Deafinitely Girly does DIY

This weekend was a very successful one in the world of DIY in my little flat. 

You see, really, I love DIY – although it doesn't always love me – and since buying a hammer drill on special offer in Robert Dyas earlier this year, I've been constantly on the look out for new holes to drill in my little flat.

So when French Boy gave me some rather fabulous wooden wine boxes from his work, I decided it was time for the drill to come out.

I've had the idea of using wine boxes of shelving for some time – perhaps it's my love of Anthropology's shop set up in Regent Street that inspired me, or just that I've got a lot of junk and junk needs storage.

And here it is, the finished product, up on the wall and looking great – although it's enough to give a spirit level a heart attack, but we shall not talk about that.

 Obviously, once I had done this project, I got brave and put up two mirrors and three pictures, all using my amazing drill. I then spent the whole of yesterday anticipating a massive crash from one of the rooms but nothing happened.

And this morning, it was all still there, hanging on the walls as I had created it on Saturday.

Deafinitely Girly does DIY very successfully it seems.

On to the next project, which I think will involve my bathroom and some rather bright paint.

I'll keep you posted peeps.

DG

x

Thankful Friday is here!

Today is Thankful Friday and unfortunately I may have to start with what I'm not thankful for… and that is that I'm writing this from the bus this morning with a rather soggy sleeve. 

You see, there I was walking down my road for the bus when I felt a thud on my right arm.

It was pigeon crap!

Naturally I wasn't overly thrilled at my All Saints (TK Maxx bargain) mac being covered in crap and for a moment I stood stock still, starting at the gooey gunk on my sleeve.

'What to do?' I thought, already 5 minutes from home and not wanting to add time by going back to change.

And then I remembered I had a bottle of water in my bag. So there, in the road, I tipped it over my arm, using a Robert Dyas receipt to scrape off the excess and trying not to retch at the thought of what I was actually doing.

Marvellous.

Naturally this impromptu washing attempt of my sleeve drew some stares. A man had actually stopped to watch what I was doing.

'Pigeon crap' I explained, and he nodded in sympathy before wandering on.

Eventually after much water sloshing, some of which went down my jeans and boots, my jacket was clean, with a little bit of a blue tinge from the ink of the Robert Dyas receipt. But I can cope with that… I think. 

I just can't cope with pigeon crap.

I guess what I should be thankful for though is that it crapped on my sleeve, not in my hair, and that I actually had a bottle of water in my bag.

And that, coupled with a fabulous weekend in London planned,  makes for a very Thankful Friday indeed.

Have a good one peeps.

DG

x

Not trying to hear

With the possibility of a gorgeous but bias-cut, no-room-for-flaws bridesmaid dress from Ghost being worn at a wedding in September, I decided to get back into some sort of gym routine this week starting yesterday.

I thought I'd break myself in gently with a class called Will Power & Grace. 

Instead, I've just broken myself.

I almost flick-flacked down the stairs of the bus this morning as bending my legs is almost an impossibility. Instead I grasped the handrails and slid down them with my feet out so I didn't have to walk at all – much to the amusement of the other passengers.

And walking, don't even get me started on my attempts at that. I look like a newborn foal, in heels. This morning, I had to jog for the bus and anyone who could lipread would have seen me going 'Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.'

However, the class was excellent – kind of a stretchy, muscle-building yoga/Pilates fusion from what I could gather.

I've always avoided these kind of classes in the past as I cannot hear the instructor, and lip reading from the downward dog pose is not a possibility.

However, yesterday I decided that if I really wanted to succeed and look good at this September wedding then the answer would be not to try and hear and just go with the class using visual clues.

And guess what? It worked. I blocked out the faint, and unintelligible, sound of the instructor's voice and just focused on what I could see. OK, so I might not have been breathing correctly all the time, and in one insane pose, my arms were in the wrong place but the instructor came and corrected me on it – causing me to promptly fall over – and that very brief, but one-to-one instruction boosted my confidence enormously.

