The end of NHS hearing aids?

This morning, as I was trying to stop a snoring woman on the bus from dribbling on my shoulder, I saw a tweet from @ActionOnHearing saying:

Help us keep hearing aids free on the NHS by joining our online protest!

and I was immediately filled with horror that such a service might be cut. First I responded, tweeting:

@ActionOnHearing if hearing aids weren't free I wouldn't be
wearing them right now. It's an amazing privilege

Then I started to research the story more. And, with the help of Action On Hearing Loss, here's what I found out: 

• The cuts are proposed for North Staffordshire by the North Staffordshire Clinical Commissioning Group (CCG). 
• They would affect adults who are considered to have a mild to moderate age-related hearing loss – known as presbyacusis.
• NHS hearing tests will still be free for these people.
• People who already have hearing aids will not have them taken away.
• If a person's hearing loss deteriorates further, they will become eligible for hearing aids.
• The savings will be around £1.2 million.

I do not have an age-related hearing loss. I have a severe to profound hearing loss. I do not live in North Staffordshire. This does not affect me.

And yet, it does.

Because hearing loss – whether mild, moderate or severe – can change people's lives forever. Especially if they've spent most of their adult lives being able to hear.

A couple of years ago, I wrote quite a few blogs about my Ma. She was losing her hearing (in part, age related) and struggling enormously to come to terms with it. But it wasn't just that. She was struggling to function in a world that suddenly seemed unfamiliar.

She was given hearing aids on the NHS and I watched her go through the same process of frustration and hatred for them that my 10-year-old self had gone through. You see, not all hearing aids help all people.

According to an Action On Hearing Aid fact sheet, private hearing aids cost between £300 and £3,000. 

As a deaf person I am on my seventh pair of hearing aids. In the 20 years that I have had hearings aids, these are the only pair that have helped me. That I have worn. The rest have lived in drawers, coat pockets and handbags and have eventually been returned to my audiologist, except for one pair, which may have ended up down the loo. 

*whistles innocently

So if people like my Ma are asked to stump up the cash to buy their hearing aids, how do they know that the pair they are spending up to £3,000 on will actually help? Is there a try- before-you-buy service? Is there a satisfaction guarantee? 

I understand that the NHS cannot fund the entire country's healthcare needs. I understand that postcode lotteries cannot be prevented and that sometimes the people in charge of the money have to say, 'You know what? Your needs are not as important as that person's needs.' But if you are the person they are saying that to, and you're isolated by hearing loss, it will probably feel very unfair.

And I don't know what the answer is.

What I do know is that, if the cuts do happen, there's a good chance that people with age-related hearing losses are going to stay that way. In fact. the website Patient.co.uk goes as far as to say:

'Untreated presbyacusis leads to social isolation, and depression, and
may cause or worsen cognitive impairment and dementia.'

And you have to wonder about the financial implications of that...

As a deaf person I feel incredibly isolated sometimes. I feel incredibly stupid sometimes too, when I mishear, mispronounce or misunderstand.

My hearing aids help prevent more of that than I probably realise.

I also feel incredibly lucky to be sat here wearing my Phonak Nathos hearing aids with Sound Recover. The hearing aids that have given me back sounds like phone ring tones, cats meowing, London Aunt's doorbell and the very smallest hint of office chitchat. They are absolutely the best hearing aids I could have. Or at least they were when I got them nearly two years ago. And I love them.

Maybe there are other solutions. Perhaps, if cuts are really unavoidable, NHS hearing aids for age-related hearing loss could be leased for a small (manageable and interest-free) monthly payment. Perhaps they could be like a mobile phone contract. And actually, hearing aids are not the only thing that helps age-related hearing loss. But is there is funding to explore the other options listed in this article on Patient.co.uk?
 
But my fear is, what if the cuts don't stop there? What is the future of free hearing aids?

If I had to stump up £3,000 for my hearing aids, would I bother? Or would I make do?

Would I go back to no cats, no ringtones, no doorbells and not a hint of office chitchat?

And the sad thing is, I probably would.

I will always try and support any campaigns about free hearing aids. But I also want to know, if free hearing aids are saved, what will be cut instead? Who will lose out to make the neccessary savings?

When I find out, I'll let you know.

DGx

Deaf Girly and Visually Impaired Lady

Yesterday, as I was rushing home to do my other job – au pairing – thinking about the sausage and mash I was cooking for tea and the fact I needed to buy potatoes, I found myself navigating the most insane roadworks outside the tube station. The pavement had been completely dug up and the usual open-plan exit that led to the main road was a thin windy pathway crammed with rush-hour travellers.

As I navigated the chaos, someone caught my eye. A lady – probably in her seventies – with a white stick, struggling to work out the lay of the land. She was walking forward, the way the pavement used to go but kept encountering the barriers that the workmen had put up. People walked on by, oblivious.

I stopped and assessed the situation, double checked she was visually impaired and then walked up to her and said 'Are you trying to get somewhere?'

'Of course I'm trying to get somewhere,' she replied, a bit frostily, or maybe stressed out from what was going on.

And so I introduced myself and explained to her that the road had been dug up and the pavement configuration changed and asked if she'd like me to walk with her a while.

She graciously accepted.

So I offered her my arm. And she took my hand and we walked together. Me navigating the crowds. Trying to protect her from the people walking into her, oblivious of her white stick. Oblivious of the situation.

I got her across the road. She continued to hold my hand. I asked where she was going. It was about 10 minutes walk from the station. I asked if she wanted company as I was walking that way anyway (I wasn't – I was meant to be in Tesco, buying potatoes) and she seemed thrilled at the idea.

