A very Thankful Friday

Today is Thankful Friday and I am thankful for many things.

Firstly for the fantastic evening I had last night. I went to see the Brain exhibition with Man With Beard at the Wellcome Collection and it was actually very interesting. There were bits of brains, whole brains, famous brains, videos of brains being frozen and thinly sliced and many other brain-related things. 

At one point – during a video showing a skull being opened up to reveal the brain – I was slightly worried I might pass out but my knees carried me through and I honestly am amazed at how much more I know about brains now.

Bring on the pub quiz, I say.

Anyway, afterwards we went to this teeny tiny cider place near Euston that Man With Beard had found by chance, and which turned out to be absolutely fantastic. Brilliant cider – the staff know their stuff –and a really nice atmosphere, too. 

I love it when you find a new place in London that's good to go to especially when it's a slightly random small brick structure overlooking the Euston Road with a teeny tiny 1st floor full of hipsters and with two tiny toilets crammed in the corner up a spiral staircase.

I'm also thankful that this weekend I get to see SuperCathyFragileMystic. We're going wedding dress shopping – for her – and it's going to be a weekend of much toasting the brilliance of the happy couple, and hopefully a combination of stunning gowns coupled with a few hilarious gigantic toilet-roll-dolly-style things! 

And finally, well I'm actually insanely thankful for Penfold and Dangermouse. They know why…

Have a great weekend peeps.

DG

x

Deafinitely Girly and Sipsmith Distillery

Yesterday evening I did something a little bit different.

I went on a tour of a gin distillery. The first new distillery in London for 200 years in fact, and it was marvellous.

Tucked away in the residential streets of west London, I walked past the building twice before finally asking Google Maps to tell me where this rather fabulous operation was taking place.

And this rather fabulous operation is called Sipsmith.

We were greeted by French Boy of Lea & Sandeman, which is a brilliant wine company that has several shops in west London, and Sipsmith Sam, one of a duo who set up the company.

This distillery, while small, is beautiful. The machine, called Prudence, recently celebrated her third birthday and her shiny copper exterior shows she's ageing well.

Surrounded by black barrels of ethanol we sipped on freshly made gin and tonics and listened to the fascinating story of Sipsmith and indeed of gin, while soaking up the former with delights from the Ginger Pig butcher and the latter with great interest.

We squished juniper berries between our fingers to release the scent, slurped neat vodka and gin, both of which were very palatable without even a hint of tonic, and heard about some new products in the pipeline.

The description of the distilling process was a simple science lesson – I understood it perfectly and as a result, I doubt I will drink any other gin or vodka again.

Rather fortuitously too, I was placed perfectly to lipread Sipsmith Sam, and even better, he was incredibly well spoken, so I was able to understand nearly everything, even through the gin fug that soon descended.

Wisely, after the tour, we hit the pub, where I preceded to dilute my gin and vodka intake with a pint of Otter Ale.

This means that today, I'm feeling a little fragile, so let's keep everything quiet please…

…which considering we're talking about my world, should actually be quite easy.

Watching My daughter, her deafness and me

Last night I sat down and watched the Rita Simons documentary that was shown on Tuesday evening.

I couldn't bring myself to watch it on the actual night, and I don't really know why that was to be honest. Perhaps because I was afraid how it would make me feel.

I had been in talks with several people connected to this programme about possibly appearing in it to give Rita an insight into what my life is like, and although I didn't really want to be on television, I do wish I could have shown Rita how amazing my life is.

And the programme? Well, it reminded me a lot of my childhood. Of my parents struggling to work out what might be best for me, what the next step was, what my future was going to be like. The constant struggle going on pretty much without my knowledge.

My parents would do amazing things to try and show me they cared about my deafness. They'd take me to deaf days where I could see the technology available to me - not quite so fancy in the 90s - and they even fought to get me on a waiting list to see a geneticist to find out more about my hearing loss.

At the former, I behaved atrociously. I didn't want to interact or find out more about any of it. I just wanted to be me. And the latter? Well the day of my appointment took so long to come around that by that time I could drive. I actively chose to miss my appointment. I went to school instead. I sat there all day and pondered at what was motivating me to act in such a defiant way when all my parents were doing was trying to help.

To this day I still don't know.

And was there a turning point?

Not really. I think I just grew up. You see, it's natural to be defiant as a kid, to do the opposite of what your parents want you to do. But I think because a lot of my defiance centred around something different - my deafness - it seemed like I was acting up about my deafness not just because I was a kid. If anything my deafness saved me from being defiant about other stuff because I was far to busy being defiant about it.

The emotion that I felt while watching the TV programme last night was raw and stemmed from far back in my childhood. The body language of Maiya at her hearing test, the look on Rita's face when she was trying to be upbeat about it - it gave me so many flashbacks.

But what I wasn't expecting was for the panic about cochlear implants to return.

Regular readers will know I had a bit of a wobble about whether I should even consider having one last year and in the end I decided it wasn't for me.

And this programme cemented that further when it was demonstrated how music sounded with one.