Going into things not trying to hear is a new thing for me. In the past, I've always strived and struggled to get as much as I can from situations aurally. But sometimes it's easier just to close down that sense and let the others take over.

When I didn't try to hear yesterday, I got more out of the class than I ever have done – it was amazing how much more I took in visually.

I can't wait for the next class.

Actually scrap that...

I can't wait until I can move enough to be able to do the next class!

My house is a deaf-safe fortress

So yesterday I picked up my new Wi-Safe alarm from my local Tesco store thanks to the Click and Collect service offered on the website.

It was the cheapest I could find online especially as I didn't have to pay a delivery charge.

On getting it home I duly opened it and inserted the battery. The red light flashed. So far, so good.

I tested it. Nothing else flashed in my flat. So far, not good.

Rummaging in my filing cabinet, I hunted for the original instructions to the Wi-safe flasher and vibrating pad the fireman had given me two years ago and eventually I located them.

And it was then I discovered I had to get the two talking to each other.

'You will need two people to configure your alarm and flashing light,' the instructions said.

'Oh well,' I thought, it's a challenge and began.

And actually it is possible to do it with one person, but I can recommend a step ladder and umbrella to make it easier when you're running at speed to test the alarm while the flashing thing is blinking a special sequence of lights...

Eventually though, after much running, umbrella thwacking and alarm beeping, I got it up and running. The strobes flash, the pads vibrate, my home is like a disco. A very bad, and slightly odd, disco.

Last night I slept like a log.

Alarm clock and fire alarm fixed, I was safe in the knowledge that I've done everything in my power to keep me alerted to things.

Coupled with the rubber mallet I 'store' under my bed, my house is a fortress. A strobe-lit flashing, vibrating fortress.

Marvellous.

Not hearing my fire alarm

Yesterday, after getting back from an amazing weekend of bridesmaid dress shopping and hen weekend planning with SuperCathyFragileMystic and AC, I decided to try and sort my flat out a bit – after the madness of last week, general chores had fallen by the wayside.

I did things like window cleaning, hoovering the top of the door frames and testing my smoke alarm...

Now regular readers will know that the London Fire Brigade fitted my smoke alarm after I emailed them about my deafness. It's a snazzy wireless set-up that sees strobes and vibrating pads going nuts should they get the signal.

Thankfully in the 2 years since I've had it, they haven't needed to go nuts. But yesterday I dutifully hoovered it and tested it.

Nothing.

Well nothing visual anyway.

I took it down off the ceiling to see if it was the battery. It has a 10-year non-replaceable battery.

I got the instructions to see what it could be. All the warning signs that it's going wrong are apparently audible. So it could have been pipping its dying final notes with me completely unaware.

I coaxed it, I pressed its buttons, I put it up, I took it down, all while balancing precariously on a ladder that I don't have the greatest track record with.

I got neck ache from staring upwards willing the red light to flash. I gave it five minutes. Heck, I even considered holding a smoking match underneath it, but still nothing. Not a peep, not a flash, not a thunder of the vibrating pad. Nothing.

Worryingly, I'm not sure how long it's not been working for. And I'm not sure if it's still working as a regular beepy fire alarm while just not speaking to it's wi-fi counterparts.

For all I know, during yesterday's tests, it could have been beeping away loudly as my neighbour stuck pins in a Voodoo form of me downstairs.

What I do know is that when it comes to fire, is that I'm not taking any risks. So this morning I'm ordering another alarm –same model but with batteries so I have more things to check when it stops working instead of just looking at a sealed unit wondering what on earth to do.

Oddly, as if in sympathy, this morning my vibrating alarm clock failed to vibrate. Having only just changed the batteries in this one, I'm a bit confused as to what's caused its demise. But tonight, armed with a screwdriver (and a hammer for good measure), I'm going to investigate.

It's at times like these that I really notice my deafness. Really feel more vulnerable in my home and day-to-day life. The things I take for granted to help me wake up on time for work and save my life in a fire are crucial to my piece of mind. And when they stop working, I can't just pop to Argos and invest in a £5.99 value model. I need to order online, fork out money – I don't think it's fair to ask the fire brigade for a second free one – and wait for it to turn up.

