking tea, eating breakfast, and watching Neighbours (cripes, I miss Harold) before dashing out and jumping on a bus that was just pulling in.
And now, I don't LIKE it – this noisy, cramped, smelly environment. There are people everywhere talking, eating, yakking on phones, hitting me on the head with their HUGE handbags...
Right now, I'm craving peace.
It often amazes me, that as a deaf person, I would rather be in quiet situations. But then, when you actually think about it, it's like trying to enjoy a pork chop from a back-street butcher while knowing that everyone else is chowing down M&S’s finest.
When it comes to general noise, the quality of my hearing is so poor that quite often I'd rather not hear at all.
Sure, one-to-one conversation is fine. I can handle that. But honestly? The rest I find exhausting.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not some sort of hermit, and I do like group situations. I'm also more than happy to participate in conversations, if I can follow them. But mostly I prefer to observe, to sit back, block out the din, and watch people interacting with each other.
You notice a twitch of annoyance here, a spot of flirting there, a total and utter disinterest, or very rarely, total adoration.
I don't think people take the time to notice these things in every day life.
If I could hear, I doubt I would either. But because I can't, I'm afforded this rich, visual insight into the world of complete strangers. And that's kinda fun.
Take this morning, on my bus. I'm sat at the back and to my right are three identikit blondes who seem to know each other. One is talking animatedly, while the other two have glazed expressions and keep elbowing each other. There's a private joke between them that the chatty one is oblivious to.
Then opposite, is a couple. He's absorbed in his Blackberry, tap, tap tapping away, and she's bored. Every now and then, she'll stroke his leg, ruffle his hair and, right now she's nibbling his ear. He's totally oblivious. She's totally defeated. If he took the time to notice the sadness on her face, I wonder if he'd care.
And finally there's the couple who clearly have no issues with who likes who, and they're currently chewing each others faces off about two rows in front of me.
But what they haven't taken the time to notice is the look of disgust on everyone else’s faces. It's kind of funny.
When I try and listen, I don't notice anything. So I think I am going to try and not listen. After all, I reckon the visual story I create is going to be a whole lot more interesting.
And today, was no exception. My teenage renaissance has passed and I jumped out of bed, looking forward very much to the day ahead and the anticipation that the weekend would soon be here.
I whizzed around my flat, washing my hair, tidying up, drinking tea, eating breakfast, and watching Neighbours (cripes, I miss Harold) before dashing out and jumping on a bus that was just pulling in.
And now, I don't LIKE it – this noisy, cramped, smelly environment. There are people everywhere talking, eating, yakking on phones, hitting me on the head with their HUGE handbags...
Right now, I'm craving peace.
It often amazes me, that as a deaf person, I would rather be in quiet situations. But then, when you actually think about it, it's like trying to enjoy a pork chop from a back-street butcher while knowing that everyone else is chowing down M&S’s finest.
When it comes to general noise, the quality of my hearing is so poor that quite often I'd rather not hear at all.
Sure, one-to-one conversation is fine. I can handle that. But honestly? The rest I find exhausting.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not some sort of hermit, and I do like group situations. I'm also more than happy to participate in conversations, if I can follow them. But mostly I prefer to observe, to sit back, block out the din, and watch people interacting with each other.
You notice a twitch of annoyance here, a spot of flirting there, a total and utter disinterest, or very rarely, total adoration.
I don't think people take the time to notice these things in every day life.
If I could hear, I doubt I would either. But because I can't, I'm afforded this rich, visual insight into the world of complete strangers. And that's kinda fun.
Take this morning, on my bus. I'm sat at the back and to my right are three identikit blondes who seem to know each other. One is talking animatedly, while the other two have glazed expressions and keep elbowing each other. There's a private joke between them that the chatty one is oblivious to.
Then opposite, is a couple. He's absorbed in his Blackberry, tap, tap tapping away, and she's bored. Every now and then, she'll stroke his leg, ruffle his hair and, right now she's nibbling his ear. He's totally oblivious. She's totally defeated. If he took the time to notice the sadness on her face, I wonder if he'd care.
And finally there's the couple who clearly have no issues with who likes who, and they're currently chewing each others faces off about two rows in front of me.
But what they haven't taken the time to notice is the look of disgust on everyone else’s faces. It's kind of funny.
When I try and listen, I don't notice anything. So I think I am going to try and not listen. After all, I reckon the visual story I create is going to be a whole lot more interesting.
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Swish, swish
Today, it is highly likely that Deafinitely Girly will get run over/walk into a lamp post/fall down an open manhole, or walk headlong into someone.
The reason for this is that yesterday, I had my hair done.
*swish, swish
and I cannot stop swishing it
*swish, swish
and looking at my reflection.
*swish, swish
I mean, cripes, I am almost embarrassed to admit to being so vain...
But I am!
This whole hair-being-done-in-a-salon experience is still relatively new to me. I used to get Ma to cut it with her sewing scissors. But now, every three months I pop to see Amazing Hairdresser and she cuts it, puts some non-chemical seaweed lightener on the front, and blow dries it into submission.
The result?
*swish, swish
Very swishy hair!
This morning I got up and caught sight of myself in the mirror
*swish, swish
Running for the bus, I swish, swished it and loved how the new cut felt heavier than my lanky old one.
Then of course on my walk to the office from the bus stop…
*swish, swish
*stare
OK, you get the picture yah?
*swish, swish
But really, to the untrained eye, it doesn't actually look that different. So people are probably wondering what the weird blonde girl, swishing her hair around while looking in shop windows, is actually doing. And when I fall down an open manhole because I was too busy looking at my reflection to notice it, they will probably remember the fact I smell like sewage on my emergence, not the fact my swishy hair is ruined.
Erm, this is worrying. I've just written an entire post about my hair.
*mental note to self:
No swishing in my lunch hour. I'd better go and find a cure for this extreme, but hopefully short-lived, dose of vanity I seem to be experiencing.
But in the meantime...
*swish, swish
The reason for this is that yesterday, I had my hair done.
*swish, swish
and I cannot stop swishing it
*swish, swish
and looking at my reflection.
*swish, swish
I mean, cripes, I am almost embarrassed to admit to being so vain...
But I am!
This whole hair-being-done-in-a-salon experience is still relatively new to me. I used to get Ma to cut it with her sewing scissors. But now, every three months I pop to see Amazing Hairdresser and she cuts it, puts some non-chemical seaweed lightener on the front, and blow dries it into submission.
The result?
*swish, swish
Very swishy hair!
This morning I got up and caught sight of myself in the mirror
*swish, swish
Running for the bus, I swish, swished it and loved how the new cut felt heavier than my lanky old one.
Then of course on my walk to the office from the bus stop…
*swish, swish
*stare
OK, you get the picture yah?
*swish, swish
But really, to the untrained eye, it doesn't actually look that different. So people are probably wondering what the weird blonde girl, swishing her hair around while looking in shop windows, is actually doing. And when I fall down an open manhole because I was too busy looking at my reflection to notice it, they will probably remember the fact I smell like sewage on my emergence, not the fact my swishy hair is ruined.
Erm, this is worrying. I've just written an entire post about my hair.
*mental note to self:
No swishing in my lunch hour. I'd better go and find a cure for this extreme, but hopefully short-lived, dose of vanity I seem to be experiencing.
But in the meantime...
*swish, swish
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
A weekend of hearing
Deafinitely Girly is back after her day of writers' block and raring to go!
It's kind of a relief to tell you the truth, as I was a teeny tiny bit worried about the fact I didn't have anything to say yesterday.
I always have something to say! Hell, I even talk in my sleep!
So anyway, where was I?
Ah my weekend! Well, to be fair, it is the reason I am still yawning and why London Aunt had to kick me out of bed like a lazy teenager this morning, but it was utterly brilliant!
On Saturday, it was Miss K's birthday party, held at a hard-of-hearing person's dream venue.
This bar, in Central London, was all-white inside – the walls, the sofas, the floor, the ceiling – and forget ambience lighting, that was white, too.
It kinda made you feel as though you were inside on a very sunny day, and no matter how loud the music was, I was able to see enough to lipread – quite a novelty when I’m on a night out.
‘Hurrah!’ I thought. ‘This is fun! A bar where I can hear.’
And then, we moved on to a pit of a place, with no lighting and music so loud I almost fell over.
‘Bother,’ I thought. ‘That's the night over for me.’ And I went home – striding past the queue of people clamouring to get in to what I later learned is quite an exclusive establishment.
Yawn!
On Sunday, it was Lovely Freelancer's wedding! I arrived early and parked in the grounds of the big country house where it was being held. The parking signs were more than a little vague and eventually it transpired that I'd parked in the garden, which apparently you're not meant to do. But, because I'd done it, everyone else followed.
*blush
Anyway, Lovely Freelancer, being so lovely, reserved me a place on the front row for her ceremony, beside her mum and dad, so I could lipread! I felt incredibly privileged to be able to watch – and hear – her say her vows, and there really wasn't a dry eye in the house.
