Turning 3 and going deafer

Today is another Thankful Thursday! Hurrah to all these bank holidays I say.

So firstly, I am thankful that Kate and Wills are getting married… I get a day off, get to watch the festivities with the Singing Swede and…

Nope… thanks to the timing we don’t exactly get a lie-in tomorrow, do we?

I’m off to the Singing Swede’s for breakfast bright and early and ready to watch Kate emerge in her ‘boring dress’ as it was announced on BBC Breakfast this morning.

Poor Kate.

Moving on to far more important things…

Last weekend saw another cause for celebration – Deafinitely Girly turned three!!!!!

Three years I’ve been writing this blog now, putting down my thoughts, frustrations and feelings on the screen for all your loyal people to read. Looking back through the archives it’s an amazing record of all that I got up to, from dates with boys and new jobs to birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and of course deaf mishaps.

It’s made me realise that although I sometimes don’t feel like my life is moving forward, it deafinitely is. In the last three years I have been promoted twice, bought my own flat, fallen in love, fallen out of love, kissed many, many frogs, had a very unpleasant hospital stay and lost a bit more of my hearing.

And how do I know this? Well, I have a very high-tech way of testing my hearing by erm… turning on my car stereo.

Five years ago when I got the car, I could drive up the motorway at 75mph and hear the music on volume level 25. Three years ago, I was up to 30, and in the last year or so, this has crept up to 45. At the weekend, it hit 50 and I felt like that Granny in the Specsavers Hearing Aid advert where she’s driving along breaking windows with her bass booming from her Nissan Micra.

That’s me! Deafinitely Girly, zooming down the motorway with Krezip – a most excellent Dutch band – blaring out of my stereo at such levels that the Dutch in Holland could probably hear it.

I don’t really mind that I appear to be going deafer. Sometimes it’s scary but there are quite frankly worse things in life than having to turn your TV up a tad or not being able to listen to music in the car except at earth-shattering levels.

I really should go to the audiologist and find out if there are any snazzy new aids to help me now, but I probably won’t. Not because I am dog in a manger about the whole thing, but because I like my world as it is. It’s comforting, mine, cosy and like I said, mine.

This is the world I was given and until hearing aids do more than make me fall over from the shock of how loud everything is, it is the world I am staying in.

So look out for Deafinitely Girly – three years old, car stereo blaring and completely oblivious to the sound pollution she leaves in her wake…

I’ll be the one smiling contently.

And that is what I am thankful for. You see, three years ago, I wasn’t so content. Writing was my therapy for a lot of the frustration I felt. And it worked.

So here’s to many more years of DG – here’s to the love, frogs, hilarious mishearings and everything else life has to offer.

Weclome to my world people, it’s great!

Saying words I can't hear

Wow, what a lovely Easter weekend I had with The Rents oop norf.

One of the things I notice most when I am at The Rents is how comfortable I am with my speech. I don’t worry about making faux pas with my pronunciation, which means I make plenty... usually followed by giggling corrections from either Ma or Pa.

This weekend I got ethereal and Godalming wrong, giving both equal syllables...

*blush!

I have been saying both of these words for years, but no one has ever corrected me, but then when in unfamiliar company, I do tend to simplify my vocabulary to prevent this kind of thing happening around people who might be quick to judge me.

Anyway, apart from having a lovely time with Ma, Pa, Gma and Nottnum Uncle, I also read an entire book in the sunshine – it’s called Chances by Freya North, who is one of my favourite authors.

During my 20s, she wrote about 20-somethings in London, and in this book, she wrote about a 30-something who lived alone and eventually did manage to wade through the sea of men who didn’t value her and find one who did.

Freya North books are Happy Ever Afters, that’s for sure. They restore your faith in human nature, in that childhood belief that everything is going to be OK. That doesn’t mean that bad things don’t happen in her books, and she truthfully portrays pain, loss, anger and all the rest of it, but she does put gentle reminders in that there are happy endings out there.

Recently, I had come to doubt this. I had come to doubt whether anybody would actually like me for me. I don’t expect a love life like a Freya North novel, although it would be nice, but I do kind of expect a Happy Ever After, kind of because, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have that.

But who decides who gets Happy Ever Afters? Is it the person themselves? The person who takes the leap of faith and makes the decision to love the other person faults and all? Some completely different factor such as fate?

Why is it that some people so effortlessly find their happy ever afters, some people never do, some people pursue something in the hope it could be a Happy Ever After, and some people can tell a failed happy ever after from 50 paces and so never try? And who is right here?

It was these kind of questions that were hurtling through my mind yesterday as I settled down to read Chances. And it was during my perusing that the answer kept coming back to me. It is about chances – taking chances, chance meetings, chance occurrences, a game of chance. When you throw ever kind of chance in a big pot, that’s what makes tragedy, comedy, and of course romance.

So with this in mind, I will just have to accept that there’s a chance I may fall in love and a chance that person may fall in love back, there’s a chance we will have a happy ever after and chance we may not. But running alongside that is my power to take chances, to help my Happy Ever After and help prevent my tragedy.

Some things are out of my power. I cannot control people’s emotions, I cannot make people fall in love with me. But I can be me, Deafinitely Girly, lover of all things pink and chocolate, a ditzy, mispronouncing blonde girl who whirlwinds through life in my own unique way...

And I hope that if I continue to remember that my Happy Ever After is 50% my set of chances, then there is hope.

Which also reminds me... Happy Ever Afters are not just finding that person, they are not just about falling in love. I mean you can do both of those things and be thoroughly miserable. They are about finding who you are and being as true to that as possible.

That is what I intend to do, and if I find a like-minded person who would like to keep me company then great, and if not? Well, I keep taking chances and write my own happy ever after...

A very Thankful Thursday

Today is Thankful Thursday because tomorrow is just one of the many bank holidays coming up in the next month or so and I probably won’t be blogging.

So what am I thankful for?

Well, my new gym membership, for one, which is a bit more swanky than the last one and means I can hit the gym with the Singing Swede and London Aunt. I am also thankful that as a result of this, I will have my double-figure figure under control by the time the first wedding rolls around in May.

Eeek!

I am also thankful for the Royal Wedding next week, for giving me a day off. I plan to watch it with the Singing Swede, simply because it might be quite interesting. I remember watching Prince Andrew’s wedding as a child with First Ever Friend and our mums, and being distinctly unimpressed by the whole thing as I had quite exacting ideas about what a prince and princess should look like and they did not fit the bill.

I was deafinitely a royalist as a child. My Ma’s ma took me to see the Queen once in Windsor. She was riding through in a carriage and we had a spot right at the front. As she went past, I exclaimed loudly, ‘But where’s her crown?’ I was genuinely disappointed that she didn’t wear it all the time.

Anyway, this weekend I am seeing The Rents, which will be nice. We’re going to catch up, celebrate St George’s Day and Easter, which will probably involve quite a lot of food...

Which brings me full circle to what I am thankful for today:

My new gym membership!!!!

Proving my deafness

Yesterday, I got stopped at the ticket barrier of my tube station near work because of my Freedom Pass. Actually I got called to, just after coming through the barriers successfully. It is because of the possibility of this happening that I always slow down when I come through ticket barriers as I can’t hear people asking to see proof that it’s my Freedom Pass – given to me because of my deafness.

Luckily yesterday, I picked up on the guy’s body language and so stopped and looked at him and was able to guess that was what he wanted... after all, it was unlikely to be anything else.

Occasionally though, you get overenthusiastic bus drivers who also ask to see your Freedom Pass, and until recently, I wasn’t on high alert for this. One time, another passenger chased me all the way upstairs to the back of the bus to come and get me because the bus driver wouldn’t go anywhere until I’d showed him my photo card.

It was very embarrassing!

But continuing on this week’s theme of finding the positives, I’ve discovered when travelling on the tube since I started my new job, my accuracy at reading body language means I am usually quite successful at getting a seat, as I can see the little movements people do when their station is approaching. Sometimes it’s obvious – they put their book away and gather their things – but other times it’s little things such as looking out the window more, checking their phone quickly for messages or tapping their feet... all these seem to imply their station is coming up soon.

Of course, it’s not foolproof. Yesterday, I was almost trampled by a woman who was intent on sitting in the seat I was walking towards, and indeed I wasn’t going to fight her for it... although I was a bit shocked by her determination!

And on that note, I’d better get to work...

Have a sunshiny day peeps

DG
x

My deafness makes me...

Today I really realised how deaf I am and how much I need subtitles when watching BBC Breakfast local news. Usually I can roughly get what’s going on from the stilted, delayed subtitles, but today, there were none.

Not a single scrap of text for the first few minutes of the news. I missed the travel information and only just got the subtitles back in time for the weather, which let’s face it, even for me is pretty self explanatory!

I hate it when I watch TV and don’t know what’s going on. While in Scotland recently, it turned out Mr and Mrs J are big Newsnight fans. I knew there was a reason I didn’t watch it, but it slipped my mind as I enthusiastically sat down for an interesting debate with Simon Callow thrown in for good measure. But it was pointless. The subtitles were too slow to follow, and according to Mr J, weren’t even right half the time. In the end, I fell asleep and felt very uncultured about the whole thing.

It reminded me of when, as a teenager, we used to go on school trips to see Shakespeare at the theatre and I used to die of boredom the whole way through thinking I was stupid for not enjoying it. Indeed, back then, I used to think that nobody heard the words and just went along to say, ‘Yaaahs, I’ve seen the latest Shakespeare...’ but then Stagetext came along and I realised that, if the words are there, Shakespeare can be riveting.

It’s this sort of example I use when people ask me what I can and can’t hear – as it’s a very difficult thing to explain. I guess I don’t know what I am missing, and therefore assume that it’s missing for everyone. I mean, I didn’t know that birds sang when I was little, and I thought that alarm clocks were meant to be hard to hear so that you were more worried about sleeping through one and more likely to wake in a panic naturally.

I also thought that you were meant to make up your own words to Kylie; that dictation at school was a guessing game of how the story might go, and that French listening exams were designed to be muffled as though they were taking place in a realistically noisy setting!

Basically, before I knew I was deaf, and for quite a good many few years afterwards, I thought that things I couldn’t hear were normal challenges in life for everybody. And thank goodness in a way, because I approached them from that angle.

Can’t hear Kylie – I’ll make up my own words = helped my creativity no end!

Can’t hear French listening – I’ll guess it = gave me an extensive knowledge of French adjectives.