I need to spend the next however many nights before the smoke alarm arrives hoping that my neighbour's excessive hallway hoarding doesn't cause a fire. And I need to keep my fingers crossed that my iPhone's vibrating alarm is enough to shake me from my exhausted slumber in time for my day job.

The other day I tweeted that if I had hearing for 24 hours I'd record a song safe in the knowledge that I knew how well or badly I was singing. But actually what I think I'd do is appreciate the little things in life. I'd go to bed, knowing that my £5.99 smoke alarm would beep me awake if need be, I'd lay peacefully in bed in the knowledge that whatever alarm clock I had would wake me and if anything broke it would be cheap to fix.

In the meantime, I'm off to do some internet shopping for some new vibrating, flashing things.

Man, that sounds far more exciting that it actually is, doesn't it peeps.

Have a lovely day.

DG

x

Deafinitely Girly's shopping ban

There comes a point in life sometimes where you have to say 'Enough, I have enough.' and for me, that point came yesterday as I was tidying my flat and wondering where to put everything... namely clothes and shoes.

While I'm not one of those people with wardrobes packed full of things I've never worn, I am one of those people that likes to keep my wardrobe up to date, I like wearing what's in fashion – for example, coloured jeans – but I'm not always very good at stopping at the one pair.

My wardrobe isn't dripping with designer items either. I'll TKMaxx it for labels and happily buy everything else when I see it, wherever that may be and preferably as cheap as possible.

But it's become clear, I have enough.

Further more, the fashions seem to have become cyclical. Anything seems to go. Boots can still be tucked into jeans eight years on, blazers have been happily existing since the early 2000s and the only sad thing in my book is that platform trainers are not fashionable anymore – they're excellent for keeping flares out the rain.

Yesterday I bought a pair of pinky/red skinny jeans which were DKNY, £124.99 and exactly what I'd been looking for. Ouchy yes but I got them for £19.99 in TKMaxx. However, it was as I was cutting four inches off the bottom and hemming them, that I decided that was enough. The coloured jean obsession ended here. The shopping ended here. I was going to enjoy the clothes I had. If there was something I wasn't keen on, it would go to charity and anything that could be altered, updated, mended or recycled would be.

For six months.

Starting tomorrow.

Included in the ban is all clothes – except bras (I'm still searching for the ultimate T-shirt one) – and beauty products. I want to wear, enjoy and use every last thing in my cupboards. To help me in my challenge I am banned from buying magazines – although I will still snaffle the free ones – and have unsubscribed from every single shopping email that comes into my inbox.

What excites me the most about this challenge is the positive impact it's bound to have on my finances. I am not concerned that I will run out of things to wear or stuff to put upon my hair, because thanks to being a Superdrug blogger for two years, for the latter I have rather a lot in reserve.

I am also excited about the space it's going to create. Last night, I collected a load of stuff for charity by asking myself this question, 'Would I choose this over everything else in my wardrobe?' If the answer was no, then it was bagged up.

That's the thing you see, and I'm sure it's the same for many others, I have fashion favourites. When packing for a weekend at the moment it's all about the blue blazer, Gap cotton jumpers and green jeans. I'm neglecting a ton of stuff that's in fashion and right there in my wardrobe because it's easier to grab the stuff on the back of my bedroom chair.

Well, not anymore. From now on, I'm going to try and put together a new outfit every day. I'm going to find things I never knew went well together and I'm going to remind myself that I look good in them...

That's the other thing you see, things that once looked great, stop looking great because of the constant evolution of fashion. I have dresses I know looked great when I got them, but right now, I'm not sure about them because of the length of the hem, the sleeves, the neckline… 

The same with shoes – remember the chunky heel trend of 1999 or the stiletto moment of the mid 2000s?

Thankfully, I've always been a fairly classic shopper so haven't got too many Edina from Ab Fab items lurking, but oh, to have to her confidence at carrying off anything.

