Deaf girl camping

What a marvelous weekend I had.

It was a weekend of learning many things it seems.

Firstly, I learnt that driving at speed down country lanes does tend to scare people who more commonly live in London – poor Advertising Whizz’s husband was at this point regretting asking me for a lift to Drama Queen’s wedding.

I also learnt that putting up a tent in the rain and howling gales is not as much fun as drinking wine in a marquee, which is why we really did leave it until the last minute before pitching my Cath Kidston flowery number in the field.

But the wedding? Well, it was utterly magical. Isolated yet with all the home comforts you could possibly need, the location was quite honestly breathtaking. The marquee was nestled into the hillside overlooking a wooded valley, while a wild-flower adorned arch, where the vows were said, sat over a dip in the hill so we could all watch Drama Queen and the Taxidermist make this amazing commitment to each other.

By some miracle, the rain stopped 10 minutes before the ceremony began, and apart from the gale, it was really quite exquisitely perfect.

At 3.30am, while trying to get to sleep, I learnt that I am not that deaf, because I was able to lie awake listening to the pounding bass still coming from the marquee – the survivors made it through until 5am.

And likewise, at 7.30am, I also learnt that I am not that deaf, when a dawn bugle awoke me calling me to a fry up and cup of tea – teamed with leftover cheese from the night before.

Getting away from the structure of London was so incredibly refreshing. Waking up in a field, the light illuminating my tent, the breeze billowing the top sheet, the birds most probably singing, was relaxing in a way that you just don’t get waking at dawn to the orange glow of the street lamps and the rumbling of the traffic in London.

But trundle back to London I did – and I admit, that after eight years, it does feel as though I am coming home – and it was then I learnt that ladders are not that easy to balance on when you’re holding a pot of bright pink paint and a paintbrush between your teeth.

And so I took a tumble – the bruise and graze on my arm a record of this – and as I was midair, flying through the air, my first thought was, ‘I do hope my nasty neighbor doesn’t complain about the thud I’m about to make!’

But, after recovering from this, I learnt that patience, perseverance and precision are key to painting gigantic cupboards. I have one of those – the middle one – but as a result I discovered that if you have enough of that, then it eventually cancels out the need for the other two.

And, on that note, I’m just off to persevere through the week.

Have a good one peeps.

DG x

Deaf girl sleepwalks

Ever had one of those weeks where if someone could just give you a few more days or even hours to fit stuff in, then it’d go a whole lot better?

I’m having one of those years at the moment. There never seems to be enough time to fit everything in, and while I love the whirlwind that my life is, it is frustrating watching sections of it crumble or simple dissolve into a disorganised mess because I haven’t been able to maintain it.

If only sleep wasn’t so essential, eh?

And it’s sleep I am actually lacking in the most right now as I’ve started sleepwalking again. Not only have I been sleepwalking but I have also been having the strangest dreams, which of course I am never deaf in.

Take last night for example, I was at the wedding of Best Friend and Head Girl’s little sister – she’s already married – and there were these breakdancing priests, and I was wearing Pippa Middleton’s bridesmaid dress and her sister had humungous flowers in her hair that quite frankly looked ridiculous, and the Rents and Penthouse Flatmate were there.

And somewhere in the midst of this, I went walkabout and I know this because I fell over everything on my way until I eventually woke up. You see my flat is in a state of chaos as I am still trying to finish the painting of the new and amazing cupboards in my bedroom so that I can put my furniture back in and hang all my clothes up, and this means that for now, everything is displaced. There is a shoe rack in my hallway, a mattress in my lounge and a Marmite teapot by the front door...

Last night’s main offending item was a 245cm tall sheet of MDF that is currently leaning against the hall wall. It is so big that even when I am awake I have trouble navigating my way around it, so achieving this in my sleep was never going to be that successful. And so, I woke up, hopping, holding my toe and swearing loudly.

Anyway, this week is also all about the lead up to the second wedding of the year. It’s Drama Queen and Taxidermist’s and is in the Wild West erm… Country in a field. She’s a wonderfully creative chick, so I can’t wait to see what her big day will be like.