So we walked and talked. She told me she was a dancer. That she'd travelled the world dancing. As people continued to bash into us, she mentioned that this was probably better than Oxford Street right now and how she hadn't seen it in years. So I used my photographic memory to describe to her the new development down the Marble Arch end. The glass buildings, the new shops. How smart it all looks. She seemed over the moon. She spoke about the glass buildings in Berlin and said how amazing they were.

I asked her if she had danced in Berlin. She had.

Amazing, huh?

I'm so glad that yesterday when I saw her outside the tube, I had the confidence to ask her if she was OK. Even if I did ask it in a stupid way. I am pleased that I managed to drag all my visually impaired awareness out of the depths of my brain to try and do the right thing. And I hope I made a difference.

Last week, someone did something very similar for me.

I was sat in my local hospital's outpatients department waiting for a check-up on my Crohn's. It was hot. It was busy. And the nurses were charging around stressed. Twenty minutes after my appointment should have been, and five minutes after I wondered if a nurse had mispronounced my name, I stopped a nurse and told her that I was deaf and wouldn't hear my name called if heard.

She rolled her eyes at me and said 'I will come and get you if you are called' and then stalked off.

'But you didn't ask my name…' I said, to her back, feeling tears of frustration welling up.

And then I felt a hand on my arm. It was the lady beside me. 'Tell me your name and I will tell you,' she said, slowly and clearly but in the most unpatronising way.

And that's what she did. And I could have hugged her.

She took all the stress of waiting in that hot, crowded waiting room around.

She stopped me feeling so alone.

It's amazing how one person can make such a difference when you're struggling. Can make everything seem so much better.

What the visually impaired lady I met yesterday doesn't know is, that's exactly what she did for me, too.

Deaf Girly and the Freedom Pass

Last night I stayed at Fab Friend's house after dinner and a catch up. She lives in Zone 3 and her local station is on a train line into London.

So this morning I joined the swathes of commuters coming into London at her station and tapped my Freedom Pass on the Oyster Reader.

'Seek assistance' it told me as 20,000 commuters slammed into the back of me as a result of the ticket gate not opening.

'Erm?' I thought, backed up and tried again.

The same thing happened.

I tried once more and then my Freedom Pass slipped out of my hand and fell down the tiny gap between the two barriers.

In order to get it I had to kneel down and contort my shoulder to reach through the narrow opening. Then I had to pat around in the general detritus (*beams at being able to use this word) until my fingers felt the smooth plastic of the card, and a lot of other things I don't want to think about, on the way.

Flustered, I got up and turned around to see a sea of faces all looking cross at being held up by a blonde girl grovelling around on her hands and knees, and walked off to speak to someone in the ticket office. Cheeks burning with embarrassment.

'Not valid at this time of the morning' the ticket man told me. Or at least that's what I think he said from behind the glass of the ticket booth.

'Erm?' I thought and stomped off to the ticket machine where I tried to purchase a ticket using my Disabled Rail Card. But it wouldn't let me do that either.

Neither were valid in the morning. Before 9.30am, which is one hour after I start work.

But what I want to know is WHY NOT?

Why can't I use my Freedom Pass to travel on any form of transport within Zones 1 and 6 in London at any time?

I'm not saying that I should necessarily have that right. But I just want to know why I can't.

A quick Google found this blog post here about it and these views were shared by many of the responses to my tweets this morning.

But I still want more answers. So I have emailed various train and transport people in the hope of finding out. And I will keep you posted on what I find out.

In the meantime, I would like to apologise to all the people who most probably missed their train this morning when I held them all up at the ticket barrier. Particularly the cross-looking man who looked like he wanted to manhandle me out of the station and make me stay there to think about the consequences of my actions. Actually not him. He was just mean and rude. But to the rest of them...

I am sorry. It will never happen again. From now on, I'm sticking to tubes (when I have to) and buses… and I'm driving to Zone 3.

Deaf Girly and subtitled iPlayer programmes

I haven't blogged in ages.

I've been quite busy doing other writing and of course I now have a full-time day job again, but this is most definitely blog worthy.

Last night, while lying in bed unable to sleep, I picked up my iPad and had a quick browse through the App store to see what new and exciting apps were available.

There were none I fancied downloading but I did have a look through the app updates available and one of them was for the iPlayer.

I tapped the arrow to see what the app update included and found myself beaming.

You can now download and watch content offline, with subtitles…

FINALLY!

Now, I'm rubbish at updating my apps so this could have been available for quite some time. But it's news to me.

Very welcome news.

When catch-up, on demand and streaming first became available there were no subtitles. I remember when the original iPlayer on the computer didn't have subtitles. And being completely furious and blogging about it regularly.

Then that got subtitles and the app came out. Which didn't. So I complained. Then that got subtitles and the offline downloadable programmes didn't. So I complained.

And now… WELL I HAVE NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT ANYMORE…

*beams

All this subtitling development has opened up a whole new world of viewing to me. I am halfway through a Netflix free month trial and everything I have wanted to watch so far is subtitled.

Amazing huh?

Sure, there's still things that aren't subtitled. Such as MOST FILMS AT THE CINEMA, MOST OF THE TIME. Virgin Media on demand and movies aren't either. Or they weren't when I checked a few weeks ago.

And I don't think many of the other apps for catch up TV – except for Channel 5 – offer subtitles when viewed on phones or tablets…

But things are getting better.

When I think back to my childhood. To my caption reader, with all its complicated cables. The essential sleepover item if I was going to friends' houses – not exactly conducive to light packing.

Things are so much better.

Which makes me very excited about what is still to come.

Subtitled radio? Personal captions for all films and theatre?

Captioned phone calls without any extra technology?

If any of these things are already available let me know.

In the meantime, I must get back to watching Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas, which was on BBC Four last night but I didn't see it.

Instead I have it

DOWNLOADED.

OFFLINE.

WITH SUBTITLES.

On my iPad.