You see, the only reason I'd have a cochlear implant is so that I could hear music again. So I could play my violin. And if I don't get that back and actually it sounds completely different, then it removes all point of me having it.

But that's just me.

And that's what I said to the researcher of the programme when he asked me a generic question about deaf people. I felt it was incredibly important that he didn't see me as a spokesperson for anyone other than Deafinitely Girly. I am me, my experience of deafness is mine and my experience of hearing is mine.

I like my world while others might hate it and that's OK.

Rita finished last night by saying that she didn't understand why if given the option to hear, you wouldn't take it... and while I can see her point, I can't agree with it. It's so much bigger than just hearing the raw sound. It's about the quality and the quantity that you get. I'd rather not have any chocolate than a shitty bar of fake sugary chocolate that coated my teeth and tasted of nothing. And in the same way, I'd rather stick with things the way they are right now than risk creating a world that sounded so alien and so tuneless that I was stuck in an irreversible world of panic.

I'd rather keep my world, even if it's going to get quieter, even if I hear a little bit less of my flute every time I pick it up. But it's my world, no one else has to live in it. And that's why I'd never ever tell Rita Simons what I think is best for her child, because if Maiya is anything like me, then she'll probably do that herself.

Forgetting I'm deaf

Today is Thankful Friday and the only blog of the week. It's a disgrace, isn't it?

I think one of the reasons for my complete writer's block of late is that I simply can't bring myself to write about one of the main things consuming my thoughts right now  – my neighbour. Her shocking behaviour is on-going and to be honest, the only way I can deal with this is by sticking my head in the sand and simply getting on with things.

The realisation that some things really can't be fixed is a tricky one. I'm a fairly rational person – I can see both sides of the story and have, on more than one occasion attempted some sort of middle ground reconciliation with her downstairs. But at the same time, I have also stood my ground on issues that are important to me – the safety aspect of having a downstairs hallway filled with bikes for example – which she sees as some form of attack.

But it's not an attack, and her rage is akin to a toddler who can't get their own way. She's called me every name under the sun – not to my face of course, but the fireman was introduced to me as 'That bitch upstairs' and she cooly informed my window men that I wasn't very nice to her.

It's not about being nice, it's about not creating a fire hazard and mouse party with crap in the hallway.

You see why I'm not blogging right now, right?!?

Anyway, in amongst all this, a new development in my life is that I've actually found myself forgetting I am deaf. So either I've either been so stressed with other stuff I don't have room to worry about it, or I've succeeded in streamlining my life to occur without the constant remind that I am aurally challenged.

My phone never rings, I've worked up a good email relationship with people I need regular contact with, and my texting is so speedy, it's actually quicker than speech anyway.

And perhaps, non-aural services are improving, too.

Take the other day for example, when I was looking online for a replacement to my shoddy filing cabinet. I stumbled upon a website called The Dormy House and there I found a gorgeous Ottoman, with a concealed filing space inside.

Perfect, I thought and happily added it to my basket. But it was only at the till that I realised that while you could choose a specific delivery day, this would involve a phone call to organise and as a result, I hit cancel and went back to the drawing board.

The next day, my phone rang. I didn't pick up but instead googled the number and it turned out to be The Dormy House. Two minutes later, an email arrived in my inbox from Vicki at The Dormy House enquiring politely why I had not proceeded with my order. I replied immediately, explaining how, with my deafness, I was put off by the delivery methods.

Within five minutes, I had a reply – she could organise the immediate shipping of the Ottoman with delivery the following day if I ordered within the hour.

Incredible huh?

I did indeed place the order, and it did indeed arrive the next day and I marvelled at how, someone who hadn't even known I was deaf had made my life 100% easier.

And it's true, customer service is getting better for deaf people, or at least for me anyway – every week I find myself with another positive experience to add to the list, and the negative experiences are becoming less and less frequent.

Times are changing, things are getting better, subtitles – however terrible at times – are becoming more standard on catch-up TV, videos and even iTunes films and programmes. People are becoming more responsive on email – you no longer have to wait days for a reply where a phone call would generate an immediate response. I can do most things – pay bills, order things, organise workmen for my flat and indeed do my job –without ever needing to hear.

And that's what I am thankful for. I'm becoming more efficient, more productive, more satisfied and more 'normal'. Actually scap the last one. who wants to be normal anyway?!

Happy weekend peeps.

DG

x

Deafinitely Girly gets broadband

Guess what?!

I have broadband!!!!!!!

*insert image of hell freezing over here

I know, I always said I would never get broadband if I had to get a phoneline, too, but those lovely people at O2 cracked my resolve and finally I have joined every other household in the UK and got connected.

When researching the best broadband deals, I naturally found myself gravitating towards Virgin Media – they had hounded me with junk leaflets promising fibre optic broadband at amazing speeds in my area, and the biggest attraction with this is that you don't need a phone line to get it.

However, after a bit of research, I discovered the massive lack of subtitles on Virgin Catch-up TV, which quite frankly is a disgrace when even iPlayer on the iPhone can manage to shoehorn them in.