She looked quite wonderful, too! All glamorous and quite Audrey Hepburn and the grin on her man's face said it all when he spied her for the first time.
I love that moment where the grooms face lights up when he sees the bride for the first time.
And now, a new week has begun. And because I'm tired, I'm hearing less! Yesterday, in my lunch hour a lady came up to me in Next and it took three attempts before I understood what she was asking me. She was foreign with limited English, which meant my admission of being deaf was not understood and she probably thought she'd picked on a crazy lady.
Which to be fair, she probably had!
It's kind of a relief to tell you the truth, as I was a teeny tiny bit worried about the fact I didn't have anything to say yesterday.
I always have something to say! Hell, I even talk in my sleep!
So anyway, where was I?
Ah my weekend! Well, to be fair, it is the reason I am still yawning and why London Aunt had to kick me out of bed like a lazy teenager this morning, but it was utterly brilliant!
On Saturday, it was Miss K's birthday party, held at a hard-of-hearing person's dream venue.
This bar, in Central London, was all-white inside – the walls, the sofas, the floor, the ceiling – and forget ambience lighting, that was white, too.
It kinda made you feel as though you were inside on a very sunny day, and no matter how loud the music was, I was able to see enough to lipread – quite a novelty when I’m on a night out.
‘Hurrah!’ I thought. ‘This is fun! A bar where I can hear.’
And then, we moved on to a pit of a place, with no lighting and music so loud I almost fell over.
‘Bother,’ I thought. ‘That's the night over for me.’ And I went home – striding past the queue of people clamouring to get in to what I later learned is quite an exclusive establishment.
Yawn!
On Sunday, it was Lovely Freelancer's wedding! I arrived early and parked in the grounds of the big country house where it was being held. The parking signs were more than a little vague and eventually it transpired that I'd parked in the garden, which apparently you're not meant to do. But, because I'd done it, everyone else followed.
*blush
Anyway, Lovely Freelancer, being so lovely, reserved me a place on the front row for her ceremony, beside her mum and dad, so I could lipread! I felt incredibly privileged to be able to watch – and hear – her say her vows, and there really wasn't a dry eye in the house.
She looked quite wonderful, too! All glamorous and quite Audrey Hepburn and the grin on her man's face said it all when he spied her for the first time.
I love that moment where the grooms face lights up when he sees the bride for the first time.
And now, a new week has begun. And because I'm tired, I'm hearing less! Yesterday, in my lunch hour a lady came up to me in Next and it took three attempts before I understood what she was asking me. She was foreign with limited English, which meant my admission of being deaf was not understood and she probably thought she'd picked on a crazy lady.
Which to be fair, she probably had!
Monday, 27 July 2009
More than words...
Today, I have no words...
It's odd, because after the weekend, I have lots to say – but it's just not translating itself into coherent sentences.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Let's hope so...
It's odd, because after the weekend, I have lots to say – but it's just not translating itself into coherent sentences.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Let's hope so...
Friday, 24 July 2009
I hear Italian... you hear Australian
Hurrah! It’s thankful Friday and today, I am thankful for Miss K’s Rents as today it’s her birthday. Hurrah! She’s perpetually 21 don’t you know!
Miss K is having a birthday weekend of celebrations, with dinner tonight and a hot shot London party tomorrow... And then on Sunday, I’m off to Lovely Freelancers wedding...
…a weekend of dresses to wear me thinks.
In fact, I started the weekend yesterday when I wore a new dress out for dinner with Snowboarding Boy.
I took him to my favourite Italian restaurant. ‘It’s amazing!’ I told him. It’s a family run business of two restaurants and the women work in one restaurant, and the men work in the other.’
So we arrived, sat down, ordered, and the most delicious food arrived. A steaming hot plate of meatballs and fusilli pasta with the tastiest fresh tomato sauce, pizza with the most divine toppings, and of course, a carafe of wine.
We were chatting away when Snowboarding Boy suddenly said, ‘When you said it was family run and the women worked in one and the men in the other, I thought they’d be Italian.’
‘Um...’ I said
‘But they’re all Australian!’ he went on.
*blush
I had never noticed this fact! Perhaps because the restaurant is quite noisy so I couldn’t hear the twang but just knew the lip pattern was different so I assumed they were Italian. Who knows...
But I do know that I take all my friends to that place, saying the same thing as I told Snowboarding Boy, and fully believing everyone there to be Italian!
All of them must think I’m completely bonkers!
*cringe
But Snowboarding Boy is part of an elite group of people I know, who can point out when I mishear, simply don’t hear, or fabricate Italian accents where there aren’t any, so I didn’t get that mortified feeling and want to bury myself under the table…
And now, I’m looking forward to our next meal out in my local authentic Australian pizzeria!
Miss K is having a birthday weekend of celebrations, with dinner tonight and a hot shot London party tomorrow... And then on Sunday, I’m off to Lovely Freelancers wedding...
…a weekend of dresses to wear me thinks.
In fact, I started the weekend yesterday when I wore a new dress out for dinner with Snowboarding Boy.
I took him to my favourite Italian restaurant. ‘It’s amazing!’ I told him. It’s a family run business of two restaurants and the women work in one restaurant, and the men work in the other.’
So we arrived, sat down, ordered, and the most delicious food arrived. A steaming hot plate of meatballs and fusilli pasta with the tastiest fresh tomato sauce, pizza with the most divine toppings, and of course, a carafe of wine.
We were chatting away when Snowboarding Boy suddenly said, ‘When you said it was family run and the women worked in one and the men in the other, I thought they’d be Italian.’
‘Um...’ I said
‘But they’re all Australian!’ he went on.
*blush
I had never noticed this fact! Perhaps because the restaurant is quite noisy so I couldn’t hear the twang but just knew the lip pattern was different so I assumed they were Italian. Who knows...
But I do know that I take all my friends to that place, saying the same thing as I told Snowboarding Boy, and fully believing everyone there to be Italian!
All of them must think I’m completely bonkers!
*cringe
But Snowboarding Boy is part of an elite group of people I know, who can point out when I mishear, simply don’t hear, or fabricate Italian accents where there aren’t any, so I didn’t get that mortified feeling and want to bury myself under the table…
And now, I’m looking forward to our next meal out in my local authentic Australian pizzeria!
Thursday, 23 July 2009
My teenage renaissance
Hurrah! It's Thursday!
Normally I jump out of bed ready to face the day with gusto. But just recently I've been needing a little more coaxing.
Take this morning. I set my alarm. It vibrated and woke me up. I hit snooze, and went back to sleep. And so this pattern went on for a good 40 minutes.
Then I sat up. I rubbed my eyes, stretched, yawned and lay back down again 10 minutes, before repeating the whole thing again for 10 minutes later.
Then, I realised the time and adrenalin kicked in to make sure I hurried and wasn't late. Magical stuff, adrenalin.
But it's quite alien to me, this not being able to get out of bed stuff. I feel like I'm having a teenage renaissance. Maybe I'll get spots too, and start slamming doors and screaming, ‘I hate you!’ when things don’t go my way...
The latter two, I'd definitely like to do actually. I could be a naughty teenager... again.
To back this up further, I also read yesterday that being naughty relieves stress and makes you happier. So I'm off to find something (legally – in case you're reading this, Rents!) naughty to do after work tonight!
And I think I know just the person to join me!
Normally I jump out of bed ready to face the day with gusto. But just recently I've been needing a little more coaxing.
Take this morning. I set my alarm. It vibrated and woke me up. I hit snooze, and went back to sleep. And so this pattern went on for a good 40 minutes.
Then I sat up. I rubbed my eyes, stretched, yawned and lay back down again 10 minutes, before repeating the whole thing again for 10 minutes later.
Then, I realised the time and adrenalin kicked in to make sure I hurried and wasn't late. Magical stuff, adrenalin.
But it's quite alien to me, this not being able to get out of bed stuff. I feel like I'm having a teenage renaissance. Maybe I'll get spots too, and start slamming doors and screaming, ‘I hate you!’ when things don’t go my way...
The latter two, I'd definitely like to do actually. I could be a naughty teenager... again.
To back this up further, I also read yesterday that being naughty relieves stress and makes you happier. So I'm off to find something (legally – in case you're reading this, Rents!) naughty to do after work tonight!
And I think I know just the person to join me!
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
Give me a sign
The road I live on does my head in at the moment!
Every day, week in, week out there seems to be a new section of road works, a new bit dug up, and a new set of badly-timed traffic lights!
*squeak
So, Monday, I left early to account for the road works I knew were there, but guess what? A further 200 yards up the road, there were more. Which means, rush hour traffic has these two sets of traffic lights as well as the three regular set of traffic lights in that area – and to make matters worse, the timings on them have clearly been programmed by an imbecile.
*pauses and catches her breath
Now, as I've said before, I hate being late. So yesterday, I left early and took an alternative bus route to work. Except that was no better and after 15 minutes in stationary traffic I could feel my blood pressure start to rise. And so, this morning, I walked a little bit more, to try yet another bus route.