*beams

Deaf Girl's mispronunciation

This morning I read a news article in The Guardian about common words the people pronounce wrong and it I was genuinely surprised that not one of the words on the list was on my list of things I get wrong.

Things like espresso, prescription and etcetera – all of which I say correctly.

It reminded me of the time I went to the pub quiz with Friend Who Knows Big Words and the guy holding it couldn't pronounce 'pronunciation' correctly and eventually FWKBW had to step in and correct him to prevent herself from smashing something in rage.

But there are words I can't get right.

Things like 'alt' that button on the computer keyboard. Should be alt like alternative, right? Not according to me.

When I was little I discovered that envelope was another word for wrap up and used it with glee – saying it the same way as the stationery until someone corrected me.

Then there was the Versailles and Marseilles debacle – read all about that here – which reminds me I don't know how to pronounce debacle either.

As a child I couldn't pronounce sausages, because it's quite hard to lipread. I couldn't pronounce schizophrenic either and once spent a whole weekend practising this – much to the rents' alarm.

But the thing is, when I do pronounce something wrong, I blush a furious red shade and feel rubbish. I can't help it. It's an immediate reaction.

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to get braver and learn more words I can't pronounce. I'm going to ask for help in saying words I am not sure about starting with:

Debacle
Ricin
Tortilla

Phonetic answers on a postcard please and look out for the deaf blonde girl wandering around repeating debacle, ricin, tortilla over and over to herself, with few schizophrenias and Versailles thrown in, too.

Deaf Girly and HSBC fraud squad

There is one voicemail I dread more than any other being left on my phone. It is the voicemail I get at seemingly regular intervals from the ever-vigilant HSBC Fraud Squad, urging me to call them back as soon as possible and making me panic that someone has spent £2000 on carpets in the Dominican Republic in the middle of hurricane season there.

Yes, this actually did happen on my card once.

So anyway, driving down the motorway today, my phone started to ring, disturbing the very loud playing of my music and, as I was driving, I ignored the call. A few minutes later, a voicemail alert popped up and, on arrival back in London I had a listen to it, playing it through my wireless speaker on full volume so I could try and catch the odd word.

And the odd word was FRAUD.

*gulp

So I rang them back. I misheard every single thing the man on the other end of the phone said to me. I explained my deafness. I explained that he didn't need to shout, that he just needed to speak slowly and clearly. He did neither and then asked me slowly and clearly if I had heard what he just said.

I said, no I hadn't but if he said it again, slowly and clearly, I would do my best.

So he sped up again and rabbited on about my past transactions in the hope that I'd confirm I'd spent the following money and he could go back to doing whatever he was doing before he got the girl who understood nothing on the other end of the phone.

I heard PayPal (Ma, if you're reading this, I am absolutely NOT addicted to eBay) and then I couldn't make out anything else he said.

We hit a stalemate. Me not hearing and him not altering the way he was saying it to help me hear better. Until he eventually yelled, 'CAR HIRE. HAVE YOU BOUGHT CAR HIRE?' And hurrah, I understood him.

And you see, I have indeed bought car hire. For skiing. Later this month. And because I am a moron and forgot to check with Big Bro about Geneva car hire and whether you should get it from the French or Swiss side, I got it from the wrong side so had to cancel and rebook the car. So in the space of half an hour money was flying on and off my credit card quicker than a panic buyer at a Mulberry sample sale.

'YES!' I yelled back, joyfully. 'I did hire a car. TWICE and then I cancelled one. And then I went to Sainsbury's and bought lunch on my credit card, which only cost £3.50, which I know is a ridiculous amount to put on a credit card, but that's the other payment.'

But it turns out that's not really what HSBC Fraud Squad are bothered about and happy that I was the actual idiot who was buying multiple car hire on my credit card and it wasn't some criminal, he hung up on me.

Until next time that is...

*cuts up credit card*

The not-hearing person in the room

I'm a chatterbox.

I love everything about interacting with people. The chitchat and the jokes, the way you slowly get to know people through snippets of conversation.

And most of the time I am happy with my version of that. My version, which is much more one-to-one than group, which is much more engineered and controlled by me, which is much more saying 'What was that?' to a trusted person so they can relay what I have missed to me and make me feel a part of what is going on.

But the thing is, sometimes this really bothers me.

I can sit in a room full of people and they're all chatting, catching up, learning about each other, getting to know one another in the way you do when you spend eight hours a day with each other, and I am not a part of that. Not without looking up, stopping the conversation, asking for someone to tell me what's going on. And of course, people are always happy to do this. But I just wish they didn't have to.

There are lots of things I don't mind about my deafness. I don't mind not hearing babies crying or police sirens and fire alarms. I don't even mind that much that I cannot make phone calls to British Gas.

But what I do mind is that sometimes it seems that I don't belong in a room full of people. Like it looks that I don't make the effort to get to know people. Because I cannot get to know people in the usual way.

It means that a conversation with me often goes one of two ways. Either it's all about me so that I can control the subject matter and guess what's being said. Or it's me firing questions at someone. Neither convential ways of building friendships.

One of my Twitter followers once said to me that if you're deaf, people will always tell you if the building is burning down but they won't tell you their secrets. And I get what she meant. Except it's not the secrets I want. It's the mundane facts about other people. What they're cooking for tea, what they're having for lunch and what this song on the radio – which I cannot hear by the way – means to them.

Wonder if I could get a voice-activated live subtitling screen here?

That'd help wouldn't it?

And until then, get ready for DG's 20 Questions – because that's all I've got for now.

DG
x

Deaf Girly's deaf day

Since I got my hearing aids, I rarely have days where I am constantly reminded of my deafness... but today, so far, has been one of them.

This morning I slept through my alarm – in the night I had somehow switched it from vibrate to beep and the beep went on... and on... and on... without me knowing it was going until the cat eventually came and stomped on my head to get me to shut it up.