I could of course have opted for just Virgin Fibreoptic Broadband, but do you know what? There is very little incentive to do this – none in fact. There are no deals, no offers, nothing of the glossy promises given to those who want to take out the whole lot with Virgin. 

Couple that with my experience of the stroppiest ever Virgin representative on Twitter, and well, you can see why I struck them off my list.

O2 however, have wised up to this Twitter lark and that is how they got my custom. They're polite, courteous and get back to you within a few hours maximum. Nothing seems to be too much trouble – of course they could be sticking pins in an effigy of me behind the scenes, but up front, they're wonderful.

Abs – the person who held my hand through the whole thing – was wonderful.

And the deal?

Well, I have a phoneline – but it was only £7.50 a month, which rose to £9 before I'd even had it installed, but it gave me an excuse to pop this – a freebie from many moons ago – on my bookcase in the living room and, even if I will never EVER use it, it still looks rather fab.

But what about the broadband? Well, I got six months free because I was an O2 customer, and when there was a balls-up due to my address not existing, Abs sorted the whole thing out and rearranged my engineer visit to set the whole thing up – and he took this so seriously that he actually set up my wireless box for me, too!!

What's more, because I now have wireless at home, I can reduce the data package on my iPhone, which will all save the money needed to go towards my monthly broadband costs.

I've had broadband for nearly a week now, and if I'm honest, I'm not sure how I managed this long without it. I can chat to The Rents on FaceTime, say goodnight to Big Bro who lives in ClogLand and try my hand at lipreading my gorgeous little nephews, too. I can surf the internet to my heart's desire, watch all the catch-up TV I want – with fully functioning amazing subtitles – and generally do everything you lot have probably been doing for at least the last five years. Even better, it was SO easy to set up with the only frustration being the length of time I had to wait to have my phoneline connected. 

As companies go, I don't think I can fault O2 right now – and as the MASTER of complaining, that's saying something. It's a company that quite literally keeps me connected to the world, from unlimited text messages on my phone and an on-the-go data package to broadband and Wi-Fi, without all these, I'd be back to the 90s – back to asking people to help me do things, book things, find out things; back to wondering what was going on when I was out and about, missing out on stuff and generally feeling very isolated.

And for the price of a phoneline, I don't think that's a bad deal, do you?

Hearing at my gym

This morning I woke up unable to move without pain.

The cause for my old lady hobble?

A kettlebells class.

See, on Saturday, I went to the gym with the Singing Swede. She had tennis, I was going to do a circuit class. Except it became horribly apparent in the first few minutes that I wasn't going to hear anything, so I left.

Fifteen minutes later, as I was running on the treadmill, a guy came up to me to invite me to his gym-floor kettlebells class. Cross that I'd missed circuits, I checked with him whether I'd find it easy to follow and when he said yes, I signed up.

The class was good. You throw a metal weight around that looks like a door stop, you do sit ups with it, squats with it, leg raises and lifting. It goes fast, the pain of each exercise passes quickly, I came out pumped and confident... and crippled.

I cannot bend my legs, I cannot go downstairs – without saying ow on each step – and putting my shoes on this morning felt like the accomplishment of the year. My lower back feels like someone snapped it in half then mended it with Blu-Tack, and just putting one foot in front of the other is a mission.

And am I going to go back next week? Of course I am, because it was a class I could hear well. The instructor was clear, easy to follow, and able to remember for the full 30 minutes that there was a deaf person in his class, making sure I was OK but not neglecting any of his other clients in the process.

So you see I gained doubly from this class. OK today there's pain, but according to him my arse is gonna look amazing and my confidence? Well let's just say the frustration of walking out of a circuits class because of my deafness is long forgotten.

Bravo kettlebells, bravo.

Deafinitely Girly in the kitchen

Today is Thankful Friday. It is one week since my last post. This is not good.

This week has mostly been work and fitfully short sleeps peppered with bad dreams of exploding boilers and nutty neighbours.

Every night has seen a new worst-case scenario, and every morning I've woken up thankful that it didn't happen in real life, but utterly knackered, too.

This morning saw me waking with a start, late and now I'm on the bus, huddled on bottom deck as top deck seems to be about 10 degrees colder.

So what am I thankful for?

Well, Friend Who Knows Big Words should get a mention after she taught me how to make Pad Thai on Wednesday.

There I was, in my kitchen, recipe book out, every imaginable utensil being utilised, trying my hand at what is my favourite dish in the world, while FWKBW and Miss K chatter in my lounge.

When it came to the egg cracking bit, it became apparent it was all a bit out of control, so I yelped for help and FWKBW swept in an rescued the day. A dash of lime here, a sprinkling of sugar here, some crushed peanuts – thanks Miss K – and some coriander and we were ready to go.

And the result? Delicious actually.

I think my deep-set fear of trying to cook new things comes from my days of Home Economics at school. I never knew quite what I was meant to be doing so got by on a lot of guess work – except at 12 years old, my experience of guess work in the kitchen was limited to, 'The toast might burn if I put it down again' and 'thirteen minutes in the microwave is OK for melting chocolate isn't it? I'm going to watch Neighbours while it cooks.'