And I think that's the final thing I'm hoping to achieve in this six-month challenge. A confidence boost. A reminder that I look nice in the clothes I already own, not the ones I have yet to buy.

I'm hoping with the money I don't spend, I can start to collect savings again. Stop proclaiming my poorness when really all I needed to do was shop less.

And will I write about it? For sure, but not here on the DG homepage... You can find my challenge journey here.

(Deaf) things are getting better (?)

This week is going to be super busy in my day job trying to fit everything in before the long Jubilee weekend...

Four days break. Hurrah!

I'm writing this from a sweltering hot bus. It's 7.30am. And the fact that it's sweltering can only be a good thing in my book.

You see this poor weather is damned if it does and damned if it doesn't at the moment. We need rain, we get a whole month of it and everyone moans. We wish for sunshine and soaring temperatures. We get it and everyone moans.

I kind of think we should search for the positives in the situation such as: I've worn more summer clothes in the past few weeks than I did the whole of last summer.

But that's quite enough about the weather. This morning I want to talk about on-demand TV via iPhones.

The amazing BBC iPlayer offers subtitles on its iPhone app so that even from the comfort of my bed, at times of complete insomnia I can watch a bit of TV and understand what's going on.

So last night I thought I'd download the other channels' apps: ITV, Channel 4 and Channel 5. I was hopeful they too would offer this accessible service. After all, if one can do it, why can't the others?

But it seems the others can't. I searched high and low for a subtitles setting, I checked every crevice of each app and all appeared to have none.

It was very disappointing to delete each app less than 5 minutes after downloading.

But what it made me realise is that recently I've stopped demanding answers for things like this. I've taken a bit of a back seat. Gone are the days of shouting at the BBC for its shocking subtitle efforts – to be fair I rarely need to anymore – and I haven't fired off a stroppy enquiring email for an age.

What's happened?

Well, in all honesty, I got busy. But I also think things have improved quite considerably in the three years I've been moaning/blogging.

For example, not even the computer iPlayer had subtitles back then, there were hardly any subtitled plays and it was a miracle to discover a transcript of an audio guide at museums and galleries.

Nowadays it's as though all that moaning, not just from me but from other brilliant people demanding better deaf services has worked.

So what's your favourite technological improvement as a deaf or hard of hearing person? Do you have a favourite app you can't live without? And what still has room for improvement?

For me, subtitled iPlayer rates pretty high. That, my iPhone lyrics app and being able to see King Lear with subtitles at the Donmar Warehouse. Things I'd like more of are regular subtitled films in the evenings not just at 2.30 on a Tuesday afternoon.

Let me know what you think...

Not hearing my Pa on the phone

This morning I am tired and sofa shaped. And the reason for this is I fell asleep on my sofa and woke up at 4.40am this morning.

Now, this would be all well and good if my sofa was one of those DFS advert ones where people loll around all over them, limbs everywhere.

But my sofa isn't one of them.

It's a very beautiful, pale blue, high-armed 157cm long sofa that means my compact living room still has enough room for erm… living in.

So when I woke up in the first light of dawn, my neck was bent like a giraffe in the womb and my feet were resting on the window sill... and I'm not tall.

Groaning, I staggered to bed, for two hours with a hot water bottle on my neck and now here I am, sat on the bus, primed for a day at the office, with the mobility of a Thunderbird.

Marvellous.

But let's move on we, because today is thankful Friday.

And today, I'm thankful for my Pa.

Yesterday he was in town meeting up with some old friends of his. They're all record experts so went on a sort of shop-crawl around the best CD shops in the capital. (Ma, if you're reading this, I think Pa was just window shopping. There were NO CDs in any of his carrier bags).

Anyway after work I met him for an early supper before he was due to get the train home again. He rang me – something only The Rents do – and told me he was in a Costa on Regent Street.

'I know it' I said and dashed out of work. I arrived at Cafe Nero and rang him. 'Where are you?' I said.

'At the Costa on Regent Street' he said.