On the tube there were delays and a lot of stopping and starting. In my head I knew it was red signals and the ancient trundling trains struggling to get in sync for the day, but my ears provided no reassurance of this as I failed to pick up even a little bit of what the tube driver was saying over the tannoy.

I arrived in town and headed into a supermarket to buy some fruit and breakfast. Wandering around the shop in a sleepy daze I headed to the self service till so that I wouldn't have to hear what the cashier was saying, but instead a shop assistant grabbed my stuff and put it by the till, saying something to me I couldn't hear. She repeated it again and then a third time until eventually she just pushed me out the shop. It was then I realised, looking at everyone else leaving the shop and the fire engine that was arriving that there was clearly a fire alarm that I hadn't heard.

I was so embarrassed I wanted to cry.

It wasn't the usual hilarious mishearing mishap I usually have. It was just incredibly mortifying.

Today is a hair up and glasses day – decided by the fact that I slept through my alarm clock. As I stepped into the mirrored lift, I caught sight of my hearing aids struggling for space alongside my glasses behind my ears and wanted to cry.

And then I got a grip – after all, there's a lot worse things in life than not hearing a fire alarm – such as no one telling you there's a fire alarm. There's a lot worse things than not hearing the tube driver – I believe that even hearing peeps struggle with that. And as for my alarm clock – well, if a hearing person sleeps through their alarm, they don't really have the amazing fabulous excuse that I have.

After all, you can't really argue with deafness.

Happy Monday peeps.

DG
x

Deaf Girly's Friday fall

Well, it's Friday, which is always the day where I have a quick think about all the things I am thankful for and this morning, getting eight hours sleep was top of the list.

The morning started well. I made coffee, I showered, I got ready for the day ahead, which meant firing up my laptop and answering emails. And then I went down to get my breakfast – 2 pears and a mug of black coffee.

In the kitchen was a man from a kitchen company measuring and planning London Aunt's kitchen as she's thinking of having it redone.

'Hello,' I said, introducing myself, 'Are you the man from XX Kitchens?'

'Erm, no,  I'm from the XX Kitchens,' ,' he replied, naming a competitor.

*blushes

Silenced by my slip-up, he tried to make conversation, which I couldn't hear as he was facing the away from me and had no idea I was deaf. It was a bit of a car crash as I misheard him over and over again. I was also probably coming across as a bit distracted, too. Which on reflection I was, as in my head I was mentally plotting my quick escape.

I hurriedly washed the pears under the tap, cut the tops of them and whacked them on a plate. I filled my giant Starbucks mug with coffee and I bid him farewell as I walked up the two steps that lead out of London Aunt's kitchen, looking back to lipread his reply.

And then CRASH! I fell over. Foiled by the second step.

In the absence of a free hand to put down, I face planted the floor. The contents of my giant Starbucks mug of coffee went airborne and my two pears were catapulted in different directions. One actually went flying through the air, coming to a rest at the feet of the kitchen man who by now was probably planning how he could get the hell out of there, too.

He said something. I have no idea what it was. He picked up my pears. Lets not dwell on that euphemism and, after mopping up the vat of spilt coffee and nursing my scalded hand, I made a run for it to an upstairs room where I am currently hiding. Typing this blog. With Homes Under The Hammer on in the background.

The pears were bruised and one was poached in hot coffee. I wouldn't recommend it.

So what am I thankful for on this Friday? Well I guess that things actually happen to me. After all it would be a terribly dull life if nothing eventful EVER happened wouldn't it?

So with my slightly burnt hand, my coffee poached pear and my bruised ego, I bid you a very happy weekend peeps.

DG
x

Tracking my deafness

Since the moment I found out I was deaf, aged 10, I have always tracked my hearing loss by what I heard yesterday, last week, last month and least year. Sometimes the results are heartbreaking.

When I was 10, I could still hear the phone ring and on occasions the cat meowing. By 16, I could hear neither. At 12, I could still listen to The Archers (I was a very hip and trendy kid you know) and watch some TV without subtitles, by 16, I could do neither. From 16 to 18 I watched sound slide out of my reach in the most alarming manner. My flute became largely silent, and I was left with no choice but to give up my violin.

When I got my posh car in 2005 with a radio that worked without the need to keep a wooden stick on the passenger seat to bash it with, I could hear it on volume 23. By 2012 I needed volume 40-something and drive through the streets of west London like the deaf granny in the Specsavers hearing aid advert.

And then I got hearing aids, which gave me sound back like never before.

Post hearing aids, I have gradually been adding to the list of things I can hear.

Cats meowing: tick

Telephones ringing: yup, some of these, but not all.

The burglar alarm: NOPE, I STILL CAN'T HEAR THIS, AND HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO HAPPILY WANDER AROUND THE HOUSE WITH IT GOING OFF WHILE EVERYONE ELSE GOES MENTAL

The doorbell: yup, can hear this.

So recently, I was surprised when this Things-I-can-hear-with-my-hearing-aids list started to change again.

The cat meowing: Not always, much to her annoyance.

The doorbell: Not always, much to everyone else's annoyance.

Telephones ringing: If I hold them up to my ears, which is not really the most practical thing to do and gets weird looks from people if you're out and about.

So what's changed? Is it my ears? My hearing aids? Or that thing GPs always claimed caused my deafness before looking inside my ears and realising it didn't: WAX...

I'm not sure which one to check first...

Any advice peeps?

Love deafer DG
xx

DG's thankful Friday

The other day when I was in the dry cleaners, absolutely not dropping in a Burberry mac I got for a bargain price on eBay because I absolutely do not need another coat (*whistles innocently), I read a thought for the day on the counter that made me stop and think.