The reality of it was I watched Neighbours and simultaneously managed to set fire to the microwave at the same time.

And we shouldn't even mention the time I cooked flapjack in bun tins for 1 hour...

So I guess it wasn't really a surprise when I was banned from doing Home Economics at GCSE  for fear of bringing my school's league tables down.

But I think it was their lack of faith in me that made me panic more.

My year 9 cooking consisted of a chicken dish made in the microwave that came out quite frankly as chicken a la salmonella, and I discovered that cakes don't rise if you put them on the floor of the oven, they just become warm batter.

So I'm thankful that FWKBW remained completely confident that whatever I had done to the Pad Thai – cooked it on a low heat, forgotten the prawns, used white not brown sugar, and spilled most of it on the floor – it would still taste utterly delicious.

It's made me more brave.

I'm going to try other new things in my kitchen. My repertoire should not be limited to cupcakes and er… cupcakes.

Dinner anyone?

Deafinitely Girly thanks you

Complete silence on the blog recently I know.

And the reason? Well I've been stressed, which is a sure trigger for writers' block for me.

And the reason for my stress? Well my Twitter followers will know already. My neighbour.

In the last few weeks I have had three letters and an email all complaining about noise. And as my Pa has been staying and various other hearing guests have been and gone, I've been fortunate to have double the confirmation that no noise has been occurring.

She says she can hear me walking around. I wear soft, feather-filled slippers and my carpet is resting on a good 2cm of extra-heavy and expensive underlay, which in turn is on wooden sheets, which in turn lie on floor boards.

She says she can hear my boiler. I had a boiler man come out who says it's a normal boiler making normal boiler sounds.

She says my washing machine is too loud. I never put it on except in the middle of the day, rarely use it as it's just me in the flat and never use a spin above 700. To top it all off, I even consulted a buildings engineer who said that in buildings of the age of mine, sounds will travel. And guess what? I can hear her washing machine, too.

She says I get up to early. I'm a professional in London. I don't get up and do star jumps across the room. I get up, put on my feather-filled slippers and go and stand under the shower for a good 10 minutes, pad back, get my clothes from the cupboards and drawers I purposefully leave open the night before so I don't make too much noise in the morning and then leave for work.

My bus is always rammed. Evidence that the whole of London gets up with me, which would suggest that it's not to early in general. Just to early for her.

She says she can hear me if I talk in my bedroom. I live alone and believe me, a conversation in my bedroom is a once in a blue moon occurrence. It happened the other evening at 10.45 when a good friend rang. She works in theatre so it was the only time she could call. I am deaf, I don't take calls. But this one was important. A friend of hers, aged just 30, had died that morning. She was upset, she needed to talk. I was able to be there for her. On the dot of 11pm, the email of complaint came through.

And through all of this in the recent weeks, there have been audible screaming matches coming from this neighbour's flat, my living room floor has shaken as the front door has been slammed in what I can only assume was in a fit of rage, the hallway is descending into further chaos. Bags of food are now stored by the door, the perfect welcome sign to vermin.

And I have put up with it all. I have been understanding that, according to her notes, she's going through a stressful time right now. I have even shhh'd my guests like a librarian to try and stop her from complaining further.

But the final straw came a few days ago when one morning, after a refreshing 7-hour sleep, I descended the communal staircase – on tiptoe – to find yet another note. This one stating that I'd woken her up in the early hours of the morning, when in fact I was fast asleep.

And at that moment I knew that I had to stop ignoring her and stick up for myself. And that is where we are on this Thankful Friday.

Yesterday, a politely worded letter telling her she is not to contact me again unless it is about urgent house matters, should have arrived by registered post.

I'm keen to keep it as formal as possible. I can't cope with the nasty scribbled notes on the staircase. I can't tolerate her 'one rule for me', which is living in complete silence, and 'one rule for her', which is screaming arguments, door slamming and leaving the hallway in state of squalor.

I'm exhausted and upset by it.

So what am I thankful for on this Friday you might be wondering? Well, actually it's the amazing and unwavering support of my friends and family, not to mention those who know me as Deafinitely Girly through this blog and on Twitter. From fantastic advice on what to do if the problem escalates to supportive hugs and comments to keep me going.

That is what I am thankful for on this very Thankful Friday.

So a massive thanks to everyone and I'm sure I will keep you all posted.

I'm bad at making phone calls

Phew! What a week I'm having.

As well as being super busy in my day job, my little flat has also decided it wants some attention and the boiler has stopped working.

Last night I got home to a freezing house and no hot water and glumly I wondered how much it was going to cost me to get the boiler up and running again.

And then I remember that through my contents insurance with Endsleigh, I get home emergency cover.

So happy was I about this that it bolstered my confidence to to try phoning the emergency peeps.

Hmmmm… it did not go well. The lady was either Welsh or Irish – I have no clue which one – and I could barely understand anything she said.

Our 15-minute long conversation went something like this:

Her: Plu plu blah blah plu plu?