Can’t hear Shakespeare – I’ll take the play and read along = helped me become excellent at speed reading.

Can’t hear my alarm clock – I just kept buying ones with bigger bells until I found out about vibrating ones = it certainly made packing to go on holiday interesting as I squeezed a huge bell-and-hammer alarm clock in my suitcase.

Can’t hear the TV – I developed a penchant for strange foreign subtitled movies = I actually turned out more cultured that I thought I would!!!!

So you see on this cloudless sunny day, there is actually a silver lining in the cloud. You just have to look hard enough. Listening doesn’t come into it at all!

Playing the hearing game

What a fabulous weekend I had at Uni Housemate’s hen do in the Wild West Erm... Country. We stayed on a farm, which had every kind of animal imaginable, including a group of grumpy geese, a sexually frustrated peacock and some very cute calves, who were only a few days old.

Our accommodation comprised of two converted barns, and it was great to catch up with old friends from university, meet new members of Uni Housemate’s family and natter with excitement about the wedding. On the Saturday morning however, everybody emerged for breakfast somewhat bleary eyed.

‘Did you hear the cockerel/cow/geese/horses/ducks?’ they all enquired with each other and there was lots of nodding of sympathetic heads. I however, heard nothing. Not one single thing awoke me from my peaceful slumber...

Being deaf: 1 Being hearing:0

On the Sunday, as we were sat out on the terrace, Mrs H suddenly declared she could hear a goldfinch, and out came the binoculars to seek it out. She located it in the tree above our heads, a gorgeous little bird with a red face. Everyone was commenting on its call, but it could have been yelling obscene swear words and I wouldn’t have been able to tell...

Being deaf:1 Being hearing:1

On Saturday night, we had a fabulous catered meal, with enough food to feed an army. Naturally, there was some alcohol to accompany this feast and I totally forgot that after a few drinks, my ability to lipread goes downhill and I usually fall asleep.

I did this, during a game of Rapido, which is like Pictionary only with plastacine. I missed out on the end of the evening’s entertainment.

Being deaf:1 Being hearing:2

One afternoon we went for a walk. While going through a field, we came across a group of particularly jumpy cows. I immediately envisioned them trampling us to death and Mrs H armed me with a stick to make me feel better.

Being DG:0 Being a normal rational human being:1

It was deafinitely one of the most relaxing hen dos I’ve been on – good food, good company, great entertainment, great accommodation and great memories.

And whether you’re deaf or hearing, making memories that last forever is what’s important... that and remembering to drink a big glass of water before bed...

Which on Saturday night, I forgot to do.

Deafinitely Girly:0 Hangover:200!

Being deaf at the gym

Today is Thankful Friday – my first thankful Friday in quite a while, and it would seem I have much to be thankful for.

Firstly, that I have completed my first week at work without any major drama (touch wood) and apart from pouring a cup of boiling water over my hand on the first day and meeting most of the team with my hand running under the cold water tap in the sink, I think things have gone well.

I am also thankful that spring seems to be well and truly here (touch more wood!!!!) and it’s so lovely waking up in the daylight and walking home from work in the daylight. It makes such a difference to my mood and means that 6am wake-up call isn’t so hideous.

I am missing Gym Buddy however, and the gym, which are both too far away now to see at lunch time. This is not good news on the latter, because I have five weddings this summer and need to fit my double-figure figure into an array of dresses not designed for the Dairy Milk-at-day diet I favour.

There is a gym near my new office that I can join, and I will, but I’d got used to the other one. I knew all the classes off by heart so the fact that I couldn’t hear didn’t matter. I also had Gym Buddy and Web Whizz on hand to be my ears if they needed to, so was always relatively relaxed about the whole thing.

I hate how I feel insecure about things like gym classes and not being able to hear, but then, from what I can work out, hearing people feel quite insecure about them, too. From the ready-formed cliques that seem to be there to the gorgeous fit people surrounding your wobbly bod, it’s a bumpy footpath of self-esteem hazards that even the most confident person must struggle with.

So what am I going to do? Bite the bullet and visit this new gym today.

After all, new job, new mode of transport, new season...

...I may as well throw new body into the mix as well!

Being deaf at the gym

Today is Thankful Friday – my first thankful Friday in quite a while, and it would seem I have much to be thankful for.

Firstly, that I have completed my first week at work without any major drama (touch wood) and apart from pouring a cup of boiling water over my hand on the first day and meeting most of the team with my hand running under the cold water tap in the sink, I think things have gone well.

I am also thankful that spring seems to be well and truly here (touch more wood!!!!) and it’s so lovely waking up in the daylight and walking home from work in the daylight. It makes such a difference to my mood and means that 6am wake-up call isn’t so hideous.

I am missing Gym Buddy however, and the gym, which are both too far away now to see at lunch time. This is not good news on the latter, because I have five weddings this summer and need to fit my double-figure figure into an array of dresses not designed for the Dairy Milk-at-day diet I favour.

There is a gym near my new office that I can join, and I will, but I’d got used to the other one. I knew all the classes off by heart so the fact that I couldn’t hear didn’t matter. I also had Gym Buddy and Web Whizz on hand to be my ears if they needed to, so was always relatively relaxed about the whole thing.

I hate how I feel insecure about things like gym classes and not being able to hear, but then, from what I can work out, hearing people feel quite insecure about them, too. From the ready-formed cliques that seem to be there to the gorgeous fit people surrounding your wobbly bod, it’s a bumpy footpath of self-esteem hazards that even the most confident person must struggle with.

So what am I going to do? Bite the bullet and visit this new gym today.

After all, new job, new mode of transport, new season...

...I may as well throw new body into the mix as well!

Hearing on the train

Thursday? Already? How on earth did that happen?

Now April is here, I am on the wedding countdown – indeed the first of the hen parties is this weekend, for Uni Housemate.

It should be great. Spinning Girl (AKA Onion Soup Mate) has done a meticulous job of organising everything like the accommodation and shopping and wotnot, while I am taking care of the creative side of things.

Uni Housemate is going to get a few surprises this weekend, that’s for sure.

Anyway, I am continuing to feel exceptionally proud of myself for getting the tube to my new job every day. OK, I mean I know that normal people do this daily, but I really do find it scary. But each time I do it, it gets a little bit better. And this morning, when we stopped in a tunnel for what seemed like an eternity, I didn’t even panic... much.

In fact, I sat there and ‘listened’ as hard as I could and even made out the word ‘red’, which reassured me that the train must be sat at a red signal waiting for a platform to become available.

This Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway concept is a toughy. I often find it’s the fear of the fear that’s the worst. It’s the thought of how I might react if the train got stuck for any long period of time, rather than the actual thought of the train getting stuck...

Does that make sense?

What always reassures me in these situations in other people’s facial expressions. If they look calm, it’s easier for me to stay calm. I have yet to encounter a look of panic, but you can bet your bottom dollar that you’ll be able to spot me if I see one. I’ll be the wild looking blonde girl necking Rescue Remedy straight from the bottle, the discarded pipette at my feet!

And the great thing about me finding the tube so stressful? Well, it’s completely prevented me from feeling nervous about my new job. After all, if I can deal with the Underground, which is my biggest phobia, I can deal with anything. I’m even calmer in my personal life. Spiders in the bath? No problem. Neighbour downstairs? Piece of cake. Hoodies on my street? I’ll be making them tea by the weekend...

And while I know it’s only early days, it has shown me, that if you face your fears head on, you can actually beat them... or at least give them a jolly good kick in the shins!

Missing the bus subtitles

Regular readers will know that this week I have started a new job.

The location of the new office means that getting a bus to work is no longer viable, so I have been braving the tube, which is not the most fun, as it’s one of my least favourite things. In fact, it’s right up there with waxing and pins under toenails.

So anyway, as I said, I have been getting the tube, and the lack of seating on this, means that so far, I have been unable to write my blog en route, as I have had to stand up, balancing within the throng of people, trying desperately not to get my nose in someone’s armpit.

I think however, that as time passes I will pick up some very useful skills that tube creatures seem to have over bus creatures, and they are as follows:

The ability to completely ignore everyone around you, even when they need you to move out of the way.

The ability to read a broadsheet newspaper, standing up, while not holding on to anything and not end up with it going everywhere when you turn a page.

The ability to fit through gaps and in spaces in a positively stealth-like super-mouse manner.

An intricate knowledge of the best carriages, which ones are near which exit and which ones are less likely to be filled with tourists.

A unique expression that seems to be pulled at no one and with a complete lack of eye contact, when an unintelligible (to me) announcement comes over the tannoy while we are stuck in a tunnel,

And that’s just what I’ve learnt in the last two days of regular tube usage!

I will tell you something though, I miss the subtitles you get on the bus and I miss the view and the tranquility. Except when there’s a tube strike and the buses are invaded by tube peeps, it’s normally an oasis of calm compared to its train counterpart.

So far I have seen two subtitles on my tube, one tells me the next station – just in case I cannot read a map, and one tells me that the train is being held at a red signal. I have seen the latter just once, but been held for no apparent reasons, many, many times.

In an ideal world, everything would be subtitled on the tube, particularly as with the Olympics coming up as foreign people would find them useful, too.

So Boris, if you’re reading (Ha!) please sort it out soon. If I’m going to get the tube to work, I’d like to know what’s broken/made me late/caused us to stop suddenly/meant there’s 50,000 people trying to get on at the next platform*

*delete as applicable

I've been on holiday!

Hellooooo peeps!

Well, I've been quiet for a while haven't I?

The main reason for this is that I went on holiday with SuperCathyFragileMystic and it was fabulous fun! However, there was very little phone reception, which meant my Twitter feed and blog were involuntarily silenced!!

For our week's break, we went right up to the north of Scotland to a little place called Brora and stayed on her godmother's farm. It's the fourth time we've done this trip, and every time we think it couldn't possibly get any better, but it does!

This time around, we packed for every eventuality – mainly because when we went in July one year it was freezing and I had a floaty dress and a kaftan to keep me warm – and stuffed as many jumpers as possible into our cases. SCFM also packed her cow coat, which is erm basically a cow, and lots of woolly socks and guess what? It was warm!!!!!!

OK, so it wasn’t the balmy temps you English folk had, but it was 'I can go outside without worrying my toes are going to drop off!'

So, some more about the trip...