I'd had a trying week. The usual neighbour dramas, unhappy tenants, general shit piling on top of me and apart from the Burberry coat (because I really needed another coat), I was feeling a little bit down in the dumps. Until I read the following:

If you're feeling down about everything in your life and can't see the positives, just imagine how you'd feel if everything in your life was taken away. All of it. Then imagine how you'd feel if you got the whole lot back.

And that told me.

Because really, apart from a neighbour with issues, who is really not my problem, I should really be bloomin' thankful for everything in my life.

At the end of last year, I made the decision to change my life quite a bit. And that decision has opened up some amazing doors that I never expected to open.

At the end of last year, I decided to write and see what happened. That is exactly what I am doing.

At the end of last year, I decided that I would say yes to things I might have otherwise said no to and see what happened. That is exactly what I am doing.

And at the end of last year, I made a promise to myself that 2014 would be different. And that, it certainly is.

So you see, on this Thankful Friday, I guess I am thankful for that Burberry coat that took me to that dry cleaners where I read that thought for the day that kicked me into check in the 2nd week of January and reminded me of what it's all about.

I am thankful to the amazing people who are making this amazing year possible.

And I am thankful to Deafinitely Girly. As she's the reason I'm sat here right now.

Have a fab weekend peeps.

DG
x

No blog name needed

Sometimes it's the easiest thing in the world to find a blog name for a person I want to write about. Since I started this blog, I've had to think up quite a few names. For people who're always in my life such as The Rents, Big Bro, SuperCathyFragileMystic, Fab Friend, The Singing Swede and Friend Who Knows Big Words to more fleeting visitors who get their blog names and lose them again just as quickly.

But tonight as I write this blog post, I realise that I don't have a blog name for someone who, when I was growing up was a massive part of my life. Someone who, until Friday, I couldn't quite imagine not being here.

And then on Friday she died. And I don't have a blog name for her.

So who was she?

Well, she was one of my ma's first work colleagues. They taught together and she knew both me and and Big Bro from the moment we first arrived in the world.

She lived down the road and drove a Morris Traveller that she still has now.

She always had a jar of Lime Marmalade in her fridge and I always had some when I was there, even though I didn't really like it. I just liked the idea of it.

The fridge was the ultimate toy in her house. It was giant and covered from top to bottom with fridge magnets that could be arranged by colour, size or animals all in a line, marching in a parade up and down around the other colourful plastic creations from all four corners of the world.

Her house was a fantastic place to play. There was a caravan in the front drive and in the back garden a giant sandpit that was once an outdoor pool. 

There was also a sunroom with a Russian doll that shed its layers bit by bit until only the tiniest dolly was left. As a kid, I was allowed to take it apart and line them all up on the window sill if I promised to make sure I didn't lose a single layer.

And there were always dogs. Labradors and retrievers. And puppies who were going to become guide dogs. 

Last summer I was lucky enough to see her and her husband when a visit to The Rents coincided with a visit from the two of them, too.

We went on a day trip to an airfield and watched the planes come in an out as I heard all about his amazing escapades as a cameraman, travelling the world.

When I started writing this, I was trying to work out what blog name she would have liked. Something to do with her involvement with The Guides? Her Morris Traveller? Her tireless work for Guide Dogs for the Blind? The lime marmalade? The fridge magnets?

And then I realised that perhaps she doesn't need a blog name. Perhaps she should just be here as Aunty Eileen, which is what she was to me. Or actually more of a surrogate grandma. Stern enough to make sure I wasn't going to draw on her walls in felt tip as a kid, practical enough that she could tell me to pull myself together, but a very good giver of hugs, too.

I'm so happy that I got to see her last year. So happy that I got to tell her some of my plans.

But I am sad too. Sad for Ooge – her fab husband who does get a blog name, her family and my ma.

My ma who I know if Aunty Eileen was here would give a firm hug to and tell us all to pull ourselves together.

She was practical like that.

So instead of being sad, I'm going buy some lime marmalade and rearrange London Aunt's fridge magnets and wave at the first Morris Traveller I see. 

Thanks for the memories Aunty Eileen. I'll miss you.

DG

x

Why I love my hearing aids

Yesterday was London Cousin 1's birthday. She's now well into her teenage years and we celebrated with an amazing meal out with the Blanco family. I totally forgot I was deaf for most of the evening because everyone was so in tune to the fact that I needed to lipread or be given pointers as to what was going on in the conversation.

At one point I looked at Mr Blanco to find out what was being discussed and he looked equally blank. 'I've no idea what's going on because I haven't been listening,' he admitted, which made me chuckle and together we go back into the conversation and worked out what the heck was going on.

When I got back last night I was still marvelling how some social situations are so much easier than others and also marvelling about how recently I've been forgetting a lot that I cannot hear. I turned my TV on to watch a bit of the news but decided to take out my hearing aids so I could lie with one head on the pillow without them screeching.

And just like that the TV vanished. It went from being loud enough that I thought perhaps I should turn it down as London Cousin 2 sleeps above my room to being completely and utterly silent. I was gobsmacked.

I sat up in bed, turned on the light and looked at the TV in disbelief. I put my hearing aids in and the sound came to life again. I took them out and it was silent. I know I've written a bit before about my TV and my hearing aids and how without them I am completely reliant on subtitles, but this was another thing all together.

If you'd asked me before I got my hearing aids to predict how I would have reacted to this situation, I would have replied 'With horror and panic and a lot of running around and slapping my head with my hands.' Indeed, it seems when I find my deafness noticeable, I go a bit 'TV remote' with my head and start hitting it to see if it makes my hearing work better. Indeed like the TV remote when you smack it, it doesn't.

But last night I was totally OK with it. I didn't actually even feel sad. I felt a bit 'OH MY GOD MY HEARING AIDS ARE EVEN BETTER THAN I ACTUALLY THOUGHT AND I'VE HAD THEM FOR A WHOLE YEAR' but I was also totally fine. 