I'm on it right now, and although I don't want to speak to soon, so far so good.
In fact, the only things that have delayed my journey are idiots on their mobiles, Starbucks lattes in hand, crossing at lights when they're green.
Really, I don't think it should be illegal to run these people over. In fact, maybe buses should get those snowplough front things that American trains have so when they hit half-wit pedestrians no damage is done.
Wow, I'm feeling charitable today.
There is however one flaw in my plan, and that is how it affects deaf people.
Regular readers will know I'm always having near misses with traffic because I haven’t heard the siren or horn. So, if it wasn't illegal to run down pedestrians, then how would they know who was deaf, and who was just stupid.
Thinking about this reminded me of the shocking story of the Miss Deaf Texas who got hit by the snowplough mounted on the front of a train, while taking a short cut along the track and texting at the same time. She couldn't hear the train coming and the plough extended about a foot either side of the tracks apparently.
*eek
In Holland you can get a plate for your bike if you are deaf with the letters SH on it, which stands for Shlect Horen – bad hearing. I have one of these signs in the back window of my car as Big Bro sent it to me. But this means only Dutch people on holiday in England will know I’m deaf and they may also be slightly confused as to what this sign is doing in an English car.
But I do wonder if we should have something similar here – not just for bikes, but for cars, too. It would save me from the cringe-worthy moment where I don’t hear the ambulance/police car/fire engine coming up behind me until it’s visible in my rear view mirror and everybody thinks I am an evil person who doesn’t give way to life-saving vehicles.
It might even make me more eager to ride my bicycle in central London…
But then I think about the time I nearly wrote myself off on the side of a white van while changing lanes on Hyde Park Corner and failing to notice the car in front had stopped suddenly.
So, erm actually, on second thoughts, I think I’ll take the bus
Every day, week in, week out there seems to be a new section of road works, a new bit dug up, and a new set of badly-timed traffic lights!
*squeak
So, Monday, I left early to account for the road works I knew were there, but guess what? A further 200 yards up the road, there were more. Which means, rush hour traffic has these two sets of traffic lights as well as the three regular set of traffic lights in that area – and to make matters worse, the timings on them have clearly been programmed by an imbecile.
*pauses and catches her breath
Now, as I've said before, I hate being late. So yesterday, I left early and took an alternative bus route to work. Except that was no better and after 15 minutes in stationary traffic I could feel my blood pressure start to rise. And so, this morning, I walked a little bit more, to try yet another bus route.
I'm on it right now, and although I don't want to speak to soon, so far so good.
In fact, the only things that have delayed my journey are idiots on their mobiles, Starbucks lattes in hand, crossing at lights when they're green.
Really, I don't think it should be illegal to run these people over. In fact, maybe buses should get those snowplough front things that American trains have so when they hit half-wit pedestrians no damage is done.
Wow, I'm feeling charitable today.
There is however one flaw in my plan, and that is how it affects deaf people.
Regular readers will know I'm always having near misses with traffic because I haven’t heard the siren or horn. So, if it wasn't illegal to run down pedestrians, then how would they know who was deaf, and who was just stupid.
Thinking about this reminded me of the shocking story of the Miss Deaf Texas who got hit by the snowplough mounted on the front of a train, while taking a short cut along the track and texting at the same time. She couldn't hear the train coming and the plough extended about a foot either side of the tracks apparently.
*eek
In Holland you can get a plate for your bike if you are deaf with the letters SH on it, which stands for Shlect Horen – bad hearing. I have one of these signs in the back window of my car as Big Bro sent it to me. But this means only Dutch people on holiday in England will know I’m deaf and they may also be slightly confused as to what this sign is doing in an English car.
But I do wonder if we should have something similar here – not just for bikes, but for cars, too. It would save me from the cringe-worthy moment where I don’t hear the ambulance/police car/fire engine coming up behind me until it’s visible in my rear view mirror and everybody thinks I am an evil person who doesn’t give way to life-saving vehicles.
It might even make me more eager to ride my bicycle in central London…
But then I think about the time I nearly wrote myself off on the side of a white van while changing lanes on Hyde Park Corner and failing to notice the car in front had stopped suddenly.
So, erm actually, on second thoughts, I think I’ll take the bus
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Coo-ee Summer!? Are you there?
OK, so I'm sat on the bus in jeans, a long-sleeved top and a long merino wool cardigan... And it's almost August!
This is not fair! I have a wardrobe full of summer clothes that remain unworn, and a whole load of winter clothes that are getting far too much wear for my liking.
What happened to the scorching temperatures that forecasters predicted? The sunshine? The cloudless blue skies?
They went to the rest of Europe, that's what – and left the UK in a perpetual state of winter!
Yesterday, I was in a newsagent and the headline read, ‘Rain continues into August.’
Argh!
I think basically need a holiday somewhere sunny. Just to recharge my solar panels. Snowboarding Boy had one and came back a lovely shade of brown, and The Rents are still enjoying theirs – I'm getting daily updates on the fabulousness of the weather.
*sniff
I want some fabulous weather. I want to lie in a park with the sun on my face and some good company.
I don't want this – it’s making me moany and I don’t like being moany.
*stomps off to make a cup of tea
This is not fair! I have a wardrobe full of summer clothes that remain unworn, and a whole load of winter clothes that are getting far too much wear for my liking.
What happened to the scorching temperatures that forecasters predicted? The sunshine? The cloudless blue skies?
They went to the rest of Europe, that's what – and left the UK in a perpetual state of winter!
Yesterday, I was in a newsagent and the headline read, ‘Rain continues into August.’
Argh!
I think basically need a holiday somewhere sunny. Just to recharge my solar panels. Snowboarding Boy had one and came back a lovely shade of brown, and The Rents are still enjoying theirs – I'm getting daily updates on the fabulousness of the weather.
*sniff
I want some fabulous weather. I want to lie in a park with the sun on my face and some good company.
I don't want this – it’s making me moany and I don’t like being moany.
*stomps off to make a cup of tea
Monday, 20 July 2009
Thank you for being my ears
I know it's not Friday yet – far from it in fact – but today, is deafinitely Thankful Monday...
...and I am thankful for NikNak!
I'm baking her wedding cakes you know and we've had loads of fun practising the various icing ideas and licking the bowls and beaters afterwards.
But NikNak is also great at 'getting' my hearing loss too – she's Fab Friend's sister – who also has a hearing loss – so she's kinda grown up with it. But, in addition to this, she's also just amazingly wonderful at anticipating people's needs.
She knows when I haven't heard her and always makes sure I know what's going on in group situations.
In short, I think I would be lost without her.
So last week, I put out and SOS to several of my 'EARS' – Miss K, Onion Soup Mate, Friend Who Knows Big Words, and of course NikNak – asking them if they could please book my car in for an MOT at a garage up the road from my flat.
They all replied saying of course they'd do it – but NikNak was the speediest – and so she booked it all in for today.
Now, as it's an MOT – that means certain things need to be done to get it to pass and that means phone calls, checking it's OK, etc etc and so NikNak has been negotiating this with the garage for me all day. It's meant something I would normally find incredibly stressful has passed without a hiccup.
It's amazing and I feel so lucky that I have such supportive friends always willing to be my ears.
I'll just have to make sure I do something for them all in return, as a thank you...
Cupcake anyone?
...and I am thankful for NikNak!
I'm baking her wedding cakes you know and we've had loads of fun practising the various icing ideas and licking the bowls and beaters afterwards.
But NikNak is also great at 'getting' my hearing loss too – she's Fab Friend's sister – who also has a hearing loss – so she's kinda grown up with it. But, in addition to this, she's also just amazingly wonderful at anticipating people's needs.
She knows when I haven't heard her and always makes sure I know what's going on in group situations.
In short, I think I would be lost without her.
So last week, I put out and SOS to several of my 'EARS' – Miss K, Onion Soup Mate, Friend Who Knows Big Words, and of course NikNak – asking them if they could please book my car in for an MOT at a garage up the road from my flat.
They all replied saying of course they'd do it – but NikNak was the speediest – and so she booked it all in for today.
Now, as it's an MOT – that means certain things need to be done to get it to pass and that means phone calls, checking it's OK, etc etc and so NikNak has been negotiating this with the garage for me all day. It's meant something I would normally find incredibly stressful has passed without a hiccup.
It's amazing and I feel so lucky that I have such supportive friends always willing to be my ears.
I'll just have to make sure I do something for them all in return, as a thank you...
Cupcake anyone?
Friday, 17 July 2009
The sound of erm... thunder
Hurrah! Today is Thankful Friday – and today, I am thankful for Big Bro!
Last night, in London, we had a very, very big thunderstorm with lightening and everything.
Now, along with my deafness, I have a thing called recruitment, which I think basically means the gap between what I can hear, and what's painful for me to hear, is getting smaller, and is much smaller than most normal people – hence why I fall over when I hear loud noises.