Well, The Two Js are the most marvellous hosts! As well as running a B&B and farm, they also kept us very well fed – all sorts of things came flying out of the freezer for us to eat at one of the many communal lunches around the farmhouse kitchen table.

They also took us for a drive, up past Loch Brora and over the hills, pointing out cottages left, right and centre where someone or other had died, or filling us in on who was who and who did what...

On the Thursday, SCFM and I took a jaunt to Dunrobin Castle, which is just up the road, where we were treated to a falconry display. An eagle owl called Cedar being the star of the show – he had the grace of Errol, Ron’s owl from Harry Potter but was utterly gorgeous. Inside the castle, we were constantly stunned by the amazing decor and pictures of royals adorning the walls... it would seem the Sutherlands are very well connected!

On the flight home, both SCFM and I were somewhat subdued. We've both become incredibly attached to the place and the wonderful people there. We love it and them lots. Indeed, just the sight of a tweed shop makes me nostalgic, and not having a roast every day and an endless supply of custard creams, tea and wonderfully entertaining chats at my leisure is something of a shock to the system.

However, as SCFM pointed out, we will always have Brora, and each time we go it's like we've never been away. Something that makes us incredibly lucky I think...

And now this week, I'm in the middle of the biggest change in my working life in 8 years.

I've started a new job. It's great so far, although it's strange having to start again in terms of being the only deaf person in the office where no one deaf has ever worked before. However this time around, I feel better prepared, better able to explain my needs, more confident in my abilities as a person, deaf or not. And on that note, I had best get going.

More on that tomorrow...

Moving on to new deaf pastures

Today is Thankful Friday.

I am not thankful for the headache I have got, but I am thankful that I obtained it by having a brilliant, and rather impromptu night out with Miss K! Much needed, too.

This is a strange Thankful Friday, because it is the last day for me in my real job. The job I do to pay my mortgage and buy nice handbags and wotnot. After eight years with my company, I am spreading my wings, grabbing a chance of promotion and going to pastures new.

I’m sad. This company is the ONLY company I have ever worked for – since graduating – and it’s here, I’ve learnt about what I do and don’t want out of my life; how to cope with my deafness in the workplace; and also done a mild amount of growing up.

And what I'm leaving behind here, is the most amazing support network of friends, who have learnt to work around the challenges my deafness poses – by instant messenger, throwing post-it pads at my head to get my attention, and encouraging me to bake cakes at every opportunity, while appointing themselves chief tasters.

And now I am off to a new company, where I must do it all again. Although hopefully they won’t adopt the throwing post-it notes technique, as it’s not really a favourite of mine.

So today’s blog is dedicated to the people rarely mentioned on this blog. To Gym Buddy, Web Whizz, The Boss, The Fashionista, and all the others who don’t have official blog names. I shall miss you all when I start work at my shiny office down the road in two weeks...

But as the Fashionista says, ‘It’s not bye bye, it’s au revoir ’

The not-so fabulous 25th Annual Putnam Spelling Bee

Ok, so a production that gets great reviews in national papers… should be good, right?

Anything that comes out of the Donmar Warehouse… should be good right?

A comedy musical about a spelling bee… should be intriguing and vaguely amusing at the very least, right?

Wrong, wrong and wrong!

My viewing of the 25th Annual Spelling Bee was spent wondering if there was an interval so that I could escape as soon as possible. When it became apparent there wasn't an interval, my expression became one of faint desperation, and looking around the audience, it became clear that I was not alone in feeling this way.

I would say that around 30% of my fellow viewers looked as though they'd have been happier sticking pins under their toenails than sitting through what can only be described as High School Musical on acid... and I actually quite liked High School Musical!

Now, what I do want to get straight is that the level of talent of the actors in this musical was excellent. They sang well, they acted well, they danced well, and they made the best of a bad thing…

I guess you're hoping I'm going to get to the point here, list the flaws, say what went wrong, but it's taken me three days to digest the thing enough to write this blog at all.

Two hours after it had finished, I was still jabbering in disbelief at the fact I'd actually witnessed such rubbish at the Donmar Warehouse. The same Donmar Warehouse that I had sobbed my way through King Lear two months earlier, declaring it amazing, and Derek Jacobi, incredible. It just doesn't make sense.

And for this reason, I think the 25th Annual Putnam Spelling Bee is a bit like the Emperor’s New Clothes. It should be brilliant, because it's at the Donmar Warehouse, so people feel obliged to enjoy it. Even I felt myself getting sucked in to that mindset, until Jesus came on stage and there was a song about an erection.

A quick Google reveals this strange musical has won plenty of awards and acclaim, so maybe it has an Emperor’s New Clothes’ effect wherever it goes.

I just can’t find any redeeming features… it’s all just so wrong. It's a walking cliché, a run of bad, obvious, embarrassing dad jokes, with Jesus in it, and one black cast member who is an ex-criminal on probation.

It was a pantomime in a thinly veiled disguise of sugar-coated drivel.

But it was subtitled, faultlessly, by the lovely Stagetext, which definitely redeems it to a five-star performance in my book!

Dancing at the Silent Disco

It is through bleary eyes, as a result of the 'Spring forward' that I am going to tell you what a marvellous weekend I had!

On Friday night, London cousins 1 & 2 came to stay. They've never stayed at my place before and so we had a DVD fest with Percy Pigs on the side as they filled me in on what they're getting up to.

At 9 and 11, they're growing up fast and it reminded me of how London Aunt and I used to hang out when I was their age.

Saturday was a little busy with a netball tournament to get London Cousin 2 to followed by rugby match of Harlequins versus Gloucester... it was not pretty and saw Gloucester get thrashed 53-15!

*sniff

Jumping on the train afterwards, I vowed to support the winning Boat Race team when I arrived at the river, which meant that when Oxford crossed the line, I was very happy.

Also at the Boat Race festivities were the Singing Swede, GBman and two more singing swedes, and an excited GBman discovered that the pub we were in was holding a silent disco that night.

Intrigued, we decided to go along and for £10 – £5 of which was a refundable deposit – we got some wireless headphones with two channels and a volume control.

Walking into a largely silent marquee of dancing people was the most surreal experience, so we quickly donned our headphones and found that Don't Stop Me Now by Queen was blaring out. Cranking up the volume, we all got dancing, and it was fabulous fun.

What was even better was that when I took my headphones off, I could hear! So that means that when I got chatting to a guy called George, it all went very well...

*blush

In fact, I didn't even need to tell George about my deafness because it just wasn’t an issue.

Honestly, it was the best night out I've had in ages. I felt like me again. The old, sociable, chatting to guys, not feeling like the ugly one on the sidelines me!

It was both uplifting and overwhelming as I realized how much I'd been missing out on these last few years as I've shied away from bars and meeting new people...

So it seems silent discos are the way forward. Expect to see me throwing some shapes at the next one soon!

Make mine a mead

Last night I had the most marvelous dinner with London Aunt, the Scientific Chef and Event Whizz. It was six courses long and included a blowtorched steak.

Up until last night, I had never had blowtorched steak. Nor had I had duck cooked in a water bath at the perfect temperature for the protein bonding or something scientificky.

There was also a spicy pumpkin soup, some sort of amazing paté and poached pears with crème fraiche and chilli chocolate to finish.

The Scientific Chef excelled himself. He whipped up dishes quicker than a flash, served up wine to complement each course and finally, from the bees that reside in his back garden, we had mead.

I LOVE MEAD! And with the BBC recently reporting that it’s making a come back, we were right on trend, too!

Seriously, you can see why people got so blotto on it in the olden days. It’s a sweet tasting liquid that kicks like a mule as it goes down.

*hic

I’d heartily recommend that you try some as soon as possible…

And on that note, I’m off to meet the Singing Swede and GBman for a night of revelry. The absence of mead shall be dealt with by the presence of wine.

Hurrah!

Have a sunshiny evening, peeps.

DG
x

'Hearing' in Switzerland

And it’s Tuesday already!

The week is flying by, especially as I had such a wonderful weekend in Switzerland visiting First Ever Friend.

As I’ve mentioned many times, she’s getting married to Basel Boy this summer and I am the bridesmaid/witness thing, which involves wearing a nice dress and having a party, so I went out for a weekend of chatting about what she wants and what my role is going to be.

It sounds great to be honest – I have got to make the cake, ensure First Ever Friend and Basel Boy eat as well as drink on the day, so they don’t get totally plastered before the sun goes down, and I’ve also got to make sure that we all enjoy a gin & tonic together.

All this, I can do…

My dress has pockets, so if necessary, I will fill them with biscuits to ensure that none of us gets too sloshed before the evening’s out.

On Saturday evening, we went for dinner with Mr and Mrs Hug – First Ever Friend’s Ma and Pa – which was lovely, and the Swiss Man in Japan was there, too, as he’s not in Japan right now.

By Sunday however, First Ever Friend had had enough of wedding stuff, plus the sun came out, so we took off up a hill in a cable car and went for the MOST beautiful walk. In the distance the formidable Eiger stood, still a little snow covered and mist in the valley below it, while all around us, the tree branches were caked with a crystal clear layer of ice. It was amazing!

One of the things I noticed about being in Switzerland was how people assumed I understood German. I do not understand German. Heck, I barely understand English when it is spoken to me in shops, but as we went around the stores, getting bits and bobs for the wedding and all the shop assistants spoke to First Ever Friend, I found myself nodding and smiling and copying their body language in the same way that I do in bars over here when I can’t hear anything. This was all well and good until they spoke German to me and got a panicked look in return!

But what was also weird was that by focusing on their hand gestures and body language, quite often I was able to pick up the basic gist of what was going on. So actually, I often forgot they were speaking German. It was kind of fun.

Unfortunately for First Ever Friend, this inspired me to dig out my basic German – learnt at school, under duress after starting secondary school halfway through a school year – and begin speaking it. For First Ever Friend, this must have been like having a toddler tagging along for the day, as I pointed at things and used my toddler German to state what I saw. The last time I learnt German, I was 12, and that is the only age I know. So when I say, ‘Ich bin zwolf’ for I am 12, it often leads people to look at me somewhat oddly. But guess what, I have upgraded my German – I can now say, ‘I am 30’ – Ich bin dreisig – instead… and that is what I said. Several hundred times.

I bet First Ever Friend is glad I’m not back until June… perhaps by then, I will have a few more sentences under my belt. Most importantly: ‘Three gin and tonics please!’

Deaf Girly is off on an adventure!

Hurrah!