I simply turned off my TV and went to sleep, which at 1am is most definitely what I should have been doing in the first place.

It's quite amazing to think that I've got this place of acceptance with my hearing aids without even knowing it. It's quite amazing that my biggest fear about getting them is no longer realised. And it's quite amazing that with them in they give me sounds other than my iPhone ringtones to enjoy. Hell, they give me speech and voices, which was something I never anticipated happening. 

How marvellous, eh? How marvellous.

A very Thankful Friday

Today is Thankful Friday.

So what am I thankful for?

Good advice that's what.

It's been a trying week for several reasons and I've had to deal with most of it by myself. Except I wasn't really by myself because I had some great advice to guide me through. 

London Aunt told me to only look at what was right in front of me and deal with that, rather than look too far into the future and worry about the stuff I have no control over.

I have done that.

HannahBanana told me to remember why I made previous decisions and trust they were the right ones for now. And I've done that.

And today, my new hairdresser, told me I had a gorgeous natural hair colour and I was colouring it unnecessarily. Before sorting it out and giving me what turned out to be a long bob.

All the above was good advice.

Sometimes, when I'm faced with situations or realisations that I don't want to deal with, it's easy to feel completely alone. I mean, technically I am. I am completely in charge of my life, of the decisions I make. But then one look in the background reveals the most amazing people who support me and care about me and give me amazing advice.

I'm not alone. And for that, and them, I am very thankful.

Happy Friday peeps

DG

x

Deaf Girly and the phone call

Yesterday my phone rang. 

My phone almost never rings, and when it does, I rarely answer it.

But, now I'm a landlord and whatnot, I thought I'd better answer it as it was a London number.

At the other end of the phone was a man with an accent. I have no idea what kind of accent, I just know that none of the words he was saying made any sense at all.

I heard two things: policy and ignoring my calls.

Now being a landlord this worried me. I told him I couldn't hear him very well and he continued to say the same sentence over and over again.

Like it was scripted.

I then told him I was going to pass the phone over to someone who could hear and walked through to the kitchen where London Cousins 1 and 2 were chatting. Neither of them were particularly keen on talking to a strange person on the phone, so we stood there discussing it for a moment to work out who would take the call.

The caller hung up.

Confused about what was so urgent that he accused me of ignoring his calls but then hung up, I Googled the number. Turns out it was a known telepest. One that tells you your life insurance policy was expiring and you'd been ignoring their calls about it…

So I had heard two bits right. And I don't have a life insurance policy.

Thanks to iOs7 I have now blocked this number but what made me grin, just a little bit, was that he hung up on me. 

A known telepest found a phone call to me so annoying he had to hang up the phone.

Teehee!

Obviously I'm going back to not answering my phone for numbers I don't recognise but if I ever am dumb enough to pick up the phone again, I think I am going to try this tactic on purpose. Tell them I cannot hear them. Remind them that if I was known to them, they would know I was deaf, and then maybe go off on one about deaf awareness and…

Yes, I would hang up on me, too.

And this isn't just for those of us that can't hear. Hearing peeps why not go for it, too?

Or as one person helpfully suggested online yesterday as I was googling, to simply say to the person at the other end of the line, 'I've done what you asked, but there's blood everywhere.'

Obviously I'm not so keen on that option incase a SWAT team descend on my house via helicopter and cart me off somewhere, but whatever option I choose, the war on random phone calls to Deaf Girly starts here.

Happy Wednesday peeps.

DG

x

I'm hearing in my dreams

I dream a lot. Most mornings I will wake up and remember my dream from the night before. Sometimes they're mundane dreams about everyday life and sometimes they're nightmares  but the one thing they all have in common is that in my dreams I can hear. 

I am never deaf in my dreams.

In my dreams I do things like hold hushed conversations or hear people whispering to me. I make phone calls, people yell stuff from upstairs and I can understand and I've even heard a mobile phone ring before.

I'm not sure why I'm not deaf when I go to sleep at night. Sometimes I wonder if it's my memories of being less deaf as a child coming through. I mean, I do remember being able to hear stuff being said from another room and I'm sure I used to be able to hear the phone ring at my rents' house. It was one of those big retro phones with the dial of numbers you turned.

But the one thing I have never been able to do is hear whispers. And I know this because of that incredibly popular children's game from the eighties, Chinese Whispers. I remember being utterly confused by this game from about the age of 5 upwards, and that's taking into consideration the fact that no one knew I was deaf until I was 10.

I remember sitting in a circle with my friends and thinking that no one could hear whispers and the whole point was to be creative and make something up from your own imagination. So that's what I did.

I remember everyone being utterly confused at how the start and finish whisper had become so different. But thankfully, I don't remember anyone ever pinning it on me.

I honestly didn't know you were meant to hear whispers.

But it wasn't just whispers I thought you weren't meant to hear.

There were song words – I thought you were meant to make up your own. And dictation at school – I thought the hard thing about dictation was working out what the story was not getting the words down spelt correctly. I could never understand why I got bad marks for being creative. 

Then there was French listening. I thought the difficult thing was being able to tell what words were being said, not translating them. I used to do so badly in French listening until my amazing teacher at GCSE – post discovering my deafness – read the whole thing to me. I got 100% for the first time ever.

Anyway, back to the dreams. Last night, I dreamt I met up with a colleague from one of my first jobs. She was asking me what I was doing with my life at the moment and all I could tell her was that I was taking a year out. 

But because I'm not deaf in my dreams, it was as though Deafinitely Girly didn't exist. It was really odd. In my dream, I couldn't help feel like I was forgetting something, like I couldn't quite justify why I was not working and taking a year out.

And to be quite honest, I was relieved to wake up. Relieved that on waking, I was back to me. Back to being Deafinitely Girly.