I also have very good lower frequency hearing compared with my other hearing and this means that thunder, unlike raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, is not one of my favourite things.
So last night, after returning from a brilliant climbing session with Fab Friend, I was home alone. I don't normally mind this, but then the storm started, and I wasn't so sure.
FLASH went the lightening!
BOOM went the thunder!
EEK went Deafinitely Girly!
I changed my Facebook status to something about being a little bit afraid, particularly as my block of flats is currently surrounded by lightening rods – in the form of scaffolding.
But then, all the way from Clogland, Big Bro reassured me! He told me to look up the Faraday cage on Google – so I did. And while I still have no idea whether the scaffolding makes an efficient Faraday cage, it did make me feel a whole lot better!
It's amazing how big brothers can do that! Even though mine now lives far away and has Micro and Mini Clogs of his own, he still does a good long-distance job!
He sends me jars of Speculoos Paste because you can’t get it in England, and advises me on any technical purchases I may be about to make. When I wanted to buy Pink Top, he spent ages making sure I didn't buy a laptop just because it came in pink, which means Pink Top actually works, unlike the no-memory, no-power, tiny-screened one I almost bought, ‘because it was pretty!’
Anyway, ooh there is one more thing I am thankful for – and that is that at the end of the weekend, there is Sunday evening – and just thinking about that, makes me smile.
Last night, in London, we had a very, very big thunderstorm with lightening and everything.
Now, along with my deafness, I have a thing called recruitment, which I think basically means the gap between what I can hear, and what's painful for me to hear, is getting smaller, and is much smaller than most normal people – hence why I fall over when I hear loud noises.
I also have very good lower frequency hearing compared with my other hearing and this means that thunder, unlike raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, is not one of my favourite things.
So last night, after returning from a brilliant climbing session with Fab Friend, I was home alone. I don't normally mind this, but then the storm started, and I wasn't so sure.
FLASH went the lightening!
BOOM went the thunder!
EEK went Deafinitely Girly!
I changed my Facebook status to something about being a little bit afraid, particularly as my block of flats is currently surrounded by lightening rods – in the form of scaffolding.
But then, all the way from Clogland, Big Bro reassured me! He told me to look up the Faraday cage on Google – so I did. And while I still have no idea whether the scaffolding makes an efficient Faraday cage, it did make me feel a whole lot better!
It's amazing how big brothers can do that! Even though mine now lives far away and has Micro and Mini Clogs of his own, he still does a good long-distance job!
He sends me jars of Speculoos Paste because you can’t get it in England, and advises me on any technical purchases I may be about to make. When I wanted to buy Pink Top, he spent ages making sure I didn't buy a laptop just because it came in pink, which means Pink Top actually works, unlike the no-memory, no-power, tiny-screened one I almost bought, ‘because it was pretty!’
Anyway, ooh there is one more thing I am thankful for – and that is that at the end of the weekend, there is Sunday evening – and just thinking about that, makes me smile.
Thursday, 16 July 2009
I swear, I'm deaf
I pride myself in being able to lipread from any angle! From upside down on the sofa, one of my favourite places to be, and sideways in the office to the rearview mirror in my car when I’ve got passengers in the back seat.
For me, the lip patterns still make sense, which is great. But sometimes I do forget that this skill isn’t always 100% reliable – and one of those occasions was yesterday.
In my office I answer to everybody’s calls of attention, whether they want to speak to me or not. So I often find myself in a conversation I didn’t need to be in just in case they were actually talking to me.
So yesterday, when my boss, still looking at her computer said, ‘I’ve been thinking about sex’ I almost spluttered my tea all over yet another keyboard.
‘You talking to me?’ I said in a very Robert De Niro way.
‘Er yes,’ she replied.
‘Sex?’ I said tentatively.
‘Er no!’ she replied beginning to laugh.
She was in fact talking about DECT, which to be fair lipreads from the side the same as sex but isn’t quite so sexy as it’s all about digital telecommunications something or other.
*teehee
It reminded me of when I used to have to do the word test as part of my hearing assessment at the audiology clinic.
As I’ve said before, during my teens, when a lot of my hearing went, I became quite stubborn, angry, and a teeny tiny weeny bit attitudy about my deafness.
I missed important appointments there were long waiting lists for, I insisted on attending all my tests alone – excluding my poor Rents in the process – there may have been some door slamming, but perhaps my worst behaviour was in my word test one day when I had simply had enough.
My long-suffering audiologist had been testing me since I was 10, so she was more than used to the bundle of emotion I often was.
But, I’m not really sure she was prepared that day.
OK, so there I sat, in front of the big black speaker waiting for the man to delcare, ‘Word list one’ and so it began.
Now, word lists work on three levels, the first part of the word, the middle and the end. So that means there are lots of similar words listed together.
So angry was I that day about my deafness that I replaced every word I kind-of heard, with a rude one.
So ship became... erm can I swear on here?
Duck became...
And shunt became...
OK, OK you get the picture!!!!
So there I was, smiling sweetly, ‘trying my hardest’ and swearing my head off.
To her credit, my audiologist sat there and marked me, or rather failed me, and didn’t say a word.
And do you know, I found those few minutes more therapeutic than any hearing therapy can offer.
Sometimes you just gotta let off steam.
So I’m gonna duck off now.
For me, the lip patterns still make sense, which is great. But sometimes I do forget that this skill isn’t always 100% reliable – and one of those occasions was yesterday.
In my office I answer to everybody’s calls of attention, whether they want to speak to me or not. So I often find myself in a conversation I didn’t need to be in just in case they were actually talking to me.
So yesterday, when my boss, still looking at her computer said, ‘I’ve been thinking about sex’ I almost spluttered my tea all over yet another keyboard.
‘You talking to me?’ I said in a very Robert De Niro way.
‘Er yes,’ she replied.
‘Sex?’ I said tentatively.
‘Er no!’ she replied beginning to laugh.
She was in fact talking about DECT, which to be fair lipreads from the side the same as sex but isn’t quite so sexy as it’s all about digital telecommunications something or other.
*teehee
It reminded me of when I used to have to do the word test as part of my hearing assessment at the audiology clinic.
As I’ve said before, during my teens, when a lot of my hearing went, I became quite stubborn, angry, and a teeny tiny weeny bit attitudy about my deafness.
I missed important appointments there were long waiting lists for, I insisted on attending all my tests alone – excluding my poor Rents in the process – there may have been some door slamming, but perhaps my worst behaviour was in my word test one day when I had simply had enough.
My long-suffering audiologist had been testing me since I was 10, so she was more than used to the bundle of emotion I often was.
But, I’m not really sure she was prepared that day.
OK, so there I sat, in front of the big black speaker waiting for the man to delcare, ‘Word list one’ and so it began.
Now, word lists work on three levels, the first part of the word, the middle and the end. So that means there are lots of similar words listed together.
So angry was I that day about my deafness that I replaced every word I kind-of heard, with a rude one.
So ship became... erm can I swear on here?
Duck became...
And shunt became...
OK, OK you get the picture!!!!
So there I was, smiling sweetly, ‘trying my hardest’ and swearing my head off.
To her credit, my audiologist sat there and marked me, or rather failed me, and didn’t say a word.
And do you know, I found those few minutes more therapeutic than any hearing therapy can offer.
Sometimes you just gotta let off steam.
So I’m gonna duck off now.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Grieving my hearing
Do you know, London Aunt asked me if I could remember not being as deaf as I am now the other day, and it made me quite teary just thinking about it!
Obviously I pulled myself together relatively quickly, but in those first few moments where I contemplated that past, it was as though I was grieving an old friend.
I missed my hearing.
It was weird – for London Aunt as well as me, as I don't think she was expecting such an emotional reaction.
I think it's because there were lots of things I enjoyed about hearing when I was little. I loved my violin, listening to story tapes, watching nature documentaries with the husky narrative of David Attenborough. Having some decent hearing enriched my life.
And it's the things that enrich your life and then go, you miss the most, isn't it? Sure, it gets easier as time passes, and there are days where I don't even think about it. But it's always there, rumbling in the background.
However, I think that whatever you lose in your life that you love, whether human or not, you seek a surrogate when it goes. So I lost my violin, story tapes and nature documentaries, but instead I got the double bass and new non-musical hobbies, writing my own stories, and an interest in bizarre foreign movies.
And after all, I doubt at 28 I would still be listening to The Secret Seven, nor would I probably have time for the violin.
So it all makes sense, it's all balanced out.
But I do I still miss it…
Obviously I pulled myself together relatively quickly, but in those first few moments where I contemplated that past, it was as though I was grieving an old friend.
I missed my hearing.
It was weird – for London Aunt as well as me, as I don't think she was expecting such an emotional reaction.
I think it's because there were lots of things I enjoyed about hearing when I was little. I loved my violin, listening to story tapes, watching nature documentaries with the husky narrative of David Attenborough. Having some decent hearing enriched my life.
And it's the things that enrich your life and then go, you miss the most, isn't it? Sure, it gets easier as time passes, and there are days where I don't even think about it. But it's always there, rumbling in the background.