Deaf girl fail: 1

'There isn't a Costa on Regents Street,' I replied, barely able to hear him above the racket of the traffic.

'Upper Regent Street' he yelled.

And with a harrumph (sorry Pa) I hung up and strode/navigated/fought my way over Oxford Circus to get to Upper Regent Street.

No Costa.

Harrumph.

I rang him.

'There's no Costa on Upper Regent Street either,' I whined.

'It's opposite Miss Selfridge' he yelled.

'Miss Selfridge is on Oxford Street,' I pointed out. 'Are you in a Twighlight Zone, Pa?' I asked helpfully.

It turned out he wasn't. He was in fact in Great Portland Street, the next road along...

Pa fail: 1

So after eventually meeting up I took him for tea at Mother Mash in Ganton Street. It's a marvellous place... although I do wish they'd serve their sausages a bit crispier. We chatted and caught up and he gave me a present he'd got me that day – a mug with a very early London Tube Map on it, which as I am a bit of a Tube geek, I absolutely loved.

Pa is an excellent present buyer.

But what I was thankful for was my Pa's incredible patience with me shouting at him because I hadn't heard him on the phone. He took it all in his stride. He didn't once get mad at me and when we met up, my grumpiness wasn't even mentioned.

Pa is one of the most tolerant people of my deaf rants. He puts up with my impatience, my strops and my tantrums with a cool efficiency that is most impressive.

Although next time, I'm going to make him text me and perhaps send me a photo of where he is…

That way there will be no yelling.

And just for the record, THERE IS NO COSTA ON REGENT STREET…

Deafinitely Girly and the terrible din

Last night I got in rather late from London Aunt's. We were having a great old catch up that didn't end until the early hours of this morning. So when I arrived back at my flat, I tiptoed in so as not to disturb my neighbour.

But what a wasted effort that was because at 4am this morning, I was awoken by what I can only describe as a terrible din. It was the sound of someone trying to play the steel drums on the big metal industrial waste bins that belong to the pub on my road.

These giant tin cans on wheels normally only make a noise on bin days at 6am when wheeled and hurled into the waiting lorry, but last night they really let rip.

Astonished by the sheer volume of noise coming from outside, I got out of bed and peeked through the blinds and sure enough, there was a swaying, rucksack-adorned man wielding what looked like a Sigg Bottle and smacking the hell out of the bins.

It was quite a sight.

Eventually however, he seemed to give up and stumbled on his way down my road.

And did this make me mad? Did this make me shake my fist at him and grumble about my already short sleep becoming shorter? 

Well no not really. You see there are two silver linings to this event. The first is that I will never tire of being awoken by sound because it is one of my greatest fears not to be woken by sound. Being woken by sound is confirmation that my ears do still work even if it's only a little bit.

And the second silver lining? Well rather meanly I could pretty much guarantee that downstairs my neighbour would be doing her nut. She would be doing her nut at being woken up, doing her nut at the noise, doing her nut in panic that there was possibly a drunken psycho outside and I had a left the gate – which is held on my a dangling screw – open, and perhaps the best one of all, doing her nut that she couldn't blame it on me.

Ha!

It wasn't me.

Although, it did look kind of fun.

I may just invest in a Sigg Bottle at lunchtime.

Teehee

Deafinitely Girly and the Cath Kidston umbrella

Last Saturday I bought myself a Cath Kidston umbrella like this

It is a thing of beauty and, as its Fulton, it's pretty good quality, too. None of this blowing inside out malarkey and, even better, I can pull it down right over my shoulders and peer out between the flowers.

In short, I LOVE this umbrella.

As you can imagine, in the recent weather it's come in very handy, too. Every day I've been proudly walking through the streets of London under the safe embrace of my flowery shelter, and every day I've thought, 'I'm so glad I own this umbrella. So so glad.'

So as you can see, I really really love this umbrella.

Then yesterday, just before leaving work to go and vote, I proudly showed it to my boss. And then, I jumped on my first bus that takes me home.