Because you see, I like being DG. She's a part of me. And I'm a part of her. And right now, I'm quite happy to leave being hearing in my dreams. After all, with hearing, there'd be no Deafinitely Girly. And that would make my life a much less interesting place.

DG and the no-show scones

This weekend I bombed down the A3 to visit the very fabulous Cocktail Queen and The Prince. It was marvellous.

Knowing my love of afternoon tea, The Cocktail Queen had done her research and decided that we would go to Goodwood for tea and scones in The Kennels, which appears to be the golf course club house. 

This made me VERY happy. We got there and sat down on a comfy sofa. Ordered tea and were handed menus. The scones were there. My stomach rumbled.

About 20 minutes later, no one had come to take our order. We beckoned a waitress and were all left slightly confused as to what her reply was as she scuttled off to towards the kitchen. 'She'll come back,' we said to each other. 'This is a nice establishment. They must know about customer service here.'

My stomach rumbled.

We drank more tea.

20 minutes later, we beckoned over a different waitress. 'Can we order scones?' we asked her. 'They just making them at the moment,' she replied and scuttled off in much the same way.

'Oooh warm scones with cream and jam,' I thought as my stomach rumbled again. 'That's well worth the wait.'

To take our minds off the hunger pangs, The Prince requested a backgammon board - as advertised on the menu. The waitress bought us a chequers board. Same, same but no, very different.

My stomach rumbled.

After eventually getting hold of the backgammon board, The Cocktail Queen disappeared while The Prince taught me the rules of this highly addictive game and we set off around the board in different directions with me getting awfully offended every time he took one of my pieces off the board. 

My stomach rumbled.

Three glasses of champagne arrived. The Cocktail Queen had ordered them after discovering that the kitchen was no closed and there would be no scones.

My stomach rumbled.

Turns out there were never any scones. Even though they were on the menu. Even though the menu of sweet stuff was simply two lines long - scones or cake. They didn't have either. On a Saturday afternoon. In Goodwood.

It was a shambles. 

I tweeted my displeasure and felt bad for The Cocktail Queen. She'd planned the afternoon of tea, and so far we'd had chequers not backgammon, a promise of scones twice, and nothing. 

Scones are not rocket science. It's not hard to make scones, and serve them with some jam in a bowl and some cream in another bowl.

*scowls

The next day as we wandered around Chichester after brunch at Bill's, we noticed signs for cream tea at every turn in the city. Bill's did it, the Cathedral did it, even the tiny little café that sat three people did it. 

The Kennels at Goodwood don't. No matter what it says on their menu. Or they didn't that Saturday. Despite The Cocktail Queen calling in advance to check they did.

But what we didn't have in scones, we more than made up for in cocktails on Saturday night. But that's a whole other story. 

Happy Monday peeps.

DG

x

Deaf Girly's Thankful Friday

Today is Thankful Friday, and as I sit here with my laptop out and a cup of tea, the cat purring beside me – lets not talk about the fact she just tried to bite me – I can't help but feel thankful for the curious set of events that got me to this exact spot.

Last week, a very good friend asked me a question that only very good friends can ask. 'Do you think your deafness stops you getting where you want to be?' While that would be a whole other blog post of deliberation, I have to admit it is something that I often think about.

I think that's why it took me so long to do something a little bit daring. Rather than the straight path I had previously chosen of school, uni, post grad, job, new job, another new job. I was afraid that somehow it wouldn't be possible to go off route. 

On this new path, of landlord, writer and general day-time tea drinker and library lurker, there are a whole load of challenges that if I sat down and thought about them, would probably have caused me to sit tight and carry on as I had been.

Things like the phone calls I have to struggle with now as there are no co-workers to help. To Thames Water, British Gas, the council, to insurance, electricians and inventory people. The list goes on. And it's not been fun. The other day, what should have been a quick phone call to my insurance company turned into a 20 minute farce of me repeating back what I thought I'd heard so the man at the other end could either say yes or no. He was incredibly patient with me. But I was still terrified I'd got something wrong and the £178 premium I'd just agreed to pay would somehow be invalid.

I've discovered something though, during this enforced phone call making, that people can surprise you. Like the man from British Gas who emailed me after I hung up on him in tears, or the bloke from my car insurance company who took of his headset and used the phone normally so that the sound quality would improve. All of them, when I tell them I struggle on the phone, have done whatever they can to help make things easier. And when I say struggle, I actually mean, hear virtually nothing.

I'm less afraid of trying now. Obviously it's not always a good outcome. I've hung up on a few conversations in the last couple of weeks, and I'm putting off a phone call I know I have to make soon as I know it'll involve conversation I simply can't predict the words in, meaning I really will have no clue about what's going on, but I'm OK with that. 

The last months has felt like one small step for mankind but one huge step for Deafinitely Girly.

I'm doing it.

I'm actually doing it.

And so far, touch everything wooden in the world, it's going OK.

Which makes this a very thankful Friday.

Have a good one peeps.

DG

x

The hunt for Deaf Girly's October

The last day of October is my birthday and this year I spent it in Clogland turning 33. Actually, I spent my birthday evening on a boat in the middle of the sea, but only after an amazing birthday tea with Big Bro, Maxi-, Mini- and MicroClog… and The Rents of course.

Since I moved to London, 10 years ago in October, the tenth month of the year has always been a strange one for me. It's the month full of anniversaries. Some happy, some less so.

It's the month I usually change jobs, or move companies. It's the month I bought my first flat, four years ago. That October I was also told the great news was I didn't have cancer, and the bad news was I had Crohn's. And the October I declared to the entire 7th floor of the hospital at the top of my voice that I was a horse, while high on morphine, and asked out a very gorgeous doctor while coming around from the anaesthetic. I absolutely pretended not to recognise him when I went back for my check-up appointment. October four years ago was one of the more bonkers ones... But as a result of that October, October is now the month where I celebrate the fabulous fact that – touch every wooden thing in the entire house – my Crohn's is still in remission.