However, I think that whatever you lose in your life that you love, whether human or not, you seek a surrogate when it goes. So I lost my violin, story tapes and nature documentaries, but instead I got the double bass and new non-musical hobbies, writing my own stories, and an interest in bizarre foreign movies.
And after all, I doubt at 28 I would still be listening to The Secret Seven, nor would I probably have time for the violin.
So it all makes sense, it's all balanced out.
But I do I still miss it…
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Can't sleep, count sheep
Today, I woke up at 4am. I lay there a while, wondering what had woken me up, and then my mind began to tick.
This is most unlike me! I normally sleep like a log, go out like a light, and every other sleep-related phrase there is. I rarely suffer from bouts of insomnia.
But last night I did. And being quite unable to lie there relaxed, I thought about the fact my car needs a service and a MOT, and began to wonder who to ask to call the garage to book it in, and whether they would mind me asking, and what information I would need to give them.
Then, I began to wonder which garage I should book it into as I don’t want one that’s going to rip me off, charge me for stuff I don’t need and plunder my hard-earned handbag fund.
And then, after that thought, I began to wonder how much that would all cost.
Tick, tick, tick went my brain! Whirr went my worries!
It was most annoying! I wanted to be asleep.
So then I tried mentally changing the subject to baking. I thought up a few new cupcake recipes, but then I began to wonder about my piping skills and whether they’ll be good enough for Niknak’s wedding cupcakes.
I almost got out of bed and into the kitchen to practise!
However, last night I actually had a success with my new secret butter icing. It went a bit weird at first and the cakes were lacking coffee essence because my kitchen cupboard was, but with Miss K as my official house taster, I think I can declare the new icing a success, and the piping wasn’t too bad either!
So with this reassuring me, I changed the subject again. I wondered about swine flu, what the weather would be like when I got up, who the people were in the cars that kept going by were, whether I should get up and do something constructive, what chores I had to do and so it went on, and on, and on until...
...my shaking alarm clock told me it was time to get up. Then, of course, I felt sleepy! And I still feel sleepy now, as I write this on Pinkberry on my bus to work.
I don’t like being pointlessly tired. I don’t mind it if I can say, ‘Yup, I am absolutely cream crackered because I went out last night and had the time of my life!’ But ‘Yup, I am absolutely cream crackered because I sat in bed wondering about EVERYTHING’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.
Tonight if I wake up at stoopid o’clock, I will not wonder. I will count sheep and relax my brain and jolly well get back to sleep... I hope.
*yawn
This is most unlike me! I normally sleep like a log, go out like a light, and every other sleep-related phrase there is. I rarely suffer from bouts of insomnia.
But last night I did. And being quite unable to lie there relaxed, I thought about the fact my car needs a service and a MOT, and began to wonder who to ask to call the garage to book it in, and whether they would mind me asking, and what information I would need to give them.
Then, I began to wonder which garage I should book it into as I don’t want one that’s going to rip me off, charge me for stuff I don’t need and plunder my hard-earned handbag fund.
And then, after that thought, I began to wonder how much that would all cost.
Tick, tick, tick went my brain! Whirr went my worries!
It was most annoying! I wanted to be asleep.
So then I tried mentally changing the subject to baking. I thought up a few new cupcake recipes, but then I began to wonder about my piping skills and whether they’ll be good enough for Niknak’s wedding cupcakes.
I almost got out of bed and into the kitchen to practise!
However, last night I actually had a success with my new secret butter icing. It went a bit weird at first and the cakes were lacking coffee essence because my kitchen cupboard was, but with Miss K as my official house taster, I think I can declare the new icing a success, and the piping wasn’t too bad either!
So with this reassuring me, I changed the subject again. I wondered about swine flu, what the weather would be like when I got up, who the people were in the cars that kept going by were, whether I should get up and do something constructive, what chores I had to do and so it went on, and on, and on until...
...my shaking alarm clock told me it was time to get up. Then, of course, I felt sleepy! And I still feel sleepy now, as I write this on Pinkberry on my bus to work.
I don’t like being pointlessly tired. I don’t mind it if I can say, ‘Yup, I am absolutely cream crackered because I went out last night and had the time of my life!’ But ‘Yup, I am absolutely cream crackered because I sat in bed wondering about EVERYTHING’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.
Tonight if I wake up at stoopid o’clock, I will not wonder. I will count sheep and relax my brain and jolly well get back to sleep... I hope.
*yawn
Monday, 13 July 2009
I'd like Top Gear with subtitles please!
Today, I feel like Bagpus when he does that really noisy yawn and goes to sleep – except I can’t go to sleep as it’s Monday and there’s work to be done.
Although I am tired, I have no complaints about the weekend. It really was most excellent! And it started being excellent on Friday night as I was walking home from work.
There I was, striding through the streets of London when, there right in front of me was James May.
JAMES MAY!
Now, I don’t get starstruck very often. The last time was when I met Katie Fforde, one of my favourite authors and gabbled at her incoherently, completely unable to stop. So, I used the memory of this cringeworthy experience to ensure I didn’t waltz up to Mr May and say ‘Hello’ or ‘Please can I be the female Stig?’ or ‘You’re much taller in real life’.
Instead, I stood there, stock still – which was still pretty embarrassing – and then I emailed Big Bro from Pinkberry to tell him!
On Saturday, I had a wonderful time at Lovely Freelancer’s hen do. We went for afternoon tea and then on to a fabulous jazz night, where we danced the night away with champagne.
And then last night – after my second afternoon tea of the weekend – I settled down excitedly to watch Top Gear… with subtitles… er almost!
To be fair, there were subtitles for most of it, but I swear someone over at the BBC is having a laugh with us deaf people, as the subtitles disappeared during the Usain Bolt’s lap as the Star in the Reasonably Priced car.
This meant I was left trying to lip read his accent while trying not to panic about whether the subtitles would ever resume or if I would have to cope with yet another half-enjoyed episode of Top Gear.
But then – phew! – the subtitles did thankfully return and the rest of the show was excellent.
But why are the subtitles so bad Top Gear I wonder? Is it because the subtitlers are so busy watching they forget to type? Or is it just that this is the only TV programme I am dedicated to watching – aside from Neighbours *blush – that it’s the only one I notice how bad the subtitling service really is.
Either way, I am hoping that next Monday, there will be no complaints!
Although I am tired, I have no complaints about the weekend. It really was most excellent! And it started being excellent on Friday night as I was walking home from work.
There I was, striding through the streets of London when, there right in front of me was James May.
JAMES MAY!
Now, I don’t get starstruck very often. The last time was when I met Katie Fforde, one of my favourite authors and gabbled at her incoherently, completely unable to stop. So, I used the memory of this cringeworthy experience to ensure I didn’t waltz up to Mr May and say ‘Hello’ or ‘Please can I be the female Stig?’ or ‘You’re much taller in real life’.
Instead, I stood there, stock still – which was still pretty embarrassing – and then I emailed Big Bro from Pinkberry to tell him!
On Saturday, I had a wonderful time at Lovely Freelancer’s hen do. We went for afternoon tea and then on to a fabulous jazz night, where we danced the night away with champagne.
And then last night – after my second afternoon tea of the weekend – I settled down excitedly to watch Top Gear… with subtitles… er almost!
To be fair, there were subtitles for most of it, but I swear someone over at the BBC is having a laugh with us deaf people, as the subtitles disappeared during the Usain Bolt’s lap as the Star in the Reasonably Priced car.
This meant I was left trying to lip read his accent while trying not to panic about whether the subtitles would ever resume or if I would have to cope with yet another half-enjoyed episode of Top Gear.
But then – phew! – the subtitles did thankfully return and the rest of the show was excellent.
But why are the subtitles so bad Top Gear I wonder? Is it because the subtitlers are so busy watching they forget to type? Or is it just that this is the only TV programme I am dedicated to watching – aside from Neighbours *blush – that it’s the only one I notice how bad the subtitling service really is.
Either way, I am hoping that next Monday, there will be no complaints!
Friday, 10 July 2009
My writing mojo
Phew! Thank goodness it's Friday!
Today, I am thankful for the beautiful sunshine gracing the city. It's already warming up and looks set to be a beautiful day.
However, this morning I am also yawning, due partly to my evening with Fab Friend. She gives excellent advice you know, and it was last night, over wine, that we set the world to rights, or some of it anyway.
I told her about a dream I'd had this week. Someone had given me a derelict building by the sea to open up my own cake shop. It was a tiny, grey stone shack, with big windows and barely enough room to swing a cat, let alone a piping bag.
I remember being completely amazed that I had the opportunity to do this but slightly scared, too.
And that's when I looked down and saw that covering the floor were hundreds of blue feathers. They were everywhere and I had no idea how to clear them up. And there, on the windowsill were the wings of a blue bird, glittering blue and turquoise in the light of my dream.