And it’s these wonderful occasions that will carry me through the lack of sleep, chaotic flat and somnambulating, because let’s face it, love is energizing. Seeing other people’s love, watching them take this amazing step to promise to be with each other until they die, well what could be more inspiring than that? If you ignore the dying part…

And on that joyful note, enjoy the sunshine, peeps. That’s just what I’m going to do.

DG x

Chocolate martinis, subtitles at the gym and a lipreading light

British Gas emailed me this morning to remind me that they needed my electricity meter reading.

They will not be getting it. Regular readers will know that the reason for this is that the meter is in the basement of the old house my flat is part of. This basement has a winding staircase thinner than a supermodel doing a somersault and more spiders than the scary wood in the grounds of Harry Potter’s school.

Paying a bit more for my electricity is just a price I will have to pay until I find someone willing to head down there while I guard the door as given the tensions in my block right now, I would also half expect to find myself ‘accidentally’ locked down there by persons who shall not be named.

Anyway, the last two days have been something of a revelation. Firstly in the form of chocolate martinis – oh my, these are quite something – and secondly in what my gym offers me as a deaf person.

So the martinis – chocolate, tasty and quite refreshing – were sampled yesterday with The Cameraman. We went for a drink before he embarked on a work trip to Samoa and it was lovely to finally meet him properly, chat about random things and discover that the anonymity of my blog makes me comparable to Superman! Hurrah! Although the deciding of this occurred after several of the chocolate martinis had been consumed.

And now he is in the sky, possibly dodging volcanic ash en route to a tiny island in the Pacific Ocean…

I wonder if I have any readers in Samoa?

So the second revelation occurred when I attended the gym today in an attempt to burn the calories of first revelation off! There I was on the bike, which has a snazzy TV screen built in, and while on a hill climb, I started pressing buttons – this revealed a channel list – hurrah for the tosh on E4 – and also…

…drum roll please...

A SUBTITLES OPTION!!!!!!!!!!

Can you believe it? I could actually watch TV, on the exercise bike, in the gym, with subtitles!

It’s when things like this happen that I am reminded about how technology really is developing when it comes to making life easier for deaf people. But while this is all amazing, the real challenge is convincing big companies to make these changes available to us. Cinemas that offer subtitled films every night of the week, DVDs that always have subtitles – even on the special features – and subtitles on films available to buy on iTunes… the list is endless.

And it was while I was thinking about this that I remembered I actually got one of my recent wishes granted last night… by The Cameraman. There we were talking about how I needed a lipreading light for nights in back gardens, BBQs at dusk, camping, and that sort of thing, that didn’t blind my friends, and he suggested downloading a ‘Torch’ app on my iPhone. Most of these are famous for not being bright enough to be torches and just being a white light on the screen, but as a lipreading light, they are perfect… I would highly recommend iPhone peeps downloading a free version of one to try.

So there you have it – three revelations before Tuesday’s out. It really is all good.

Things I can't hear

Good grief, it’s Monday again already.

It seems like only yesterday that I was off to see Imogen Cooper play at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on the Southbank. She was playing Schubert on Friday night with the Takács Quartet.

Now, I love watching and listening to Imogen Cooper play the piano. Her grace and poise is amazing and even if what she’s playing is too high for me to hear, it’s still visually entertaining.

However, what I had forgotten was that she was only playing in the second half – the first half was just the string quartet and the only instrument in the collection that I could hear was the cello.

Bother!

This meant that the first half was largely silent for me, save a few squeaks and pips to accompany what was just a long and quite dull cello solo.

However, the second half improved with the departure of one of the violinists and the arrival of a double bassist and of course the piano. But I still found myself flicking through the program during the higher sections to help keep my mind occupied. I did this as quietly as possible – never really being sure how much noise this actually makes – but just three pages in, the man next to me put his hand out to stop me turning the pages.

I felt like a naughty school kid and felt my cheeks burning up with embarrassment.

Pa however, said that the program wasn’t making any noise so perhaps the grumpy old man just objected to me multitasking.

It is something I have to keep in mind though, as I go about my day-to-day life. I forget things make a noise, such as this very keyboard, which I am hammering away on – to me soundlessly – but to everyone else noisily. Other examples include the clicking sound a retractable ballpoint pen makes and games on my iPhone. These often come with default sound and I am only aware it is on once I notice the death stares other commuters are giving me.