Today is Thankful Friday – on Thursday – as I have a long weekend to go and see First Ever Friend, over the sea and far away.

It will be great to see her and, as it turns out, Swiss Boy – her brother, who is making his way back from Tokyo as I type this. While it will be lovely to see him, I feel sad for him that he’s had to leave the place he calls home.

So that’s it. I’m off on an adventure in an airplane – I don’t much like flying… so I'm going to buy crossword book and some sweeties for the journey to keep me occupied.

And for new readers, no I am not 84. I’m 30…

Which is practically grown up!

I can't blame this one on my deafness...

Today has so far been challenging…

So here’s the situation. First Ever Friend emailed me this morning to get my flight details for the weekend. I logged into the Manage My Booking section of British Airways website excitedly – I cannot wait to see her – and got my outgoing flight details, which I tapped into my email.

I then started to write, ‘And I go home on Sunday at…’ before glancing at the details on the BA site, which clearly stated Saturday 19 March.

*Squeak!

Somehow, I booked my long weekend until Saturday, not Sunday!! Cue a LOT of panicking and frantic clicking to see if I could change it to the Sunday. I could, but at a charge of £87, which in the light of recent expenses, which included a £290 gas bill and other stuff I can’t even mention without my blood pressure shooting higher than an active volcano, was not the best news I’ve ever had.

A kindly colleague took pity on me and, because I cannot, rang BA to implore them to waive the charge that I was encountering because of my own stupidity – I can't blame this one on my deafness! – but not surprisingly, they were unwilling to budge.

My day was improved however, by an impromptu lunch with SuperCathyFragileMystic. It was lovely to see her and catch up and find that right now we share the same views, hopes and worries about so many things. I hope one day we’ll get our wish of living in adjacent cottages in the middle of the countryside, so that we can gossip over the garden fence and drink cups of tea by day and wine by night.

It’s not that I don’t like London. It’s that I don’t like London right now. OK, so spring is allegedly here. But today it’s cold and grey. Every section of road on my way to work is being dug up. Every day there is a new crisis befalling my bus home that causes it to terminate eight stops too soon, and every day I wake up realising that while I love my flat and I love my job, I’m less and less in love with what London is becoming and what I’m becoming in London.

I’m pretty sure that it’s just that I’ve had a monstrous few days in terms of dealing with crap I, and other people have created, and that I’ll soon be back to my sparky self, getting mad about the situation, rather than sad.

But for now, I’m very glad my Pa is in town and he’s coming for tea. We’ve got leftover shepherds pie as Miss K and Froggy came for dinner last night. But first thing on the list will be a great big hug from him. Even at 30, a hug really can make everything better.

My Pa doesn’t do hugs – he’s rather British like that, and it’s not really his thing – but on meeting him tonight, they will be compulsory.

Deafness is golden

Regular readers will know that last spring, a spider built its web across my garden path every morning and every afternoon so that in order to my front door, I had to demolish it, sending the spider pinging into the bushes!!!!

This morning, he got his revenge as, since almost a year has past since these shenanigans, I was completely unprepared for the web that I walked smack bang into as I left for work. And worse still, I have no idea where the spider went, so for all I know he could be making a commute to central London in my snood.

Bleurgh, just the thought of it is making me twitch and itch on the bus, so it's little wonder I have an empty seat next to me. If the spider has any sense, he will get out of my snood, and make a hasty getaway.

Anyway, another sign that spring is here is that I've started waking up with a erm... spring in step!

The whole winter I've been best friends with my snooze button, but now I'm awake before my vibrating alarm clock has so much of a chance to even shake a little bit. It's a welcome change!

The only problem with this is that I am leaving for work earlier, which means I am on the school-run bus. Now this would be fine if teenage boys voices weren't so loud! Seriously, I feel totally hearing on this bus, except for the fact I have no idea what the boy behind me is whooping about. They’re all sat on the back row, a jungle of bags and blazers surrounding them, literally behaving like primates. It's incredible.

But it’s almost unbearable, too! I want my usually quiet commuter bus, which, apart from the occasional selfish person chatting on their phone, contains nothing but silent, reading, iPhone-playing people.

To hearing peeps, there may be a plethora of sounds assaulting their senses, but for me, any sounds they might hear are out of my hearing frequency.

They say silence is golden. But really I think deafness is.

Alice in Wonderland at Covent Garden

Last Thursday I went to see the Royal Ballet production of Alice in Wonderland at The Royal Opera House with Snowboarding Boy.

In short, it was splendid. Even if the soaring temperatures, standing tickets and 70-minute first act meant Snowboarding Boy almost passed out.

A little light on the dancing, this production is a visual feast of colour, costumes and characters, and the clever attention to detail means that it's not too apparent that they have squeezed a massively long and complicated story into an evening's entertainment.

Perhaps the most fascinating thing however, was the use of film. This illustrated Alice's fall down the rabbit hole, her massive growth and her shrinkage too, and each time, it took very little imagination to really believe what was going on.

The Queen of Hearts was perhaps the most entertaining character. She swept in in a heart-themed box on wheels, which was then opened to reveal the brow-beaten king inside. Her dance with various characters was hilarious as they dropped her, lifted her in the most inelegant way and generally made a fool out of her.

And Alice? A brunette in a purple dress, I thought she was wonderful. With visible expression conveyed to even the standing paupers at the back, she had both elegance and attitude and the sight of her struggling to get through the tiny door, legs flailing, had me in fits of giggles.

In long, it was one of the best performances I have ever seen. But La Fille Mal Gardée is still the best ballet I've ever seen.

Bittersweet Thankful Friday

Today is Thankful Friday and I am thankful that Swiss Boy is OK in Tokyo after the horrendous earthquake that struck Japan, rocking the capital earlier today.

But while he is OK, many others are not. The pictures of the tsunami devestation are quite breathtaking for all the wrong reasons, and I'm sending my thoughts to the people in Japan right now.

And on that sombre note, I wish you all a good weekend.
DG
x

Deafinitely insulting

Yesterday, The Singing Swede and I had a traumatic wedding dress shopping experience. I had taken her to the shop that shall remain nameless, to show her dresses cheaper than the one she had fallen in love with, to see if she was in love with wedding dresses on the whole, or just that particular dress.

We were there half an hour and ran screaming from the building. Such was the grubbiness of the samples that we immediately got out the antibacterial gel to sanitise ourselves on leaving. It was awful. As was the moment the Singing Swede got the spray nozzle around the wrong way and I got a mouthful of Carex waterless soap.

This saw me stumbling up the road, blowing soapy bubbles everywhere.

So refined, aren’t I?

We then met GBman for a nice dinner and drink to recover and it was lovely. Until GBman said to me, ‘You’re such a prick!’

I sat there shocked, struggling to fit this sentence into the context of my impending visit to Penthouse Flatmate and her family that I had been telling him about.

‘I’m sorry?’ I stuttered.

‘You’re such a prick,’ he said again.

Except he didn’t. He said brick, which is Enid Blyton speak for reliable mate.

Phew! With that confusion cleared up, we got back to watching the Arsenal/Barcelona game, until I asked GBman if anyone famous played for Barcelona and then he really did feel like saying something rude to me.

I’m not a football fan, I must confess. I can easily think of a million things I’d rather do with 90 minutes of my time than watch a bunch of overpaid men kick a ball about, kick each other and roll around the floor writhing in agony for five minutes before getting up and continuing as normal.

I don’t understand the appeal. I never have, and I never will. But I have promised GBman I won’t ask stupid questions again when he’s trying to enjoy the match…

In other news, there was a fire alarm at work today and no one told me about it! I was working away and looked up and everyone was putting their coats on…

Time to put some new batteries in my vibrating pager I think!

International Women's (deaf girly) Day

Life is one big learning curve, isn’t it?

I certainly rarely get it right; bumbling my way through life, a ball of emotions, clumsily bouncing along this rocky path I’ve chosen.

But while this path is sometimes rocky, it’s also good to stop every now and again for a breather and admire the beautiful view stretched out ahead of me. The view I have climbed endlessly up hill for. The view that is mine and mine alone. The view that, as long as I do my best, should technically only get better.

Of course, as with any view – perfect or otherwise, there is always something blighting it. Growing up in the Wild West erm… Country, I was surrounded by amazing views as far as the Black Mountains over the River Severn. In-between was a considerable amount of hideous sights that, if focused on, could definitely ruin the view. Factories belching smoke, traffic carving a path on bypasses where green fields once lay in the sunshine.

But it’s not those things I remember. It’s the cloudless sky, the grass blowing in the wind, the herd of cows in the distance, the buzzards soaring on the breeze, and the skylarks dipping and diving from their grassy nests. That is what I remember from that view.

And no matter what is blighting my view right now, I need to focus on the amazing things on the horizon. The tales of love, romance, success and courage that touch my life every day. The people whose paths cross mine for amazing reasons, and the people who are sent to challenge me to be a better, stronger, more resilient person.

I know the person who I want to be. I am not her most days. While I have the right balance of impulsiveness and caution, it’s about using them at the right times, and that is what takes the practice.

Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s International Women’s Day today that’s got me thinking about me and my place in the big wide world. It’s a day that celebrates women but that also looks at inspirational women in the world. OK, so I’m not after worldwide recognition, but isn’t it better to inspire than hinder, encourage than discourage, praise than criticise and love than hate?

Corny that may be but ultimately it’s true.

I think that recently I’ve become so lost on my rocky path that I’d forgotten the characteristics that made me, me. So much so, that this blog suffered as a result. OK, there was the odd post about how I’d superglued my hand to my chopping board, but nothing from the heart anymore.

Well peeps, I’m back. Starting from today, I'm going to be the fearless, compassionate deaf girly I know I can be. Won’t you join me please?

A sunny Thankful Friday

Today is Thankful Friday.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, I am seeing Miss K for a catch up later, I help the Singing Swede find the wedding dress of her dreams yesterday; what’s there not to be thankful for?

I was also very thankful to hear that London Cousin 1 did amazingly well in all her entrance exams and has a choice of schools to go to next year. To celebrate she is allowed to have her very first mobile phone!

How exciting!!!!!

We’re going shopping for it tomorrow and naturally I will be trying to convince her to get a pink one! That reminds me, I now have an extra-special iPhone cover courtesy of my lovely Big Bro – it’s got Deafinitely Girly written on it and it’s a lovely shade of bright pink…

It does mean that if anyone spies it when I’m out and about, my cover will be blown, but if you do, say hello while you’re at it.