On this bus, I proudly hooked my umbrella on the rail in front of my seat. 'Must not forget my umbrella,' I said to myself.

On changing buses I went upstairs and sat on the top deck. But something was missing, and if it wasn't my umbrella then I'd be a pretty crap story teller wouldn't I?

The bus with my umbrella hurtled by. I hurtled down the stairs of my bus and boldly asked the driver to 'FOLLOW THAT BUS!' She was more than happy to oblige as her route took her the same way, for about one more mile.

But then, disaster struck. A STUPID tourist got on my bus. He sat his entire family down and then got off again to buy tickets from the machine.

I watched my umbrella slowly slip away out of running reach. I tried to resist the urge to scream at the tourist. I tried not to cry.

The bus driver then stepped on it and we hurtled up Regents Street in hot pursuit. By Oxford Circus, after a collection of sinister red lights, I'd given up hope. But then, on turning into Oxford Street I decided the only thing to do was run, run after that damn bus.

So that is what I did. I threw my handbag over my shoulder, apologised to my heel-encased feet and legged it as fast as I could, dodging the BLOODY tourists who were intent on wandering at a snail's pace in the middle of the pavement.

By Bond Street I could see the bus in the distance. I pressed on.

By Selfridges, I could see it at a bus stop. It was so close my heart was almost breaking. My lungs felt like they were going to explode, my big toes were dislocating, but still I pressed on.

And then? A miracle happened. A red light held the bus with my umbrella on it just after the bus stop. I ran level with it and it started to move. I mouthed frantically as I spied my umbrella… the people on the bus were staring.

Finally, I got level with the bus doors and banged on them. The bus driver ignored me until I did the most impressive sign language of 'I'VE FORGOTTEN MY UMBRELLA' and with a smile he let me on.

I could have kissed him!

Staggering onto the bus, barely able to breathe, I grabbed my wayward umbrella and a little cheer went up as the passengers realised what had happened. I then stepped straight off that bus, gasping for air, into a crowd of commuters who were waiting for my original bus. When they heard my story they congratulated me and patted me on the back, laughing.

I tried to laugh but it came out as a rather strangulated wheeze.

But I didn't care, I had my umbrella back.

As I slid into my bus seat, I reflected on both my journey and that of my umbrella and drew the following conclusions:

I can run in heels

When motivated by my love of Cath Kidston, I can run fast.

Not all bus drivers are bastards.

The congestion in central London – the one that holds up buses – is not so bad after all.

And what a fitting tale for a very thankful Friday.

Have a good one peeps.

DG x

Today, Deafinitely Girly is 4 years old

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to Deafinitely Girly, Happy Birthday tooooo-oooooooo me!

That's right - today is a very important day. It is the fourth birthday of Deafinitelygirly.com. The fourth year that I've been writing about being deaf in the city and having fun.

And what a four years it has been. There's been love, there's been heartbreak, there's been an awful lot of growing up - I bought a flat for heaven's sake  - and there's been a rather unfortunate hospital stay, which happened smack bang in the middle of it all and it's all recorded here, on this blog.

One of the things I love about this blog, is that it serves as a wonderful memoir for me to look back over, so see the introduction of new people, with new blog names, new jobs, new loves, new gyms, new everything.

For this trip down memory lane, I've included nice clickity clicky links so you can take a stroll with me, back to the days when...

I lived with Shakira Shakira. Boy, did we party hard, with sometimes hilarious results.

But as well as partying, I did try to be cultured too but not always successfully, as I discovered.

While other times it was a resounding success.

I learnt foreign languages.

I won competitions.

I took up running but quickly gave it up and joined a gym. But was told I needed a doctor's note to attend because of my deafness.

I got all emotional.

I continued to be a whirlwind in my little kitchen.

I made a few wedding cakes.

I accidentally went dating.

I learnt to tap dance… Kinda.

I finally got broadband.

And lots, lots more.