But perhaps the most embarrassing example of this was in my old car, Jennifer, who was a soft top British racing green mini – the old model, not the stoopid BMW version. There I was driving through the tranquil countryside at 2am, after a night out with my car alarm blaring. I had no idea the car even had a working alarm, let alone that it could go off when I was behind the wheel.

Luckily, in this instance, Friend Who Knows Big Words was with me and she was the one that pointed out that perhaps the ‘Wah-woo-wah-woo’ din coming from my tiny little Mini was not normal, and that also perhaps, the neighbours in the sleepy Cotswold village we were in wouldn’t be too pleased with this early morning wake-up call.

But could I get it to stop?

Erm no! So I had to drive the 8 miles home with the alarm still going off.

And in this instance, I was very glad I couldn’t hear it. And Friend Who Knows Big Words? Well let’s just say, it was a while before she got in my car again!!!!

Deaf girl paints cupboards... badly

Today’s blog comes to you typed with brown fingers…

Hmmm, yes you see, Blanco left me with one task regarding my new fitted wardrobes that he has expertly built me, and that was to varnish the inside.

I did this last night and it looks like a chocolate mousse exploded all over the place. There are visible brush strokes, bits that are thicker in some places than others, and the white wall at the back of my cupboard? Well let’s just say it’s not that white any more.

I. AM. ASHAMED.

In my defense, it’s the first time I have ever painted anything really – if you forget the time I painted Whiskey Cousin’s bedroom navy blue and red – and so it was never going to be amazing. But it’s not even halfway to amazing. If my painting was a cake, it’d be flat, burnt and biscuit-like.

And what’s even worse is that I have no way of rectifying this before Blanco comes to hang the fourth and final cupboard door, and possibly me with it. Although I do have a plan…

This morning I rang Pa – who is coming down tomorrow for a concert with Great Aunt Wander Nut and me – and asked him if he could make an emergency dash to Homebase today and pick me up a pot of Lollipop paint. This wonderful paint is the most fabulously, edible sweety-coloured shade of pink.

And it is this shade that I am going to paint the back wall of my cupboards in order to conceal the car crash that is my DIY capabilities.

Unless of course, something goes wrong with that…

But it’s pink, what could possibly go wrong with pink?

Actually, don’t answer that!

Deaf girl bakes

Apologies for the silence these last few blogging days, but I've been caught up in a fog of icing sugar, making cakes for Uni Housemate's wedding.

The big day was amazing – it was a clear display of what true love really is, and what could be more inspiring than that.

And my cakes?

Well, see for yourself:

Happy Tuesday peeps.

DGx

Can I hear if I'm noisy?

So, as I have mentioned quite a lot recently, I am making a wedding cake this week.

Last night was the top tier and 60 hand-made chocolate roses. It was also the night that saw me put my Dualit mixer straight through the bottom of my best mixing bowl.

Harumph…

It’s a wonder my cakes ever come out edible if I’m honest as I’m a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. Indeed, it was requested that I didn’t do home economics GCSE for fear I would bring my school’s league table placement down, so I did sewing instead.

Then there was the time I thought a cake would rise if placed on the bottom of the oven, and that a pressure cooker didn’t need as much water as the recipe said, and that microwaved chicken is edible…

I could go on, but that’s all in the past.

The one thing that hasn’t changed is that I don’t really do recipes. I tend to get ideas from one and just do my own thing. Sometimes this works – my wedding cakes are a good example – and sometimes it doesn’t. But then how was I meant to know that eggs explode when…

…but that’s a totally different story and the kitchen ceiling looks much better after a repaint.

Anyway, regular readers will know that I have a rather frustrating neighbour. She’s like Mrs Mangle from Neighbours, but 100 times worse.

I have tried the nice thing – for nearly two years in fact, but recently, for various reasons, I am struggling to maintain my smile when I see her. It’s more of a grimace if I’m honest.

You see, she really does complain about everything. For example, my small vibrating alarm clock fell out of my bed the other night and hit my carpeted floor. She emailed to complain.

I have a front door, which gets opened and closed on average twice a day. She complains about that.

I exist.

She complains about that, too.