And in the meantime, have a wonderful weekend peeps.

DG
x

Playing swapsies with my hearing

Hahahahaha! This morning I am having a lovely little chuckle to myself and I’m insanely thankful I have some hearing, because in this traffic-jammed bus, where silence has fallen, a man is singing along to his – I kid you not – Walkman!

He is wearing the old-fashioned headphones, and keeps belting out songs in that wonderful out-of-tune way you do when you sing without hearing your voice properly.

Haha! Seriously it's the funniest thing I have ever heard. And being deaf, I really don't get to hear many funny things…

It's rather sweet, that in this inhibited world we live in, he is so uninhibited. Happy to sing without a care in the world. Happy in his own skin.

Last night however, I was less thankful to have hearing. After two classes at the gym, I was shattered and stumbled to bed earlier than usual, only to be woken up at 11.45pm by a group of drunken idiots having a fight outside my house. RIGHT outside my house. It was so noisy that I thought they were inside my house and, to reassure myself that they were just causing agro for each other, I peeked out of my window.

And sure enough, there they were, having a brawl, which went on for ooooh 15 minutes or so and left me wide awake from the adrenalin of it all.

Sometimes I wish I could play swapsies with my hearing. You know how when you were at school and you’d open your lunchbox and all discuss what you’d swap with your mates. I once swapped my entire lunchbox for a Jammy Dodger, such was my love for them.

So, if I could play swapsies with my hearing, I’d swap low frequencies for some clarity; for some of the conversational middle and higher frequencies. So that I slept soundly when drunken men had fights outside my bedroom window, but got to eavesdrop on the bus or in the office. So when the subtitles stopped for no reason during The Model Agency, I could still understand little bit of what they were all bleating about, and so that when I eventually get my cat, I will hear him meow.

So that’s it. Anyone fancy playing hearing swapsies with me? I’ve got quite a good lower frequency. Failing that, I’ve got an Innocent Veg Pot for lunch…

Anyone got a Jammy Dodger?

It's deafinitely a Thankful Friday

Well, my silence on Deafinitely Girly demonstrates that I've been a little busy in the real world this week.

One of the main things to suffer because of all this chaos, is my flat. It's a little in need of a clean. In fact, I think if it were a child, social services would have taken it away by now.

And so this morning, after waking up to my fluff covered carpet, I decided I was going to do a spot of cleaning before I left for work.

I did a load of washing, I dusted a few surfaces and I got my giant Dyson out, which to be fair is where it all started to go a bit wrong.

You see, my Dyson is large, and I am clumsy, and my flat is small, and all three together are, as you can imagine, a recipe for disaster.

First, I knocked a collection of necklaces of a table and, quick as a flash, I was soon looking at them through the glass cylinder of my greedy vacuum. The survivors were to be found clinging to the brush underneath.

Next, I tackled the ladybird corpses by my bedside cabinet. Where do the little blighters come from London peeps?

And while I was doing this, I knocked over a lamp, which knocked over my bottle of Champney's Pillow Mist, which took out my treasured glass Guardian Angel that Ma bought me years ago.

Scrabbling around I found my angel, halo-less, and immediately abandoned cleaning and headed for the kitchen, where I keep the superglue.

The surgery did not go well. I am sad to say, my angel is still halo-less, but at one point my thumb was not. I managed to superglue her halo to it and it wouldn't come off. And in the process of trying to get the halo off, I stuck three of my fingers to the glass chopping board on the kitchen worktop.

Great morning so far, yeah?

So there I was, superglued to a big glass plate with a halo on my thumb and a broken guardian angel... trying not to wonder if the three were connected.

But now, my flat is clean, my left hand has no fingerprints, my guardian angel has no halo and I am in the perpetual traffic jam that is my journey to work.

But I don't care and today is still most definitely a Thankful Friday because I am seeing The Rents later, and I am very very thankful for that!

When I'm in charge…

My iPhone, it seems, likes Mondays even less than me, as it keeps crashing when I attempt to write today's blog.

This week is going to be a busy one. The Boss is away skiing which means I'm the erm… Boss, so I get to make lots of decisions and stuff.

What fun?

Luckily I don't have the power aspirations of a dictator, which is just as well right now, because across the world, they don't seem to be doing very well at staying in charge.

I think I'd make a crap dictator to be honest, because I'd never know what was going on. My entire secret service could have conversations out of eyeshot and I'd be none the wiser of their forthcoming coup.

Worse still, I'm not good at confrontation, and if someone is more bossy than me, I usually bow out… but not always gracefully.

A democratic leader however, I think I could be, because when I listen to people, I really listen.

People wouldn't get promoted because I went to university with their second cousin's mother, they'd get promoted because the knew stuff.

What's more, I'd do my level best to make sure that the people who worked hard to save all their lives and made responsible choices with their money did not end up the worse off. I would set aside money to help those people who have never claimed benefits, had no debt because they chose not to buy the flat screen TV on credit but perhaps didn't choose the most salary-driven job, and I’d make sure their nursing home fees that could be paid without their equally diligent children having to sell their own houses to pay for it.

There would also be a penalty clause for people who chose not to plan for the future. If they were not willing to be responsible, then why should they be bailed out?

Yes, if I was in charge, I'd have ‘Manage Your Money Lessons’ put on the curriculum, ban store cards and limit credit purchases to one a year.

I’d also make the following things compulsory: regular subtitled film screenings, all TV programs and channels and DVDs to have subtitles, cheap broadband-only packages for deaf people where the incentive was NOT to have a phoneline, too, and finally a three-day weekend.

Monday would be banned, and as The Doll Says (@thedollsays) – one of my favourite Twitter peeps – tweeted yesterday, ‘Monday should be called Sunday, the Sequel.’
She’d definitely have a place in my Government. Go and check her out on Twitter and you’ll see just why…

I am thankful... honest

Today is Thankful Friday.

I am thankful that it is Friday and that I finish work in just under two hours.
This weekend should be wonderful as I get to see lots of my favourite people: Uni Housemate, The Cyclist, Onion Soup Mate and G. We're getting together for a wedding brainstorm and this will involve decisions about the kind of cakes I am making for Uni Housemate and The Cyclist’s big day. I can’t wait to show them some of my ideas and see what they think.

Recently I’ve been in a really bad mood. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s troubling me, but I think it’s partly because there’s so much unfinished business in my life right now. I’ve drawn hypothetical lines under things, but they’ve yet to be traced over in permanent pen. I feel in a bit of a limbo.

Silly really, eh?

Anyway, there’s lots to look forward to, starting with this weekend. So I’m just going to push all the other stuff to one side and look on the bright side of life. Denial is a wonderful place and for now, that’s where I’m going to stay.

I 'hear' when I read

I'm a chick lit girl.

I love reading books by the lovely Freya North, Katie Fforde, Jenny Colgan and Lisa Jewell. They provide fabulous stories to escape into, and usually restore my faith in love and all that jazz.
What I also love about these books is that I ‘hear’ everything in them. Little asides and whispers are not out of reach as in real life. I get to hear the secrets – something that NEVER happens to me. Honestly, do you know, I used to think the point of the game, Chinese Whispers was to pretend to hear and then make something up!
Anyway, recently I’ve been taking a break from my usual favourites to read a book that Friend Who Knows Big Words gave me for my 30th birthday.

It is: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, and it is wonderful.

But it's not wonderful in an escapist, oh-isn't-everything-fabulous kind of way. Indeed, I spend most of my time wincing in my seat on the bus as each character develops in a thoroughly disagreeable manner.
But what is wonderful is that Oscar Wilde gives you everything you need to know, and often through body language – which is something that I rely heavily on in real life to work out what’s going on – so I feel as though I’m completely immersed in this story. I’m not on the edge of it, as I often feel in real life, I’m right there, hearing, seeing and experiencing everything each character does.

What makes it uncomfortable however, is that with chick lit, you always feel as though the author has the characters best interests at heart, but with Oscar Wilde, I get the feeling that he, like Lord Henry in the book, enjoys toying with their emotions, sending them down unsavoury paths and displaying their foolishness.

It's wonderful in the same way a Swedish massage is wonderful. It’s not all that pleasant at the time but afterwards you're glad you had one.

I get the feeling I will always be happy that I read Dorian Gray, that I stepped out of my Happy Ever After addiction, because after all, life doesn't always give you one of those, does it?

A very productive phone call

One of the most exciting events this year is that First Ever Friend is getting married.

I've known her since we were 4 and even though she lives in Switzerland now, we're still in regular contact, particularly as I am her witness for the wedding.

I'm rather excited about this role, although if I'm required at any point to speak Swiss German, it may be interesting.

I booked all my flights for her wedding the other week and texted Ma to suggest she did hers too, so that we were all on the same flight home. But knowing how much Ma detests online booking systems, and with Pa still quite hop-along from his hip, I offered to do it for her.

Cue laptop set up and phone number being dialled.

Now, Ma is one of the people I can hear best on the phone. Perhaps because I've heard her voice all my life, I know the way she says things, so am able to guess quite a lot what is going on.

This was going very well until the credit card number bit... And the mobile number bit... Actually, pretty much any bit where I needed to hear numbers full stop, as they all sound the same to me. This meant that she would recite them and I'd recite them back. But because she’s also a little bit deaf, this was a little challenging as neither of us could hear what the other was saying, and so we were in fits of giggles.

Eventually however, we got there, and all that was left was the booking code, which I read out in my own variation of the phonetic alphabet, with Ma-appropriate swear words – this turned what should have been an extremely stressful situation for us both into a very productive phone call.

Which just goes to show, there really is a first time for everything.

DG's erm... lovely morning

Oh boy, what a morning it's been!

So far today, in the two hours I've been up, I have put my foot down the toilet, fallen out of the shower, seen my car get blocked in on a yellow line by four gigantic wheely bins and had to move the said wheely bins across the road and back again before I could leave for work.

In addition to this, I kneed a working guide dog in the face and smacked a fellow commuter around the head with my Pukka Tea bag for life.

My catastrophic cacophony of events began in the shower, when I reached to put my shampoo down, slipped on the gradient of my bath and fell in a flailing force of velocity onto my bathroom floor.

Dusting myself off and a little bit shocked, I got dressed and checked out of my bedroom window for available parking spaces to move my car to from the yellow line on which it was currently residing. There was one right outside my flat.