Me: you need my postcode?

Her: no, plu plu blah plah plu bla...

Me: My policy number?

Her: No-oooooooah, plu blah.

Yes, despite my attempts at conveying that she need to slow her speech down, this car crash of a conversation continued until I eventually discovered she couldn't find me on the system.

So I rang Endsleigh, my insurance company who are in the Wild West rem… Country, and luckily, I grew up hearing this accent so it's easier for me to decipher.

This phone call went better. The lady at the other end was more responsive to my announcement of my hearing loss and connected me through to the Welsh place telling them I should be on their system and they should help me.

Luckily I got a man. He was marginally more intelligible... marginally.

The first thing he said was: All we need is proof that the boilers been serviced in the last year and we will get an engineer out right away...

And just like that, I'd become a small-print victim.

I know, I know, it's logical that you should get a yearly service for your boiler, but to be honest, I had shoved this task in the 'phone calls I'd like someone else to make' pile and forgotten all about it.

So last night – from my air bed in the living room (long story) and under a mountain of blankets – I pinged an email to a local plumbing company asking them to come out today. I have no idea if they respond to emails, so that phone call I'd been putting off will probably have to be made anyway. And that home emergency premium I've been paying for the last three years on my insurance... well given the fact my little flat's latest hobby seems to be breaking, I'm sure I'll get to use it at some point in the future.

Happy Thursday peeps. That's right, almost the weekend.

DG x

Getting things done without the phone

Today is the first Thankful Friday of 2012 – and what a lovely sunny one it is.

I'm thankful that I am gradually getting back into the swing of waking early, working for 8 hours and still being upright at the end of the day… it's amazing how just one week off sent my usual routine spinning out of control into an abyss of lie-ins and overindulgence.

Anyway, this week is also the week I have faced the reality that my flat windows are about to fall out of their frames and so I began the tentative process of finding someone to fix them.

Living in a conservation area, it's not as simple as calling in the plastic window people and that, coupled with the fact that my windows are massive, meant I spent a few lunch hours hunting for sash window experts who might be able to get my poorly windows back in shape.

So far, I have emailed six and heard back from three – all were happy to coordinate meetings without using the phone and the one I met yesterday was also fabulous at making sure he looked at me when he spoke.

It's been an incredibly pain-free experience so far – although I expect that will change when I get the quotes in.

I think sometimes the fear of doing something like this, something that often involves phone use – or that takes longer if you don't use a phone – often puts me right off doing it. Indeed, it's partly that, and the massive cost, that has caused me to put off repairing my windows and instead fix them with tape for the last six months.

Feeling the fear and doing it anyway – however clichéd that may be – is a wonderful mantra to live by, because once you've faced that fear, the euphoria is more than enough to carry you through the next challenging bit. I've hated contacting and dealing with these window people, but I know that once I've accomplished this, I will be so happy with myself that parting with the cash will be so much easier.

What I need to do now is apply that to the rest of my life.

To the love bit, the exercise bit – yes, I have redeveloped my fear of running and not even an egg timer can cure me this time – and the getting Deafinitely Girly to a wider audience bit.

Today I am going to feel the fear and do it anyway. Who's with me?

Happy 2012 peeps

So Christmas is over, 2012 is here and I am back to work today.

Sat on the bus on this rainy, windy day it's hard to believe that just two weeks ago we were all filled with such festive cheer, and all considerable lighter weight-wise, too.

Well, I was anyway.

It seems my daily diet of zero exercise – except for some festive ice skating – and chocolate raisins for breakfast has rather attacked my waistline, so this week, I shall mostly be joining the other 8 million people in London at visiting my gym.

All that aside, I really did have the most fabulous Christmas oop norf at The Rents' place – it was relaxing, it was hilarious, it was a brilliant family affair, with a much-missed Big Bro absent, and I loved every minute of it.

I even took part in the musical extravaganza that was a penny whistle concert – the toys in our crackers, which were all completely out of my frequency, but thanks to Pa's expert conducting, and a big number stuck on my forehead to indicate which whistle I had, it all went well… apparently.

Then, there was New Year's Eve – a refined affair that occurred mainly in French on the banks of the River Thames under the influence of Champagne. Turns out after several swigs of the fizzy stuff, my French is much better than it is normally – or at least that's what I am claiming and the cross-channel peeps were far to merry to judge my Bon Années by the end of the evening.

And what of my resolutions? Well, the real me has several that I'm not sharing for the moment. But Deafinitely Girly? Well, I resolve to blog more, tweet less about public transport and generally carry on being the whirlwind that is DG.

Happy 2012 peeps – may you have a good one.

Deafinitely Girly's noisy morning

Last night I went to bed at 10.30, woke at 3am and woke at 5am. The 2nd time, I was so convinced it was time to get up that I switched on my bedside lamp and lay in the brightness, clearing the sleep from my eyes.

Then I put my glasses on and looked at the clock.

Hmm!