Looking back, it's amazing. Amazing to read about everything I've done. The friends who've got married, had babies, asked me to be bridesmaid, wedding cake maker, godmother. There's Big Bro who now has a whole family of Clogs. There's the Rents who never cease to amaze me.

And there's you guys - my fabulous readers. The ones who hit on me daily, even though recently, I've been more than a little quiet.

It's hard to believe that Deafinitelygirly.com was born one day over a brainstorming dinner with NikNak after a job interview where I was challenged to write my perfect column. In the year before that job interview, I'd had almost continuous writer's block, but it was as though the floodgates opened and everything came tumbling out.

Deafinitely Girly has been my therapy. She's enabled me to have tantrums, to shout about the frustrations I feel about my deafness, the sadness I feel about the uncertainty that I may somehow be missing out and then the elation I feel when I work through all the crap and realise that life's pretty damn good.

Deafinitely Girly's moved with the times, too. I'm on Twitter, where I'm far more vocal than I am on here these days.

But that doesn't mean I'm going anywhere. The posts will still happen, just not with the alarming frequency of the early days.

And while the lack of blogging may mean I'm busier than I used to be, it also means that just perhaps the blog worked. The home-made therapy worked. Do you know, when I first moved to London, every day I remembered I was deaf. It got in the way of things, tired me out, chewed me up and spat me out.

Writing Deafinitely Girly has allowed me to regain some of that emotional control over my disability.

The tough days occur less and less and my deafness has simply become a part of me. A part of me I wear with pride.

I'm deaf and girly.

I'm Deafinitely Girly.

And it's my fourth birthday.

Now, where's my cake?

Deaf Girl gets shut in a closed shop

I've been having a fantastically relaxing Easter break with The Rents, recovering from my cold, getting loads of sleep, eating the obligatory chocolate for breakfast on Easter Day.

Ma and I have also been having a bit of fun doing some shopping in some fabulous shops that simply don't exist in the Big Smoke. Now I know I'm going on a summer holiday, I wanted to get a new bikini so she took me to this massive shop down the road from their house and we had a great time trying everything on.

Halfway through our trying-on session, I realised that the music had stopped. Odd I thought, but then thought nothing more of it. I could also hear very faintly, the tinny tannoy going off every now and again, but as Ma is catching me up in the deaf stakes these days, neither of us had a clue what was being said.

So we carried on, until it got so quiet that I realised that the store was probably closing early - it was Good Friday after all - so I hurried Ma and we rushed out of the changing room into a closed store.

*cringe

It was so embarrassing. And the staff were kind of shocked to see us, too. And a little bit cross.

As we paid at a till they had to reopen, I asked the till girl if announcements had been made about the store closing two hours earlier than the time advertised on the door. 'Yes,' she replied… there had apparently been loads.

Keen to let her know we were not just disobedient shoppers, I explained that my Ma and I were deaf and she smiled politely/awkwardly/vaguely so I left it at that and we legged it from the store.

But this experience hit a bit of a raw nerve with me. As a child when I was going deaf and didn't know it, I would often get left places as I didn't hear the calls to leave. I would come downstairs in the house and not be able to find anyone as I hadn't heard their calls that they would be in the garden, or I would be on a school trip and the rest of the group would move on and I'd still be stood there engrossed in whatever we had been looking at.

As an adult, this experience transferred to sitting on buses that had already terminated, waiting at the doors of a train carriage that didn't open due to a short platform because I hadn't heard the announcement, and at my last job, turning around at work to find the whole building in the process of a fire evacuation and no one had thought to tell me.

It's embarrassing and sometimes downright scary and, while walking into a shut shop from the changing room might not bother most people, it made me feel incredibly stupid. It's why I always check the opening hours of store before I go in, I hate that feeling of announcements being made and me not realising what's going on until someone actually tells me, because when they tell me, they're not going to know they're telling a deaf person, in their mind they're telling a person who is holding them up from getting home for the evening.

Of course there's nothing I can really do about this, and the incident in my Ma's local shop is almost forgotten…almost. Think I might buy my next bikini online though, or first thing in the morning… just in case.

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?