Next, I re-entered the bathroom to shut the window, missed the part where I needed to put the loo seat down to reach the window lock and put my entire foot in the loo, socks, skinny jeans, the lot.

Cold and soggy, I let out a yelp, threw the offending items in the washing machine – minus the loo – and checked the state of the road again.

Now, last night, when I moved my car, I parked it in the only available space, half in a space and half on a yellow line. This involved backing up very very closely to a rather shiny Lotus Elise. The success of this great plan rested on the hope that nothing got put in front of my car. And so, on my second glance out of the window I discovered four gigantic tubular silver wheely bins, practically resting on my bumper and just 15 minutes to get my car off the yellow line before the traffic wardens turned up. A little bit peeved, I rolled up my sleeves and moved the bins, one by one, heaving and and ho-ing them across to the other side of the street while trying to remain in control of them so I didn't accidentally wheel them into a parked car.

And so my car was free. But I had unintentionally blocked my neighbour's gate, as I discovered when he angrily stormed out of his gate and gesticulated wildly at the bins. And so, I moved them each one by one, all the way back to the other side of the road towards the awfully shiny Lotus Elise, aware by this point that I was now in fact so late for work that it almost warranted a half day.

And that was my morning. In my haste for the bus, a poor guide dog sat in the aisle got my knee in his nose and then an idiot girl who had an empty seat by her but wouldn't stand up to move out the way got clonked on the head by my bag as I shuffled into the seat by the window.

And now? Well, I am sitting as still as possible on this bus, well aware that in my currently run of luck, anything could happen.

This morning it would seem, bad things come in dozens... Bakers' dozens!

Deaf Girl y's Thankful Friday

Today is Thankful Friday and I am thankful that I have a fun weekend ahead of seeing London Aunt and the Singing Swede.

It’s been a week of birthdays, too. It was Big Bro’s, London Aunt’s and Web Whizz’s yesterday and tomorrow, it’ll be Gingerbreadman’s turn to blow out the candles. Hurrah!

I am also thankful that London Cousin 1 has got into her first choice of secondary school – she worked her little socks off for the exams and it’s definitely paid off. It’s strange to think that in September she will be in Year 7. It seems no time ago since I used to help look after her in the early months when London Aunt was still getting used to life with a newborn.

Anyway, I spoke to Big Bro on Skype last night and we were reminiscing about the birthdays we had spent together. On one of his birthdays he had a ski jump cake complete with a Playmobil man hurtling down it, and he also seemed to spend most of his birthdays sick. There was chicken pox, mumps, and various other catching ailments. If I remember correctly, this tended to dictate who was present at his parties. If they’d had it, they could come, if they hadn’t, they couldn’t!

But back to thankfulness… ah yes, where was I?

Well, I am thankful for true love – because without it, I wouldn’t have the three weddings to go to this year that I do.

I booked flights for one of them today – First Ever Friend’s – and I am now feeling super excited about the whole thing.

The first wedding is for Uni Housemate and Cycling Boy. This should be a fabulous affair, and I am making the wedding cake.

Then finally, there’s GBman and the Singing Swede. They’re marrying in July in the far end of the Wild West erm… Country… and I can’t wait.

And while we’re on the theme of love, it’s Valentine’s Day on Monday.

*sniff

I hope I get a card…

Then I can have a thankful Monday, too!

From peace and quiet to mayhem

The reason I have been so quiet this week is that I've visiting SuperCathyFragile Mystic in her little cottage in the Wild West erm... Country. The Photographer was there, too.

I had the most wonderful time catching up, shopping, eating drinking and being very merry. On Tuesday we went for a wonderful walk and from the top of the hill overlooking her house, everything was calm and still. And quiet. At least to my ears!

Ah what fabulous memories. Especially as this morning I am sat on the bus with a revolting shouting child who I would quite like to propel out of the window. His father is talking on his mobile completely oblivious to the death stares the entire bus is giving his nose-picking, screeching spawn.

No wonder I didn't want to leave the calmness of SuperCathyFragileMystic's place.

But alas we had to, because Blackberry, the best dog in the world, who we had borrowed for the weekend, had to be delivered back to her rightful owners.

The Photographer and I did this, and enjoyed a marvellous supper with his Rents and then, when it came to dropping him off at the tube on arrival back in London I pointed out a bag in the footwell of my car that I had loaded earlier that day. It was an Asda bag for life and I assumed it was loaded with the wine that's currently cheaper to buy there than a bunch of grapes.

But The Photographer said it wasn't his...

And not only was it not his, but it wasn't mine either. It was SuperCathyFragileMystic's and it was full of wire and leads and TV cables and all the things you seem to have lots of spares of and do eventually need. And this was now 100 miles away from her little cottage in my car.

Naturally this seemed like a very valid excuse for driving all the way back to her place and I almost did. But have you seen the price of petrol recently?!

So this means that instead of waking up in the countryside, I am in London, in the rain, on a bus, in a traffic jam, with a child who is yelling at the top of his voice in a frequency I can actually hear, who is shows no sign of shutting up until his neglectful father gets off his phone and pays him some attention.

Phew!

I think everyone will agree that perhaps I got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.

Indeed, perhaps I shouldn't have bothered getting out of it at all.

Captioned King Lear

This week shall be renamed Deafinitely Girly’s week of culture I think!

I’ve been very busy seeing and listening to things, and so far, it’s been great fun!

On Monday, I went to see captioned King Lear at Donmar Warehouse with Fab Friend. It was three hours of riveting but exhausting drama, headed up by the formidable yet incredibly endearing Derek Jacobi and included a cast of familiar faces who ceased to be familiar once they stepped into their Shakespearean roles.

Also in attendance was John Major, which added a slightly surreal element to the occasion, and it was noted that during the particularly gory eye-gouging scene, both he and Norma looked away – I know this because I too was looking away, which meant I was looking at them.

Honestly, never before have I cried at Shakespeare, not at Romeo and Juliet, not even when I saw my favourite Shakespeare actor, Kenneth Branagh go slightly mental as Richard III. However, when Jacobi as Lear stepped onto the stage in the final scene, broken at the death of his youngest daughter and the most lucid he’d been throughout his descent into madness, my heart actually broke. Reading the captions to his woe only accentuated the pain Lear was experiencing, and watching the tears fall freely from Jacobi’s face, made it all seem so real.

Embarrassingly, I let out an audible sob, and felt my own fat tears roll down my cheeks.

At the end, both Fab Friend and I admitted to feeling a little bit like we needed a nice cup of tea an a sit down… and just like that, Derek Jacobi was added to my fantasy dinner party list along with Tennessee Williams, Jeremy Clarkson, Jenny Colgan and Katie Fforde.

Then last night, I went to see Junip, a band headed up by Swedish guitar whizz José González. I love José, and this was my third time watching him perform, but first time with his band. He was supported by an emergency act, after the original one didn’t make it and this guy, whose name I have completely forgotten, looked a bit like Linus, sat towering over two of the smallest synthesizer/keyboards I have ever seen. His voice however was rather lovely, sliding about all over melody, with just a drum and two-handed accompaniment. At first SuperCathyFragileMystic and I were baffled by him, and when he murdered a Lenny Kravitz song, we were less than impressed. However his other stuff was lovely.

But this is not the end of my cultured week – in fact, I have two more excursions coming up that I am eagerly awaiting. And in the meantime, I’m just off to peruse Time Out London’s website to see what else I can pack into 2011!

Door buzzer dilemma

I have just received a text message from my dentist, reminding me that I am due a check-up at the surgery.

I love how instead of getting an unintelligible voicemail, I get a nice polite text.

However, the reality of the situation is that I will not in fact be going for my check-up at the dentist anytime soon, as I quite simply cannot afford another £174 bill.

Anyway, I had the most marvellous weekend of seeing London Aunt, The Good Guy, SuperCathyFragileMystic and The Photographer. Friday night saw London Aunt and I toasting the most fabulous news, while Saturday saw shopping and dinner in Notting Hill with SCFM and The Photographer.

There was drinking, and erm… drinking and it was a miracle I kept my eyes open due to the fact that I had been up since 7am on Saturday.

And here’s why:

I am a girl of many shoes, bags and coats. And nothing goes better with this than gloves and scarves. However, after the demise of my coat stand – it didn’t survive the second fall, despite being held together with electrical tape and wall brackets – I decided that I needed a new storage solution in my narrow hall.

This came in the form of a shoe cupboard from Homebase, which once ordered had a delivery window of 7am to 3pm on Saturday.

Now, this is all very well and good, except that I can barely hear my door buzzer when I am awake, let alone when I am asleep, so it was with dread that I set my vibrating alarm clock to awake me at 7am on Saturday so that I could be ready and waiting in anticipation for the arrival of my cupboard.

Two hours passed. At 9am I was starting to flag when I suddenly heard the buzzer. Hurrah! It was finally here and I could go back to bed.

Wrong!

I was now completely awake and so all I could do instead was set to work building the cupboard, which took one hour, several screws and a good deal of hammering. What satisfyingly enjoyable work it was… although probably less so for my neighbour below as the fiftieth nail got hammered in to the back panel.

Sunday saw the hammering taking place inside my skull as I awoke at 7am facedown in my pillow from a fitful night’s sleep dreaming that I was going bald. It wasn’t fun. This then meant that the next two hours were spent on the sofa attempting to turn the wine content in my body back into water…

After succeeding this, I went to London Aunt’s, where she and The Good Guy was on hand to make hangover sandwiches, hangover pasta and hangover tea, which actually means that I am raring to go and looking forward very much to seeing Fab Friend this evening.

Phew!

See you tomorrow peeps.

My amazing Pa

Today, is Bro Bro and Maxi-Clog’s wedding anniversary.

This time five years ago, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it was very much below freezing on the temperature scale.

It was a truly amazing day – we ate, drank and were merry; feasting on chocolate brownie cake and sipping bubbles.

Memories of that day still filter back whenever I hear the music Big Bro and Maxi Clog had for their first dance, and many of the special touches I have passed on to friends as great ideas to incorporate in their own big days.

What this anniversary also means is that it’s five years since Pa redesigned his nose and eye socket on the bar in the hotel where the wedding was being held. There we were, the morning after the wedding, when we suddenly heard an almighty crash and I saw Pa, flying through the air towards the bar, which he duly head-butted and actually dented.