However, there's something lovely about being awake at that time of the morning. It's so peaceful and still. I played my old game of 'what can I hear?' and heard the howl of an early morning flight, departing from Heathrow, the rumble of another arriving.

It was so quiet. Until I actually decided to get up that is.

Once in the bathroom, I dropped the heavy metal loo roll holder on the floor.

Crash it went, in the very next room to where The Girl That Can't Help Knit was trying to sleep.

I picked it up, put it back together and dropped it again.

Crash it went… louder this time.

Once in the shower, I proceeded to drop everything.

Crash it all went, including a giant bottle of TIGI shampoo, which landed on my foot and caused me to stumble backwards over my bath edge and onto the floor with a...

Yep, you guessed it, CRASH!

All this has left me rather nervously anticipating an email of complaint from my neighbour, but seeing as she was crashing around herself yesterday evening, I'm hoping she'll think better and just scuttle back under her rock.

I don't know why it is, but whenever I try to be quiet, i am noisy. Just like if I try to diet I eat twice as much as usual, and if I try to be myself – especially on dates – I become this crazy woman.

Now I'm on the bus to work and I'm trying not to fall asleep, so naturally my eyes keep falling shut.

So I think today I am going to try to be noisy, try not to be myself and try to sleep at every opportunity. And if that all goes to plan, it should be a very good day indeed.

Thinking of Kristian Anderson

One of the people I follow on Twitter is dying.

I first wrote about him here, and since then he's done some amazing things. He's travelled to America, he's met Oprah, he's battled and battled to fight the cancer consuming his body.

A few months ago, he was told he wouldn't win his fight, and the fear and anguish on his Twitter feed was palpable.

Indeed, one morning when I awoke to a tweet about being frightened about dying, I cried all the way to work on the bus.

I have continued to follow his progress and gradually a shift has happened. His tweets have become calmer, he has appeared to accept what is going to happen to him. This morning he tweeted that he was ready to go home. Ready to die.

With Christmas nearly here, I can only hope that he gets to see one more Christmas with his gorgeous sons and wife.

Do you know what? If you do just one thing today, this week, this life, make it to have a thankful thought or be there for someone you really love. Don't sweat the small stuff and remember those facing the big stuff.

I for one, will never forget Kristian Anderson. Not while he's alive, and not after he's died.

And from the other side of the world, on this cold December day, I hope he feels the comfort of everyone's good wishes.

I wish you could get well soon Kristian, I really do.

Love DG

x

Deafinitely Girly's pre-Christmas clearout

Good morning from my freezing, unheated bus – the only glow coming from the amazing sunrise…

And what a brilliant weekend I had.

On Friday, I met up with Accent Man and I think we should both be congratulated for not falling asleep in our dinner. After we both had pretty mad nights out, we were more than a little tired, and this played havoc with me understanding what he was saying… and actually with him understanding me, too. As I face-planted my duvet for a full 10-hour kip, I couldn't help but curse the Christmas season for making us all so tired and busy.

Anyway on Saturday I was up bright and early to join the Singing Swede for a punishing gym class – it was so punishing that we both came out with faces redder than Santa's, but with stomachs considerably flatter.

On my way home from the gym I took a wrong turn and ended up at IKEA – surely a recipe for self harm on a Saturday morning, but surprisingly it was really rather empty and I whizzed around the market place picking up the things I needed, and of course the things I didn't, too.

And Sunday? Well after a half-hearted workout with the Singing Swede and a wholehearted catch up with her on the running machine, it was time for some life admin. To throw away the thousands of photographs that will never make the album cut, to clear out the crap I will never wear, read or use again and to sort my head out for 2012…

Sitting on my living room floor, surrounded by photos of my eight years in London, I couldn't help but feel my tired spirits lifted by the knowledge that, even with their challenges, they've been a good eight years.

And with an emptier, more organised flat, I know I've made room for the next eight years, too.

I've sponsored a Hearing Dog

When it comes to giving money to charity, I'm not sure I do enough.

I'm as guilty as the next person of dodging charity muggers 'chuggers' in the street – always being careful to be polite but at the same time being firm that, no, I don't want to give my bank details to a stranger on the street who's stalked me halfway to Boots in my lunch hour, when all I want is a sandwich and a packet of crisps.

It's these uncharitable feelings that have been sitting heavily on my mind these past few months and I've been trying to work out if I can find a middle ground – a happy medium where I can hold my head up and say to chuggers, 'No thanks, I already give money to my chosen charities.'

But then of course, there's the dilemma of who to support. When there are world disasters – the flooding in Pakistan, tsunamis, earthquakes etc, I will always give money through Oxfam or Unicef, but apart from that, I don't make a regular donation to anyone.

The other day, I got caught my a chugger who convinced me to part with £5 to fund 15 minutes of care with Marie Curie – I did not mind doing this, either. What I did mind though, was being hounded with phone calls for the next week from the charity wanting more money.

That pissed me off.

Anyway, today, in my hungover, post-Christmas party state, I've been sitting at my desk – working – and also wondering who I'd like to support in the new year. Which charity I'd like to donate to regularly, and make a difference to.