Birds, particularly dead birds are not the best news in dreams it seems, neither are derelict buildings and feathers. They all tie in to hopes and disappointment, which perhaps means I'm afraid of opening a cake shop!
Anyway, Fab Friend and I sat talking about our passions, about what really mattered to us and what was holding us back and it was then I realised that it's not just one thing for me.
I have lots of passions! I have a job i've wanted to do since I started plagiarising Topsy & Tim at the wise old age of 5, but without the other bits, my writing, Deafinitely Girly, my column in Hearing Times, my cupcake enterprise, and of course my cards, I don't feel complete creatively.
Recently, I've been neglecting the writing side. So last night, upon leaving Fab Friend's, I had two urges…
One, was to try out my new secret cupcake recipe, which I dreamt up last weekend in Brussels, and one was to open up my work-in-progress book and get writing. Seeing as my cake beater is quite noisy and it was quite late, I plumped for the latter.
I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote. I laughed as I met new characters along the way, and felt as though the old ones were friends I hadn't seen in a long while.
It was great. I've rediscovered that aspect of my creative mojo, and for that, I'm thankful!
Today, I am thankful for the beautiful sunshine gracing the city. It's already warming up and looks set to be a beautiful day.
However, this morning I am also yawning, due partly to my evening with Fab Friend. She gives excellent advice you know, and it was last night, over wine, that we set the world to rights, or some of it anyway.
I told her about a dream I'd had this week. Someone had given me a derelict building by the sea to open up my own cake shop. It was a tiny, grey stone shack, with big windows and barely enough room to swing a cat, let alone a piping bag.
I remember being completely amazed that I had the opportunity to do this but slightly scared, too.
And that's when I looked down and saw that covering the floor were hundreds of blue feathers. They were everywhere and I had no idea how to clear them up. And there, on the windowsill were the wings of a blue bird, glittering blue and turquoise in the light of my dream.
Birds, particularly dead birds are not the best news in dreams it seems, neither are derelict buildings and feathers. They all tie in to hopes and disappointment, which perhaps means I'm afraid of opening a cake shop!
Anyway, Fab Friend and I sat talking about our passions, about what really mattered to us and what was holding us back and it was then I realised that it's not just one thing for me.
I have lots of passions! I have a job i've wanted to do since I started plagiarising Topsy & Tim at the wise old age of 5, but without the other bits, my writing, Deafinitely Girly, my column in Hearing Times, my cupcake enterprise, and of course my cards, I don't feel complete creatively.
Recently, I've been neglecting the writing side. So last night, upon leaving Fab Friend's, I had two urges…
One, was to try out my new secret cupcake recipe, which I dreamt up last weekend in Brussels, and one was to open up my work-in-progress book and get writing. Seeing as my cake beater is quite noisy and it was quite late, I plumped for the latter.
I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote. I laughed as I met new characters along the way, and felt as though the old ones were friends I hadn't seen in a long while.
It was great. I've rediscovered that aspect of my creative mojo, and for that, I'm thankful!
Thursday, 9 July 2009
I'm deaf, please speak slowly
When I was a teenager, Pa bought me a T-shirt with the words, ‘I'm blonde, please speak slowly!’ written on it!
I loved that T-shirt! It signified that start of me laughing at my deafness. Until then, I'd been a teeny, tiny, wee bit stroppy about it!
But what really got me, was that people are more likely to observe the instructions on that T-shirt to do with my hair colour, than if I actually tell them I can't hear and they need to speak more slowly!
Mental huh?!
And so, it got me thinking about what would happen if I had a T-shirt made in my Deafinitely Girly shop with ‘I'm deaf, please speak slowly’ on it. Would anybody buy it? I'm not sure I would really, as only I can laugh at my deafness, while other people can laugh with me. With blondes however, it seems it's acceptable to laugh at them, too!
Quite often, if I'm in an environment where I've made a total tit of myself from mishearing something and there isn't time to explain, I will roll my eyes and say, ‘Tsk, I can be so blonde sometimes!’ and the situation is defused! It saves my face when people think I've been rude, and saves their face when they're rude back.
But just occasionally, I relish in telling the intolerant/rude/tutting person that I'm not deliberately ‘acting like a moron’ – their choice of thought, not mine – and I am in fact deaf.
I did it the other day in a Central London store. I'd missed the mandatory bag question, fluffed an answer for the would-you-like-a-storecard question and totally ignored her, it seems, when she asked me to enter my PIN. She huffed and she puffed and threw my shopping bag at me, and that's when I'd had enough.
So, I smiled sweetly at her and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry if I came across as rude just then, I'm actually hard of hearing.’
Her jaw hit the floor and she mumbled incoherently to try and backtrack on her actions. But it was too late – the rest of the queue thought she was a rude shop assistant being nasty to the poor deaf girl.
Hmmm, was that really fair? I mean she wasn't to know I was deaf – but should she have been so rude even though she didn't? I think she should have given me a break before assuming I was the rude one.
And so, from now on I'm going to do that, too. If someone's walking slowly, bumps into me, or doesn't answer me when I speak to them, I will try and give them the benefit of the doubt, try and have a little patience just in case I'm missing the bigger picture. And maybe, eventually, I'll get the same in return.
I loved that T-shirt! It signified that start of me laughing at my deafness. Until then, I'd been a teeny, tiny, wee bit stroppy about it!
But what really got me, was that people are more likely to observe the instructions on that T-shirt to do with my hair colour, than if I actually tell them I can't hear and they need to speak more slowly!
Mental huh?!
And so, it got me thinking about what would happen if I had a T-shirt made in my Deafinitely Girly shop with ‘I'm deaf, please speak slowly’ on it. Would anybody buy it? I'm not sure I would really, as only I can laugh at my deafness, while other people can laugh with me. With blondes however, it seems it's acceptable to laugh at them, too!
Quite often, if I'm in an environment where I've made a total tit of myself from mishearing something and there isn't time to explain, I will roll my eyes and say, ‘Tsk, I can be so blonde sometimes!’ and the situation is defused! It saves my face when people think I've been rude, and saves their face when they're rude back.
But just occasionally, I relish in telling the intolerant/rude/tutting person that I'm not deliberately ‘acting like a moron’ – their choice of thought, not mine – and I am in fact deaf.
I did it the other day in a Central London store. I'd missed the mandatory bag question, fluffed an answer for the would-you-like-a-storecard question and totally ignored her, it seems, when she asked me to enter my PIN. She huffed and she puffed and threw my shopping bag at me, and that's when I'd had enough.
So, I smiled sweetly at her and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry if I came across as rude just then, I'm actually hard of hearing.’
Her jaw hit the floor and she mumbled incoherently to try and backtrack on her actions. But it was too late – the rest of the queue thought she was a rude shop assistant being nasty to the poor deaf girl.
Hmmm, was that really fair? I mean she wasn't to know I was deaf – but should she have been so rude even though she didn't? I think she should have given me a break before assuming I was the rude one.
And so, from now on I'm going to do that, too. If someone's walking slowly, bumps into me, or doesn't answer me when I speak to them, I will try and give them the benefit of the doubt, try and have a little patience just in case I'm missing the bigger picture. And maybe, eventually, I'll get the same in return.
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
Middle of the week
So, today is Wednesday! That's the middle of the working week don't you know – unless you're in certain Arab countries where apparently weekends are Thursday and Friday.
When you think about it, it's quite odd how our lives are dictated by those seven days of the week, and how they build the endless never-ending cycle of routine.
Anyway, for me, Wednesday is good – it's the countdown to the weekend – unless you're Snowboarding Boy, whose weekend starts tomorrow…
*turns a little bit green with envy
…and lasts a whole week and a half
*is now greener than Kermit and the Incredible Hulk – but thankfully better looking – I hope.
Wow, how off topic am I today. Where was I? Ah yes, my coming weekend is not a long one but it should be a fun one, as it is Lovely Freelancer's Hen Do!
Whoop whoop!
We're doing posh afternoon tea followed by an evening of jazz – so I cancelled the stripper and have managed to get a refund on the veils and fairy wings I bought in preparation.
*Teehee
It should be a fabby day where we celebrate Lovely Freelancer’s brilliance and where she lets her hair down after quite a stressful week. Champagne will be at the ready, as will the dancing shoes. I’m rather excited!
But now I must focus – it’s Wednesday and I have lots of fun to fit in between now and then!
Hurrah!
Right, back to work…
When you think about it, it's quite odd how our lives are dictated by those seven days of the week, and how they build the endless never-ending cycle of routine.
Anyway, for me, Wednesday is good – it's the countdown to the weekend – unless you're Snowboarding Boy, whose weekend starts tomorrow…
*turns a little bit green with envy
…and lasts a whole week and a half
*is now greener than Kermit and the Incredible Hulk – but thankfully better looking – I hope.
Wow, how off topic am I today. Where was I? Ah yes, my coming weekend is not a long one but it should be a fun one, as it is Lovely Freelancer's Hen Do!
Whoop whoop!