The problem is though, perhaps I am being noisy and I just can’t hear it. Perhaps my tiny 100g alarm clock really does make such a crash when it hits the floor that it’s capable of waking the dead.

I don’t know…

And this means I don’t feel totally secure in this battle.

I try to be quiet. I tiptoe around, don’t wear shoes in my house, installed an underlay so thick that Blanco and I had to plane all my doors, and I never play loud music or have raucous parties.

In fact, I’ve never had a party, I fix things when she asks and in return all she does is moan and leave three bikes in the hallway.

But back to that party point – my neighbour clearly doesn’t know how good she’s had it for the last 18 months, so it’s time for a party I think!

Watch this space…

I want a portable lip-reading light

Hurrah hurrah for a lovely weekend in the Wild West erm...

Country with Jenny M!

I had the most marvellous time catching up, seeing her family, enjoying the Wap, which is an ancient, annual tradition in her village involving throwing the mayor in a pool of water, a queen and several Morris dancers.

Then, when I got back to London, I dashed out to a BBQ at Neu's house. The Photographer was there, too, but no SuperCathyFragileMystic as she had to work...

Boo!

Also there was Neu's bro – the Cameraman – who travels all over the world filming amazing things. It was genuinely refreshing to meet someone who not only does something they love for a job, but also makes a difference with it.

Anyway, it was a great evening, except that once it got dark that was it for me. No more conversation could be had.

When it’s dark, it's like I'm a budgie and someone's put a blanket over my cage, because when I can't hear, I get sleepy.

I did have my headtorch in my bag, but the problem with this is, that while it helps me hear, it blinds everybody else, which is not a very sociable-good-first-impressions kinda thing to do!

Someone needs to invent a portable anti-glare lipreading light.

So this week is a three-day one for me because from Thursday onwards, I will be baking a VIP wedding cake. Those of you who wonder where I live can stand on Primrose Hill and look for the plume of icing sugar rising in the west. That'll be me.

Of course, I'm nervous about this cake. Nervous about the transportation of 100 butter-iced piped cupcakes in what looks set be the hottest seasonal temperatures since records began, nervous about braking suddenly and seeing 100 butter-iced piped cupcakes flash before my eyes, and nervous that out of the 100 butter-iced cupcakes, there will be one that's gone a little bit wrong.

But on a positive note, 1 out of 100 ain't bad.

Happy Monday everyone!

Deaf Awareness starts here

It’s hard to believe it’s Deaf Awareness Week already, isn’t it?

It seems like only yesterday that I was writing about it here…

So it seems fitting that yesterday, I could have done with asking for a little deaf awareness.

You see recently, I have joined a new gym. It’s a lovely, shiny, all-singing, all-dancing gym, with every class imaginable and lots of fancy equipment. One of my favourite classes is spinning because I feel like it more than burns off my daily chocolate intake, so I have recently been trying out all the different instructor-led classes to see what they are like.

Last week I told the spinning instructor that I was deaf and she checked over to me at regular intervals in a nicely unpatronising way to make sure I knew what was going on. I liked her!

Then yesterday, the instructor – a man – arrived late and rushed in, turned the lights off and set the music blaring before I’d had a chance to mention that I needed to lipread the important things.

So there I was, sat in the dark, completely unable to hear anything, and by then it was too late to stick my hand up and bellow, ‘I’m deaf!’ across the class full of people.

So I did this one basically senseless…

I couldn’t see, and I couldn’t hear, and after the hill climb, I couldn’t breathe either.

And to think I do this for fun!

As I’ve said before though, the responsibility to be deaf aware does not begin with hearing people, it begins with us deaf peeps. We have a responsibility to make our needs known, to say what helps and be proactive in letting people know we can’t hear.

If we expect help, then we owe it to people to give them the very best knowledge of how they can help.

At the next spinning class, I may well be more proactive, but if I don’t tell the instructor I’m deaf, then I can’t get upset about not following the class.

Yesterday was actually an incredibly empowering. I was able to successfully get through a class with absolutely no idea what was going on and no guidance, and I took responsibility for that.

And the best part? Well, actually this was the same as the worst part – the class was in the dark, so no one could see me getting it wrong, gasping for breath and slowly expiring in my bike saddle.

Spinning today?

Bring. It. On!

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!