It wasn’t the best end to the weekend. Alas, we had to leave him and Ma in hospital and return to the UK without them as he had cocaine-soaked sheets stuffed up his nose to numb it before they gradually realigned the shattered pieces.

And so, it’s kinda odd that five years almost to the day, my Pa is back in hospital, but this time instead of a newly designed nose, he has a newly-designed hip! And not only that, but he’s doing so well with it that they are letting him out today, just three days after the operation.

Amazing!

My Pa’s resilience to everything life throws at him never ceases to amaze me. He is quite fabulous, and I hope that when he reads this, he gives himself a pat on the back for getting through this latest challenge with amazing gusto.

And so I guess today, on Thankful Friday, I am thankful for my amazing Pa! He's quite splendid and I can't wait to see him, and his new hip, soon.

DG
x

Deafinitely Girly does dating

Recently, something has been doing my head in.

I’ve been consistently single for too long.

Rather than wallowing, I’ve been trying to be more proactive and talk to people in bars and stuff, but it’s always slightly disastrous and trying to hear over the thudding music gives me a rabbit caught in headlights look, which is not exactly a know flirting technique.

Looking back at my dating history, I’ve never been very good at flirting or indeed getting the guy.

One of the things I find when I am in bars, chatting to people is that my mind goes totally blank. London Aunt finds this too, so perhaps it’s not just a deaf thing; perhaps it’s a genetic thing. London Aunt for example once started talking to a guy about The Shipping News – not the book, not the movie, but the real life Shipping News that plays nightly on BBC World Service.

I can totally relate to this. If I can’t follow the conversation, I find myself nodding with a vacant look on my face before changing the subject to something I can follow – but in a panic this will be something insanely random such as fixing my leaking shower door.

But worse still, if I can follow the conversation, I will be so afraid of losing track of what’s going on that I will stare intently at the poor guy not daring to interrupt. Once I was talking to a guy who thought I was on drugs as I didn’t blink during the entire conversation as I was so worried I’d miss something.

And then of course there’s always the ‘I-need-to-lipread-you snog error’ which has happened to me more times that I’d like to recall. It goes like this: You meet a guy you like in a bar. It’s really noisy so he talks to your ear. You tell him a few times that he needs to look at your face so you can lipread him. He keeps forgetting. Eventually, tired of having someone screech down your ear, you move his face with your hands to face yours. He then reads this as an invitation to kiss you and moves in for the kill. On one particular night, I had three of these within half an hour of each other, all of whom where huffy with me for apparently moving on so fast!!!!!

I have NO idea what to do to get a date. I mean I’m not desperate to get married or anything, but a date would be nice. Where should I go to meet guys in an environment where I can hear and not blurt out my latest DIY disaster? Should I join a club? Take up a new hobby? Do a team sport?

Or…

…perhaps I should put someone else in charge of my love life for a while to see if they do any better?

So that’s it. I’m throwing open the vacancy of DG’s Dating Guru to all applications. Please email me your credentials and ideas to deafinitelygirly@gmail.com and I’ll let you know how I get on.

There must be a guy out there for me somewhere surely?

My hearing and me

Whoa, this week has been non-stop so far, with barely any time to blog!!!!

Make that NO time to blog.

Anyway, yesterday, in-between the massive work deadlines on my mind, I was thinking of my Pa, who, due to a cancellation, had his hip replacement a week early.

It went well, I was pleased to discover, but I am still in awe of his bravery, as he had it done awake… with a spinal block.

Now I know millions of women have Caesareans this way, but to have your hip replaced and lie there listening to all the drilling, grinding, clanging and banging can’t be fun – especially when you’re paralysed from the waist down, so you can’t even get up and do a runner if it all gets too much.

It took a bit longer than usual apparently but eventually I had a text from Ma to say all had gone well, and she could see him. And the best bit was, there was no grogginess from the anesthetic, no declaring he was a horse at the top of his voice like a certain DG did after her surgery.

*blush

On the subject of hospitals, I’m going back to the hospital today for my three-month check-up. Having lost 6lb since my last visit, I hope I’m going to no longer be the only Crohn’s patient who actually puts on weight… And I also hope this visit will signal six-monthly checks from now on as all’s been nice and quiet of late.

While I am there, I will also pop in to the audiology clinic and see if I can make a new appointment to get my ears checked out. As Fab Friend pointed out, in the two odd years since I was last there, there’s bound to have been some technological advancements in the world of hearing aids, and you never know, one of them may be beneficial to me!

It would be interesting to hear more than I do now. But in many ways I am still quite reluctant to try…

You see I always have this overwhelming sadness after wearing hearing aids and then taking them out, that the world I have loved and tried to listen to for the last 30 years, sounds completely different. It makes me feel quite panicky.

Silly really. But perhaps a part of me thinks that if I get by on what I have, and don’t really miss it or indeed know what I am missing, then is there really any point in cranking up the volume?

I think it’s a case of, yes it’s broken, but I don’t wanna fix it…

just yet!

I heart Fridays

I love Fridays and Fridays love me!

Simple!

I don't think there's ever been a Friday I wasn't thankful for in the almost three years since I've been writing this daily blog.

And on this Friday, a very exciting thing happened. I had my 30,000 visitor – as clocked by Sitemeter that is.

Amazing stuff!

So, on this already very Thankful and very sunny Friday, I thank you guys. For reading this. For checking in. And making my slightly non-sensical ramblings worth it!

Hurrah!

Have a good one peeps.
DG
x

Overhearing on the bus!

This blog is being brought to you live this morning because there’s a lady on the bus who is driving me, and the other people on the top deck craaaaazy! Sometimes I swear I am not deaf enough.

The offending lady is sprawled across two seats with her floaty skirts and handbag and is talking so loudly on her mobile phone that I can actually make out whole words that she’s saying, without even looking at her.

The lady next to me and I have exchange frustrated looks and I am insanely close to telling our travelling companion to put a sock in it.

I cannot stand people like this woman. They simply do not care about anyone else around them. Ooh, and update: we just had a blissful moment of silence when she got cut off but now she’s at it again, nattering, chattering, gossiping at the volume level of a foghorn.

With phone call one out the way, she’s now moved on to phone call two. What in the world is so important that she has to broadcast it to the entire bus at top volume?!?!?!

I just caught the sentence: ‘So we will see, we’ll see!’ which signalled the end of that phone call.

And on to phone call number three.

Now, phone calls on the bus are OK in an emergency. But vapid rambling conversation? Really? Is the woman really that incapable of amusing herself for 30 minutes on the bus without making it awful for everyone else?

‘Oooh it’s complicated, really complicated!’ she’s bleating AT THE TOP OF HER VOICE! Before going on to repeat that sentence over and over again.

In some ways, if I’m looking for the silver lining in all this, it’s actually quite exciting for me. Rarely does someone speak clearly and loudly enough that I can eavesdrop what they are saying. In fact, I think it is my first time.

Amazing!

But honestly, right now I feel incredibly lucky that usually, very present company excepted, I largely travel in peace and quiet; unaware of people’s drama being played out on public transport, unaware of how sodding complicated something is and being made to listen to how complicated it is 50 times.

Hearing people, I salute and commend you for not committing acts of verbal violence against idiots chatting loudly on the bus. If I had hearing, I’m not sure I’d be so restrained!

When relying on websites goes wrong

This weekend I went to the Wild West erm… Country to visit Tigger, which was great fun. We ate curry, went for walks, and I got a magical mystery tour of various ancient fort, burial and religious sites, too!

Also living in the very same town as of this year, is an old uni mate called Lanky. He’s married to The Teacher and they have the most gorgeous little girl who has just turned 1.

It was great to see them all and wonderful reminiscing about our time in Pompey. I felt a pang of nostalgia for the old place even though only Uni Housemate and Christoph are the only ones left there.

*sniff

Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I hate the reverse journey home after a lovely weekend. You know the feeling where you don’t want to leave so you know you should get the leaving done as quickly as possible.

So, with a lunchtime train booked, I was feeling quite umpty about the whole thing. I’d also been keeping an eye on the train status on my phone so I would know if it was delayed. So far that morning, all London-bound trains were listed as delayed.

This made me more umpty. Poor Tigger! In the end he took me for tea and cake, which made me less(ish) umpty but then… CANCELLED flashed up on my phone next to my train time!

DISASTER!

Tigger offered me a paper bag to breathe into.

Tigger then suggested we go to the station anyway to find out what was going on and weirdly, there was my train, listed, and actually waiting on the platform for me.

Cue the realisation that the National Rail website I use as the font of all travel knowledge, is WRONG!

I tweeted them to ask why they had got wrong info on the site but had no reply, but I only hope it was a one-time error.

And the journey? My empty train chugged through the countryside back to London in perfect time, even depositing me at Clapham in time to get a connecting train home.

AMAZING!

So what have I learnt this weekend? How to tell the difference between buzzards and other birds; where the mole is at the fairy rings; not to stress about my train from three hours before; that Tiggers get you places on time; never to look at National Rail’s website for reassurance as it won’t be there, and finally that millionaires shortbread tastes much better when shared.

My Thankful Friday List

Today is Thankful Friday and I am thankful for the following:

Wooly hats to keep the rain off my hair

The anti-Atkins diet – it means I get to eat the muffin from The Boss’s breakfast every morning

New winter boots

My flashing phone ringer – makes every day seem like disco day

Subtitles on the bus – this morning it let me know we were being held briefly in order to help regulate the service

Gorgeous men on tube trains – quite a treat on my journey home last night

Marks & Spencer’s soup – I will lose the Christmas pounds

Big Bro, who has sent me a Christmas present in the post

My fab friends, who this week have been keeping me sane and offering amazing advice

Secrets, because sometimes they're so exciting they cause you to skip down the street, smile at strangers and wake up grinning

And of course, Fridays. Because without Fridays there wouldn’t be a weekend and without a weekend, well, life would be rather dull.

I have a fab one planned. Hope you do, too.

DG
x

Deafinitely Girly's cooking disasters

Last night I bit the bullet and decided to go to a spinning class at my gym for the first time. I have always shied away from spinning, wondering if I’d be able to follow an instructor over the loud music. And honestly, I didn’t really have much clue what was going on, but I just mirrored him, tweaked the difficulty setting on my bike every now and again, and I LOVED it.

OK, so today I feel like I have dislocated hips and have done 80 lunges without a warm up, but no pain no gain, right?

This being brave and doing things I wouldn’t normally do is starting to pay off – what a brilliant resolution that was!