We're doing posh afternoon tea followed by an evening of jazz – so I cancelled the stripper and have managed to get a refund on the veils and fairy wings I bought in preparation.
*Teehee
It should be a fabby day where we celebrate Lovely Freelancer’s brilliance and where she lets her hair down after quite a stressful week. Champagne will be at the ready, as will the dancing shoes. I’m rather excited!
But now I must focus – it’s Wednesday and I have lots of fun to fit in between now and then!
Hurrah!
Right, back to work…
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Mussels in Brussels
Apologies for the lack of blog yesterday – I was sipping beer in Brussels!
Hurrah!
I did have the most fantastic weekend away with Uni Housemate – lots of laughter, chatting, a little bit of sightseeing, much food and of course, an abundance of the wonderful Belgian tipple.
After a peaceful Eurostar journey there, we navigated our way through the city on the most confusing public transport system EVER! There seem to be 300 tram lines that all go to the same place off one platform, with trams that never seem to come – it’s most odd. There are two metro lines that don’t seem to go anywhere useful and the tram is, as far as I can tell, under the Metro.
Most odd!
Anyway, we overcame this confusion largely by walking everywhere. But on Sunday, we were brave and ventured out to Antwerp. But getting there proved to be something of a challenge. The road to the station was closed. We followed the diversion. The diversion was closed. So we followed my sense of direction and took a three-mile detour and missed two trains.
Once on the platform, a train rocked up. ‘Is this our train?’ we thought. There were no signs, announcements or any other clues that this was in fact the right train to Antwerp. So we didn’t get on.
The next train rocked up. ‘Is this our train?’ we thought and jumped on anyway, as by that time we were two hours late. This train, we discovered, was going to Amsterdam – so if it didn’t stop at Antwerp, at least we could have had dinner with Big Bro before trundling back to Brussels.
But luckily, it stopped at Antwerp and we dashed off for a refreshing, erm… lemonade, followed by a refreshing erm… Leffe.
I liked Antwerp best out of the two cities. Perhaps because it had more of a Dutch feel to it and Clogland is one of my favourite places. We met up with a colleague of Uni Housemate, took a boat tour and erm… drank more Leffe.
Back in Brussels, we went in search of mussels – teehee – for Uni Housemate and found them in an eccentric establishment with old men dressed as naval officers. It was quite surreal, so we had an erm… Hoegaarden.
And then, all too soon, it was time for us to go. But not before paying 57 euros for breakfast – *gulp – which we discovered was not included in the price of the hotel.
*sniff
At the station we were looking forward to a chilled return journey back to London – but alas it was not meant to be. There on our train were hundreds of festival goers all returning to London, all having neglected to shower before boarding the train, and all smelling like last year’s socks.
Uni Housemate and I were particularly fortunate to be penned in by two such people of Australian origin – both boys – with questionable stains on their shorts and enough stubble to grate Parmesan. It wasn’t pleasant, and when they started snoring I thought Uni Housemate was going to hit them with her Teva sandal.
It was dee-lightful!
*Mental note to self – start saving for first-class travel from now on!
Hurrah!
I did have the most fantastic weekend away with Uni Housemate – lots of laughter, chatting, a little bit of sightseeing, much food and of course, an abundance of the wonderful Belgian tipple.
After a peaceful Eurostar journey there, we navigated our way through the city on the most confusing public transport system EVER! There seem to be 300 tram lines that all go to the same place off one platform, with trams that never seem to come – it’s most odd. There are two metro lines that don’t seem to go anywhere useful and the tram is, as far as I can tell, under the Metro.
Most odd!
Anyway, we overcame this confusion largely by walking everywhere. But on Sunday, we were brave and ventured out to Antwerp. But getting there proved to be something of a challenge. The road to the station was closed. We followed the diversion. The diversion was closed. So we followed my sense of direction and took a three-mile detour and missed two trains.
Once on the platform, a train rocked up. ‘Is this our train?’ we thought. There were no signs, announcements or any other clues that this was in fact the right train to Antwerp. So we didn’t get on.
The next train rocked up. ‘Is this our train?’ we thought and jumped on anyway, as by that time we were two hours late. This train, we discovered, was going to Amsterdam – so if it didn’t stop at Antwerp, at least we could have had dinner with Big Bro before trundling back to Brussels.
But luckily, it stopped at Antwerp and we dashed off for a refreshing, erm… lemonade, followed by a refreshing erm… Leffe.
I liked Antwerp best out of the two cities. Perhaps because it had more of a Dutch feel to it and Clogland is one of my favourite places. We met up with a colleague of Uni Housemate, took a boat tour and erm… drank more Leffe.
Back in Brussels, we went in search of mussels – teehee – for Uni Housemate and found them in an eccentric establishment with old men dressed as naval officers. It was quite surreal, so we had an erm… Hoegaarden.
And then, all too soon, it was time for us to go. But not before paying 57 euros for breakfast – *gulp – which we discovered was not included in the price of the hotel.
*sniff
At the station we were looking forward to a chilled return journey back to London – but alas it was not meant to be. There on our train were hundreds of festival goers all returning to London, all having neglected to shower before boarding the train, and all smelling like last year’s socks.
Uni Housemate and I were particularly fortunate to be penned in by two such people of Australian origin – both boys – with questionable stains on their shorts and enough stubble to grate Parmesan. It wasn’t pleasant, and when they started snoring I thought Uni Housemate was going to hit them with her Teva sandal.
It was dee-lightful!
*Mental note to self – start saving for first-class travel from now on!
Friday, 3 July 2009
Deafinitely Girly – 1, deafness – 0
Phew, Deafinitely Girly is in a much more sprightly mood this morning, thanks most definitely to the lovely messages I got yesterday when I was having my sad-about-being-deaf day!
And after all, it's Thankful Friday today, so I gotta find something to be thankful for!
Firstly I am thankful to everyone who reads Deafinitely Girly because yesterday I made a milestone – I got over 100 hits in one day!
This made me happy!
At 11.45pm I was teetering at 98 visitors and then, at 11.58pm – BOOM! – the daily counter read 102!
Whoop!
It's humid in London today and so misty I couldn’t see the tower blocks from my kitchen window that normally loom in the distance.
But it's Friday and I'm seeing lots of my favourite people so I don't mind!
Very excitingly, Uni Housemate is coming up on the train tonight from Pompey as we're going on a trip!
Tomorrow morning at stoopid o'clock, we're off to Brussels! I'm really looking forward to it not least because I have a bit of a soft spot for Belgian beer.
Yum!
So yah, we're gonna explore, eat, drink and be merry!
And on another exciting note – Deafinitely Girly made a phone call today! It was tough, I couldn’t really follow what the man from British Gas was saying, but I got there, and Miss K is now on listed as living at my flat.
I didn’t panic, I said pardon lots, I explained my ear predicament and I got through it.
Deafinitely Girly – 1, deafness – 0
*big grin
And after all, it's Thankful Friday today, so I gotta find something to be thankful for!
Firstly I am thankful to everyone who reads Deafinitely Girly because yesterday I made a milestone – I got over 100 hits in one day!
This made me happy!
At 11.45pm I was teetering at 98 visitors and then, at 11.58pm – BOOM! – the daily counter read 102!
Whoop!
It's humid in London today and so misty I couldn’t see the tower blocks from my kitchen window that normally loom in the distance.
But it's Friday and I'm seeing lots of my favourite people so I don't mind!
Very excitingly, Uni Housemate is coming up on the train tonight from Pompey as we're going on a trip!
Tomorrow morning at stoopid o'clock, we're off to Brussels! I'm really looking forward to it not least because I have a bit of a soft spot for Belgian beer.
Yum!
So yah, we're gonna explore, eat, drink and be merry!
And on another exciting note – Deafinitely Girly made a phone call today! It was tough, I couldn’t really follow what the man from British Gas was saying, but I got there, and Miss K is now on listed as living at my flat.
I didn’t panic, I said pardon lots, I explained my ear predicament and I got through it.
Deafinitely Girly – 1, deafness – 0
*big grin
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Today I am sad about being deaf…
Well, it’s a bee-yoooo-tee-ful day today in London. Hot, sunny and a sky so blue even Wise Friend couldn’t fault it!
I am currently feeling a bit tired as Miss K and I celebrated her moving in officially last night with bubbly followed by wine.
*sniff
Coupled with a complete forgetfulness to drink any water, it would seem I have a mild dosage of a hangover!
I don’t like hangovers – even the mild ones like today's. They make my head feel like it’s about to roll off my shoulders onto the floor. They make my eyes ache, and they really affect my hearing, too.
Today, and whether this is related to the hangover or not I’m unsure, I am struggling with my deafness.
It’s actually getting me down, and for the first time in a long time on this blog, I feel like I can’t find the silver lining. I mean I do know it’s there, but today it’s not enough. It’s not enough to lift me, and make it OK that I can’t do the same stuff as other people.
It’s quite a selfish attitude really, but then we all have off days, we all have selfish days and we all have days when things about ourselves annoy us.