And suddenly it hit me, and I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before: Hearing Dogs for the Deaf.

You see, one day, I would like a Hearing Dog. I would like to have that security of knowing that a bundle of fur would alert me if something out of my range was occurring, be it a child crying, an alarm going off, or my neighbour having a shrieking fit about my very existence.

But how can I possibly expect to ask for a Hearing Dog, if I don't support the charity that's responsible for training and caring for these life-changing animals? Quite frankly, I can't.

As a kid, I did loads of fundraising for Hearing Dogs. I went carol singing, I did sponsored silences, which those who know me vouch for is a very tricky thing indeed, and I once even did a sponsored famine.

But then I stopped and now it's time to start again.

So today, I started by sponsoring a puppy – a brown cocker spaniel called Coco, who looks so cute, it left me wishing I could be her owner…

But that puppy called Coco will go to someone who really needs her right now. She'll change their life, she'll be their ears, and what could be better than that?

And as I sit here, in my post-Christmas party hungover state, I can't think of a single thing.

I HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK

*SAD FACE

Deafinitely Girly and the toys I can't hear

Today is a very special day. It's Mini Clog and Northern Boy's fifth birthdays.

The former is Big Bro's son – he should soon be opening a Spiderman costume that I posted to him – and the latter is Head Girl's first little boy.

I still remember the day I got a texts to say they'd both been born. I was in HMV in my lunch hour in Leicester Square and I promptly burst into tears while trying to buy a Goo Goo Dolls album – the till guy was a little disturbed.

I'm not sure quite why I had such an extreme reaction. I guess it just felt so surreal that at 26 I was an aunt and my best friend since i was 11 was now a mum.

Thankfully, I no longer have this extreme reaction to the arrival of my friends' children – and there are quite a few these days. Even better, I'm apparently balanced enough to be godmother to two of them, but I'll never forget the way I felt on that day – a mix of happiness but knowledge that everything was now changing.

Anyway, the countdown is now on for Christmas – the tree is up and looks like an explosion in a tat factory, the poinsettias are out and at some point there will be some mince pie making.

I love Christmas. I love walking down the street peeking through people's windows at night and seeing what they've done for decorations. I love the fact that all the Christmas lights make it so much easier to lipread in the dark, and I love that I get to go toy shopping for the little people in my life. Having a justifiable reason to be in Hamley's is never a bad thing.

As a kid, before I knew that I was deaf, I never really understood a lot of toys – the ones that spoke or beeped or chimed… I thought that half the challenge was guessing what they were doing. I thought the point of the mini keyboard I was given one year was so you could compose tunes without being able to hear them and then hold it up to your ear to play it back and see what you'd created.

One year I got a red walkman and the latest Kylie album and I remember wondering why it had a volume control when I could only hear it on the highest setting, and I also thought Kylie made up the words as she went along, so I did, too – to this day I reckon this helped me get my first at uni in writing poetry!

But what this does mean is that when I'm in Hamley's choosing Christmas presents for the little people in my life, I'm completely oblivious to just how noisy they could end up being…

So apologies to all my friends with children this year. I didn't know I'd bought the noisiest toys in the shop… honest!

A very Thankful Monday

Coo-eeee I'm back!

Last week's silence was due to a rather busy time in my day job, which left me very little spare brain power to blog.

But I have exciting news. I am one step closer to getting broadband, thanks to the helpful peeps at O2.

This means I am one step closer to being able to Skype Big Bro in Holland and SuperCathyFragileMystic in the Wild West Erm... Country.

How amazing is that?

But what's more amazing is the weekend I've just had.

Penthouse Flatmate and First Uni Flatmate came to stay for the weekend bringing with them my goddaughter, Miss D. She's five, and considering I was brought on board to teach her about the fun things in life, I think I'm doing a pretty good job – if you overlook the fact she's going back with a slightly more colorful vocabulary.

Sorry Penthouse Flatmate...

Anyway on the Saturday, after I'd given a guided tour of my flat, which consisted of standing in the hall and pointing at each room off it, we set off to watch The Snowman ballet at the Peacock Theatre.

As the lights went down and the music began, I snuck a look at Miss D, who was sat there, utterly captivated for the entire performance.

And who could blame her – it was truly amazing. A young child's dream scenario and still a great watch for the grown-ups, too.

Quite how a giant snowman melting caused me to tear up, I have no idea, in fact, ahem, I think I just had something in my eye.

Having my flat full of girls and giggling was so fantastic. Seeing London through Miss D's little eyes was so refreshing, and showing Penthouse and Uni Flatmate where I lived made me feel very proud of everything I've achieved.

Then yesterday evening, I went to toast the brilliance of French Boy and wish him Happy Birthday in a local pub. In short, I had a fantastic evening – amongst other things, I learnt how to say Power Shower with a Northern Irish accent. 

Perrrr Sherrrrr...

and I laughed more than I had done in ages.

So today you could say I'm having a very Thankful Monday.

Hope you are, too, peeps.

DG

x

Deafinitey Girly, the broadband and the Mac

Something amazing happened yesterday.