Take yesterday, I tried the spinning class, and as a result I really do feel one step closer to achieving my goal weight, losing the pounds that have crept on in the last year due to my complete inability to resist biscuits – custard creams mainly – Combos and Bush’s Baked Beans from America, and of course Wotsits!

Anyway, today is Wednesday, which is my favourite day of the week. It’s the middle. The weekend doesn’t seem quite so far away today. Just two more days!

This week though, I have been having daily kitchen disasters. It’s not been fun. First there was the erm… cooking in my underwear incident on Monday, which saw me throw a tub of vegetable curry soup over me, my kitchen and all my clothes – including my favourite white top. In a panic I took all my clothes off and shoved them, lots of Vanish and some washing power in the washing machine. Thirty minutes later, it was apparent that vegetable curry soup does not like coming out of white tops, and three washes later, I am close to giving up.

*Sniff

Then, yesterday, while trying not to throw beetroot soup down my remaining white top, I shut my fingers in the fridge. You see, my kitchen floor slopes somewhat and in order to get the fridge to shut I have to kind of swing for it. So I did, but forgot to move my hand out the way. It hurt, I jumped, and threw beetroot soup down my top. Cue, me cooking dinner in my underwear again.

Then this morning, I was making a boiled egg and picked up the pan in a hurry, burning my thumb in the process and throwing boiling water and the egg on my kitchen floor. Luckily the egg bounced, which I guess says something about my culinary prowess at being able to produce a soft-boiled egg. Trying to look on the bride side however, I concluded that at least the water was see through, and boiling(!), so at least I didn’t ruin yet another white top.

I don’t know what it is about me and the kitchen. Get me baking and it all goes to plan – the peeps whose wedding cakes I am making this year will be very glad to hear – but with everyday stuff, well I’m lucky if I come out with all my fingers still attached and an edible meal.

So from now on, my mantra is going to be – slow and steady. I’m going to look before I leap, before shaking soup cartons without lids on and before picking up hot pans without oven gloves, that way there might be less cooking in my underwear… and the neighbours can go back to curtain twitching someone else!

Giving my hearing a rest

What a lovely weekend I had. Alone! Apart from a fabulous afternoon walk around Hampstead Heath with Miss K yesterday, I didn’t speak to or see anyone else.

Occasionally I need weekends like this to recharge my hearing batteries and after a busy week of listening last week, that was exactly what I required. I find listening incredibly tiring. At school when I was statemented for what support I needed, they discovered I had the ability to lipread efficiently for 40 minutes before zoning out, dozing off and generally not paying attention anymore. And now I’m deafer than that, it may be less.

It’s not that I don’t like talking, I do, and those who know me will know I wasn’t named a chatterbox at school for nothing. It’s just that these days I seem to have a noticeably diminished listening threshold.

And that doesn’t just apply to conversations. I find it when watching TV, too. There’s only so much I can watch, matching the subtitles to the audio, before I’m fast asleep on the sofa. For this reason I tend to turn the volume right down, so I’m just reading not listening, too.

Anyway, one of the things I did this weekend was catch up on some TV that I recorded over Christmas. The last thing I needed to see was the Top Gear special, where they drove to Bethlehem. Now, regular readers will know that Top Gear subtitles rarely behave themselves. They are usually slow, often nonexistent and at best a combination of both that leaves me scrabbling to follow what is without a doubt my favourite programme on the box.

So on Saturday afternoon, I was slightly nervous about hitting play. But I needn’t have been as by some miracle, the subtitles were perfect. Not just perfect but consistently perfect, 100% completely in time with Jeremy Clarkson’s jabbering perfect!

It was brilliant.

It was a revelation. It made the totally ridiculous ending pale into inSTIGnificance. It made my day of hearing regeneration fabulous.

And so, as I ready my CV to apply for the vacancy of The Stig – think pink racing suit, pink helmet and erm… pink cars? – I’d just like to say ‘Thanks Top Gear; all is forgiven!’

Not hearing in IKEA

Today is Thankful Friday and I am thankful the week is over.

I am also thankful for the most amazing news I got last night. There I was in IKEA with GBman and the Singing Swede eating meatballs – as you do – when GBman broke the news that he and the SS are engaged!

Hurrah!

Honestly, it couldn’t happen to two nicer people and naturally I was bouncing up and down with excitement at this news.

IKEA is a strange place to hangout on a Thursday night I know, but we all needed bits and bobs and it made sense to go together and support each other through the traumatic one-way system, the shock of realising that all those wonderfully cheap bits and bobs add up to rather more than you were anticipating, and me demanding Swedish translations of every single product I picked up!

IKEA is a deafness minefield though – its warehouse setting makes it very hard to hear anything and the multitude of accents of the staff means that even in the quietest of settings, I still wouldn’t be able to hear what was going on.

For example, in the café last night I wanted meatballs and salad. Somehow I ended up with meatballs and chips and no salad. And when I tried to rectify the situation I had no idea what the man behind the counter was saying. So I ate my chips and meatballs and wondered if this was the best way to be starting my new year diet.

Then, at the till the man asked me something and by that point I just decided to answer yes. No clue what I consented to or confirmed but it seemed the right answer given his raised expectant eyebrows.

Even the poor Singing Swede couldn’t interpret for me and she can hear, so this guy must have been really hard to understand.

It’s no wonder that I gravitate more and more towards the self-service sections in shops now. I don’t mind totting up my own shopping as it means I never miss the ‘Would you like a bag?’ question or answer no repeatedly, when they are actually asking me to insert my pin – I did the former in TopShop once and thought the till lady was going to deck me by the end of it.

At my local Sainsbury’s I can do a whole shop without needing to hear a single thing and even better I can’t even hear the annoying voice that ‘talks’ you through what you should be doing that well either.

Modern technology may be making people more antisocial – less ticket offices, paying at the pump for petrol, vending machines for absolutely everything, credit card hotels – but it is making my life so much easier, and for that I am extremely thankful.

I wonder what it’ll be like in 50 years time though. Maybe we’ll be having online consultations with our GPs, shopping will be done only via computers and IKEA will be staffed by multi-lingual subtitled robots. Come on, the last one would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it?

Deafinitely Girly and the self-help books

Well, would you look at that: I go to bed in England and wake up to some very helpful comments on my blog about the subtitle situation. Apparently, Apple is not to blame – it’s the film companies I need to get bothering. So I intend to do just that and report back. Although, wouldn’t it be nice if Apple could put its foot down about only allowing accessible content with captions on iTunes? But then I guess there’d be nothing on there and it would be crap for business wouldn’t it?

Anyway, today as I have nothing more than that to report back until I do some research, get some email addresses and get asking questions, I have other things on my mind.

Last night Friend Who Knows Big Words came over for dinner. We had stir fry and cherry pie and chatted about my woeful dating situation. Friend Who Knows Big Words is married to French Boy. They got together 10 days before she was due to go to Central America without him for three months, and after that, well the rest is a happy ever after.

For Friend Who Knows Big Words, it is very simple. No games were played. French Boy liked her and she liked him. Now they are married.

Friend Who Knows Big Words and I were chatting about this last night and we were working out whether there was anything I could be doing to improve my dating track record. I decided it was time to venture to a little visited section of my bookshelf: The Self-Help section.

Now, apart from one exception (Women Who Worry) I have never bought a self-help book – but I have been given rather a lot of them over the years. Quite what this says about me I do not wish to imagine, but the two books I grabbed for Friend Who Knows Big Words to peruse were Stop Getting Dumped and She’s Scared He’s Scared: Understanding The Commitment Issues That Sabotage Your Relationships. The former is quite frankly the crappest book I have EVER read and was given to me by an ex work colleague 7 years ago. When I first got it, I thought it was a tongue-in-cheek look at dating, offering hilarious advice at how to get through the minefield that is relationships. But then I realised it was completely serious, shut it immediately and it’s been gathering dust ever since.

This book says things like ‘Get your hair done and look nice at all times’ and ‘To stop yourself from sleeping with someone on a first date, wear skanky pants and leave your legs hairy’ – which one is it? Look great or skanky? Or is it ‘Look great on the surface but skanky underneath’?

It also says that you should never call a man (I don’t but still get dumped), never make the first move (I rarely do but still get dumped), and eat healthily and exercise (what the hell has that got to do with getting dumped?). After 30 hilarious minutes of reading this book last night, it got dumped… in my recycling bin. But the weirdest part is, it promises your money back if you’re not married in three years. What kind of scary marriage-obsessed people are being cultivated as a result of this book? It all sounds like a lot of manipulation to me.

The other book, the commitment one, was given to me by French Aunt. She knows me well. She knows my commitment issues – I can rarely commit to myself, let alone anyone else, and actually this book might have something useful in it. But I can’t commit to it right now, so that is the end of that.

I think the thing is with me is that I don’t take dating seriously, nor do I think that dating should be taken seriously. I mean, the idea of making finding a man a project HORRIFIES me! It goes against every stubborn strain of independence in my body, and that’s from a girl who still has her childhood teddy bear!

I’m not going to actively go out there and seek Mister Right, because if I do, I might accidentally shoehorn Mister Wrong into Mister Right’s erm… shoes. I don’t actively go out looking to make friends and yet, I’ve done OK in that I’ve made some excellent ones, in the most unexpected places. And what’s also interesting was that when I met those friends for the first time, I didn’t instantly decide we were going to be best friends, nor did we share the intimate secrets that we now do. It’s a slow process. And I think the same should apply to falling in love.

Don’t get me wrong though, I have friends who work very successfully from self-help books – I am sometimes envious of the fact it works for them – but these books just don't seem to suit my personality. I want to kick against them in the same way as a teenager you wanted to kick against well-meaning advice from your school guidance counseller – when mine told me to have smaller ambitions on account of my deafness, I certainly kicked against that.

What's more, I don’t want to know why some men can’t love or why men are from Mars and women are from Venus. I am interested in the now – and there’s probably some self-help book about that that I should read – but I am not going to.

I don't doubt that there is most certainly a nice guy out there somewhere who I could probably date quite successfully without freaking out about whether I have enough room in my life for him. And in the meantime? I am here. I have my own life, my own friends, my own ambitions and my own dreams. If he rocks up somewhere along the way, then great – I hope he too has his own life, his own friends, his own ambitions and his own dreams. And if he doesn’t show up? Well I don’t want a self-help book to tell me how to deal with that. I just will.