Today is one of those days.
Today, I am sad about being deaf.
Today I would like to be hearing, just for a few minutes, just so I could make the important phone call that needs to be made – that I can’t make.
But what would help? I mean really – I can’t have that wish granted. I can’t be hearing – it’s not who I am.
So I’ve decided there’s only one thing for it – if you see me today, please give me a hug – or do an impression of the Wicked Witch melting in the Wizard of Oz – that’ll cheer me up, I can guarantee it!
I am currently feeling a bit tired as Miss K and I celebrated her moving in officially last night with bubbly followed by wine.
*sniff
Coupled with a complete forgetfulness to drink any water, it would seem I have a mild dosage of a hangover!
I don’t like hangovers – even the mild ones like today's. They make my head feel like it’s about to roll off my shoulders onto the floor. They make my eyes ache, and they really affect my hearing, too.
Today, and whether this is related to the hangover or not I’m unsure, I am struggling with my deafness.
It’s actually getting me down, and for the first time in a long time on this blog, I feel like I can’t find the silver lining. I mean I do know it’s there, but today it’s not enough. It’s not enough to lift me, and make it OK that I can’t do the same stuff as other people.
It’s quite a selfish attitude really, but then we all have off days, we all have selfish days and we all have days when things about ourselves annoy us.
Today is one of those days.
Today, I am sad about being deaf.
Today I would like to be hearing, just for a few minutes, just so I could make the important phone call that needs to be made – that I can’t make.
But what would help? I mean really – I can’t have that wish granted. I can’t be hearing – it’s not who I am.
So I’ve decided there’s only one thing for it – if you see me today, please give me a hug – or do an impression of the Wicked Witch melting in the Wizard of Oz – that’ll cheer me up, I can guarantee it!
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
The nutter on the bus goes 'You're not deaf!'
And so the heatwave continues! The BBC can't do a weather report at the moment without putting the NHS Direct emergency number at the start – a bit excessive perhaps? But then I am not elderly, vulnerable or likely to leave the flat without being slathered with suncream and my lovely hat.
Even at 7.30am this morning as I am typing this on Pinkberry, everyone on my bus looks like they’re slightly wilting at the edges – the men in suits are shuffling around trying to stop their trousers from sticking to their thighs, and the women seem to be wearing as little clothing as possible.
I do love this weather though. I mean, take last night, there I was walking home at 10.30pm, after a delicious dinner with Gym Buddy and Lovely Freelancer, and it was so hot I was in T-shirt!
Lovely Freelancer is getting married this month, and Gym Buddy is getting married in just over 400 days, and they're both very excited about their impending big days.
I am going to Lovely Freelancer's wedding. I've got a fabulous dress, which Ma has hemmed to my pigmy proportions, as it was about 2 feet too long! Even with the hemming I have to wear incredibly impractical platforms… er actually I just want to wear the incredibly impractical platforms.
*blush
Anyway, we had a brilliant catch up about weddings, jobs and life in general before tipping out and going home in our different directions!
On the way to my bus, I got given a free Evening Standard newspaper. Hurrah, I thought, something to read on the way home!
Hah! No chance!
I boarded a relatively empty bus and sat down. And right beside me sat a man. Except he tried to sit so close that just the natural act of breathing meant I could tell that he'd clearly spent the evening lying mouth open with his head under a draft beer pump in the pub.
And then, he began to talk. Except when you have more alcohol in your body than blood, this means speech is more than a little unclear! He definitely told me I was cute and he wanted to talk to me, but the rest, I have no idea!
I smiled at him politely in the way British people do when they're really thinking something quite rude, and hoped he’d leave me alone...
Hah! I should be so lucky!
The problem was, I really couldn't understand him. So I tried a different tactic.
‘I'm hard of hearing,’ I told him.
To which I received a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow.
‘No you're not,’ he said. ‘You don't sound it.’
‘Erm, well I am,’ I replied, wishing he’d pass out and leave me alone.
But instead, he came up very close, and shouted in my ear, which really was the last straw, but seeing as I was penned in by him, I wasn't quite sure what to do.
So I let him do all the usual annoying deaf tests: the covering his mouth when he spoke to see if I really needed to lipread; the shouting then speaking really quietly to see which I understood better (the answer was neither); and the confrontational questions about whether I was lying to him to get him to stop talking to me.
By then, I had realised this man had a brain the size of a Fantail goldfish. So I decided to try and distract him by asking him lots of questions. Where had he been, where was he going, where did he live etc etc and it was then I discovered he was only on my bus for 2 more stops.
This made me happy, so happy in fact, that I was almost nice to him, in spite of his rib jabbing and quite frankly rude behaviour.
It's weird being told by a complete stranger that you're not something you actually are. I don’t think people are that judgemental about other disabilities.
I mean, if I was blind, people would know, and if I was physically disabled, people would awkwardly fall over themselves to make sure they did and said the right things. And yet with deafness, people are so flipping rude.
I was in a shop the other day where the tweeny assistant hadn't quite got the hang of using her lips when she spoke. After the fourth or fifth pardon from me, I explained I was hard of hearing.
‘Yeah right,’ she said incredulously and carried on mumbling away.
So gobsmacked was I that I walked away not having said anything. How can I get people to believe me? How?
Even at 7.30am this morning as I am typing this on Pinkberry, everyone on my bus looks like they’re slightly wilting at the edges – the men in suits are shuffling around trying to stop their trousers from sticking to their thighs, and the women seem to be wearing as little clothing as possible.
I do love this weather though. I mean, take last night, there I was walking home at 10.30pm, after a delicious dinner with Gym Buddy and Lovely Freelancer, and it was so hot I was in T-shirt!
Lovely Freelancer is getting married this month, and Gym Buddy is getting married in just over 400 days, and they're both very excited about their impending big days.
I am going to Lovely Freelancer's wedding. I've got a fabulous dress, which Ma has hemmed to my pigmy proportions, as it was about 2 feet too long! Even with the hemming I have to wear incredibly impractical platforms… er actually I just want to wear the incredibly impractical platforms.
*blush
Anyway, we had a brilliant catch up about weddings, jobs and life in general before tipping out and going home in our different directions!
On the way to my bus, I got given a free Evening Standard newspaper. Hurrah, I thought, something to read on the way home!
Hah! No chance!
I boarded a relatively empty bus and sat down. And right beside me sat a man. Except he tried to sit so close that just the natural act of breathing meant I could tell that he'd clearly spent the evening lying mouth open with his head under a draft beer pump in the pub.
And then, he began to talk. Except when you have more alcohol in your body than blood, this means speech is more than a little unclear! He definitely told me I was cute and he wanted to talk to me, but the rest, I have no idea!
I smiled at him politely in the way British people do when they're really thinking something quite rude, and hoped he’d leave me alone...
Hah! I should be so lucky!
The problem was, I really couldn't understand him. So I tried a different tactic.
‘I'm hard of hearing,’ I told him.
To which I received a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow.
‘No you're not,’ he said. ‘You don't sound it.’
‘Erm, well I am,’ I replied, wishing he’d pass out and leave me alone.
But instead, he came up very close, and shouted in my ear, which really was the last straw, but seeing as I was penned in by him, I wasn't quite sure what to do.
So I let him do all the usual annoying deaf tests: the covering his mouth when he spoke to see if I really needed to lipread; the shouting then speaking really quietly to see which I understood better (the answer was neither); and the confrontational questions about whether I was lying to him to get him to stop talking to me.
By then, I had realised this man had a brain the size of a Fantail goldfish. So I decided to try and distract him by asking him lots of questions. Where had he been, where was he going, where did he live etc etc and it was then I discovered he was only on my bus for 2 more stops.
This made me happy, so happy in fact, that I was almost nice to him, in spite of his rib jabbing and quite frankly rude behaviour.
It's weird being told by a complete stranger that you're not something you actually are. I don’t think people are that judgemental about other disabilities.
I mean, if I was blind, people would know, and if I was physically disabled, people would awkwardly fall over themselves to make sure they did and said the right things. And yet with deafness, people are so flipping rude.
I was in a shop the other day where the tweeny assistant hadn't quite got the hang of using her lips when she spoke. After the fourth or fifth pardon from me, I explained I was hard of hearing.
‘Yeah right,’ she said incredulously and carried on mumbling away.
So gobsmacked was I that I walked away not having said anything. How can I get people to believe me? How?
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
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
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
Monday, 29 June 2009
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!
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!
Friday, 26 June 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
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!
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!
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
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!
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!
Monday, 22 June 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
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!
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!
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
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
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
Monday, 15 June 2009
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!
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!
Friday, 12 June 2009
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…
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…
Thursday, 11 June 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
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?!?!
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?!?!
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
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
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
Monday, 8 June 2009
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!
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!
Friday, 5 June 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 4 June 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
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
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
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
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…
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…
Monday, 1 June 2009
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!
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!
Friday, 29 May 2009
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…
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…
Thursday, 28 May 2009
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?
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?
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