I finally got the point of Skype…

I finally saw the point of broadband…

And I finally realised that I need a new computer – and in an ideal money worry-free world, this would be a Mac Book Pro.

'What?' I hear the people who know me cry. 'Deafinitely Girly might get the internet at home? And hell hasn't frozen over?'

I know, it's mad isn't it. For many years I have resisted this piece of technology because I resent the fact that I have to pay for a phone line I will never use to get broadband, or that if I choose to go with fibre optic without a phone line then the deals aren't that great…

Nose.

Spite.

Face?

That's as maybe, but honestly, if I spend to long thinking about it, I risk combusting with rage.

Anyway, yesterday it turned out that with a combination of a shiny Mac Book, a great broadband speed and Skype, I had the longest, most-coherent chat I've had with Big Bro EVER… lipreading the whole thing.

It was amazing. It was an unbelievable feeling. I now see why other people have this.

I understand it. It's life changing.

It's also expensive. But what I experienced yesterday – the excellence of the picture, the clarity of the sound, the brilliance of the whole thing, made me realise that this is money well spent. This isn't the clichéd £500 a year I could save if I gave up my Pret Latte luxury (I've never bought a latte from Pret in my life), this is an investment worth making proper sacrifices for.

There's just one teeny tiny problem, what comes first? The Mac Book or the internet? If it's the former, then I should be online by this time next year even with a savings plan. If it's the latter, I will be online but without the proper tools to make the most of it.

Chicken or egg? Mac Book or broadband?

I want both of the latter. My neighbour would go mental if I  got the former.

Better get saving eh?

The hear-changing iPad

Ah what a lovely weekend I had at home with the Rents, doing a spot of Christmas shopping, catching up and giving them iLessons, which were necessary after they became the proud owners of an iPhone and iPad!

It all started when Pa decided he wanted an upgrade on his Nokia, so we popped into their local O2 store.

There, he chose a free iPhone 3GS with 300 minutes, unlimited texts and 100mb data for just £18.50 a month.

While the data is not much, the Rents live in the middle of nowhere – luckily with WiFi – so the chances of him actually being able to get reception enough to use any data when out and about is highly unlikely. Plus, if you go over your data allowance with O2, all that simply happens is they slow it down.

Then there was Ma, who's been hankering after an iPad since she could say iPad. But then came the hunt for the one she wanted in white.

Eventually we tracked one down, and reserved it via my iPhone, in Argos and headed there to pick it up.

Ma completely exhausted from all this running around promptly fell asleep on the sofa after arriving home, so I took the iPad, installed the new iTunes on their computer and set it all up for her so when she woke up, she had a fully functioning iPad, complete with a home screen link to this very blog.

But this wasn't really what Ma wanted the iPad for...

Regular readers will know my lovely Ma is going deaf and this has been incredibly hard for her, especially when it comes to keeping in contact with Big Bro in Clogland.

But then on Sunday morning her iPad pinged as she was reading the news on it in bed.

It was FaceTime, and there on the screen was Big Bro and MicroClog wanting to say hello.

Ma was ecstatic at being able to chat to them with such ease.

Then, that evening, the iPad went off again and this time it was MiniClog wanting to say goodnight to Ma.

Then, two minutes later she was Skyping French Cousin 3 and yakking away to him.

When Pa bought Ma this iPad as an early Christmas present, I don't think he realised that what he was actually doing was giving her back a part of her life her deafness had taken away.

The iPad means she can have easy and regular contact with Big Bro and his family again without the struggle of wondering what's being said.

By just having that little bit of a visual clue to help her decipher the words, Ma can hear so much more than if she was on the phone alone. And even better still? It's free.

So what about me? Has this tempted me to get internet at home and buy an iPad?

Honestly? Yes.

Although I would need people to speak quite slowly on Skype or FaceTime so that the lips synced with the voice and I could follow the conversation.

What it has give me though is confidence for the future. Confidence that this way of communicating is only going to get better. That video calls will be the norm and that soon the internet will be so fast, there will be no lipreading delay.

The future is there if you're willing to spend a little bit of extra money.

Thank goodness for MasterCard!

An iPhone noise alert

Yesterday I bought an app called Tap Tap, which alleges to notify you when sounds occur which you cannot hear.

Guess what?

It's rubbish!

I thought it would be a bit of a long shot but seriously it even goes off when I breathe, and even I draw the line about being notified about this.

Take yesterday evening when I tried it out with my microwave timer. It went off every 5 seconds, despite the fact I changed the sensitivity to low, and at one point it even refused to stop vibrating.

My poor iPhone battery didn't know what had hit it.

But wouldn't it be amazing if there was an iPhone app that would notify you of things? Even pre selected things that you could sound record into it so when they went off it recognised it.

I would choose my door buzzer, cooker alarm and carbon monoxide alarm.

To know for sure that these were going off in the form of a little pop up message would be amazing.

I mean, I know you can get pager systems that do this but to have it in the convenience of your phone would be amazing.

Is it possible?

If anyone knows, please let me know.