October is the month I got hearing aids – one year ago. It's the month I first fell in love – 14 years ago – and it's the month I usually buy about 100 coats – every year – as I'm always so flipping freezing. This year, I bought one. Gotta be restrained in my gap yah after all.

October is also the month where we let off balloons with messages to a place where texts, social media and emails don't exist. To a person who, if he knew what I was doing now, would probably pass me a beer and want to hear all about it. I wish he was still here. He was one of the first people who made me realise I could live in London – that it wasn't that scary after growing up in the Wild West erm… Country.

As a result of all of the above, October is normally a blog-tastic month. But this October, the month I chose to leave my job and embark on my 'retirement', as Whiskey Cousin calls it, memories of all the previous London Octobers came flooding back.

It felt as though, if I began writing about October, I'd never stop. So I didn't start.

But last night, talking to London Aunt, she pointed out that this blog is part of the reason why I'm taking a year out. And why the hell wasn't I updating it?

And just like that, the floodgates opened. The ideas, the rants, the experiences I wanted to write about suddenly seemed more accessible.

So the blog is back.

With a few retrospective posts to start with... after all, I can't miss out October, can I? It's the most important month of all!

Deaf Girly and the British Gas palava

Regular readers will know that I recently quit my much-loved job to pursue writing full time. It wasn't an easy decision but as start my second official week, with actual things to write, and actual things written, I'm extremely happy with my decision.

One of the reasons I am able to take a year to do this is because I am renting out my beloved flat. That wasn't an easy decision either as I love my little flat. It's the most expensive thing I've ever owned… and even paying back what feels like mega-huge monthly instalments, it's still not going to be properly mine for ages and ages.

Renting a flat out is stressful. It's made more stressful if you cannot make phone calls, because some things just need to be done over the phone. While the agency and other people were happy with email communication, when it came to sorting out HomeCare for my boiler so that my tenants could call British Gas day or night if there was a problem, I had no other option but to lift the phone.

I did this and got a bloke at the other end of the phone who sounded like he was down a long corridor shouting at me through a cardboard tube. It was not great. We chatted a bit, going around in circles somewhat as I struggled to guess what he was asking me before he announced that he had to put me through to the specific team for Landlord HomeCare. Before doing this, he briefed the guy I was going to be speaking to that he had to speak slowly and not shout as this would only make things worse.

This new British Gas Man was great, once I'd made him take off his headset and chat to me holding the phone handset so that he was louder and we set off down the path of taking out HomeCare. But then it all went wrong, After four pardons, I still couldn't make out what he was saying. And then I felt the hot tears of frustration pinging out of my eyes, which is never a good thing, because I know when this happens it means I am just seconds from hanging up the phone and having a good sob. 

And this was the very next thing I did.

Two seconds later my phone rang again. I picked up and it was British Gas Man. 'I. Am. Going. To. Email. You,' he said and put down the phone. And less than 5 minutes later, there it was, an email detailing all the plans I could choose from, what personal information he needed from me and instructions on what to do next. Amazing huh?

We continued like this until London Cousin 1 got in from school and British Gas Man spoke to her to get the final confirmation on stuff, which she relayed to me. My 13-year-old cousin had become my ears. She deserved a medal. Or at least an extra special tea - lasagne - which I was making at that exact moment. And so it was sorted. And he reassured me that I could email him in future with any questions and he would then enter the query onto the official system. Briilliant, no?

He then let me know that a British Gas plumber would be over the next day to give me a Gas Safety Certificate and that would be that.

But it wasn't. The British Gas plumber also turned out to go above and beyond the call of duty (people with filthy minds, please get out of the gutter now). He texted me instead of ringing to let me know his ETA. He took the time to explain things clearly, turning to face me when he did so and he also let me know what if there was any problems, I could text him and he would put the call into British Gas. I couldn't believe it. I was so touched by my own personal British Gas crack team. So touched that they were so happy to help me.

Three cheers for British Gas. And you see, because they made the whole thing so much easier, it gave me the confidence to sort the next thing, and the next thing and gradually my flat is almost tenant ready. I'm very poor, my phone bill is probably massive, but I've managed it.

The dream is happening peeps.

*beams

Deafinitely Girly's new adventure

Today is the start of the crossover week between my old life and my new life.

I'm still going to work – for 5 more days – but I'm leaving early to get back to my new life.

This morning I woke at 4am. I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and eventually got up.

Leaving for work at 6.30am means I am here far too early. Even by crossover week standards.

As I travelled in on the bus this morning, I could feel myself gulping down a rising panic. It was there in the pit of my stomach. But it climbed up to my chest, into my throat and appeared in my eyes as fresh, hot tears.

This panic, as I look at the blue sky, speckled with clouds and promising a warm September day is completely unstoppable today.

This realisation that I've made the leap. I'm giving up the job I loved for 10 years, to write. To see where writing takes me.

I've wanted to write since the age of 5. Since I plagiarised Topsy & Tim and The Munch Bunch. Ever since I could read, I've wanted to write. And, the idea of being able to give more time to Deafinitely Girly seems like the most exciting thing in the world.

So why am I afraid?

I'm afraid that maybe I'll be rubbish at writing. And I'm also afraid I'll feel alone. Which is silly really as I'm rather good at being alone.

Usually.

I guess in the last 2 years, in my amazing company, I've spent every day seeing friends. It's a bit like being at school. But without the bullies and the double maths.

And it's the fact it's like leaving school that I am trying to remind myself of as I feel the hot, fat tears gathering in my eyes and ruining the make-up I did at 5am this morning.

You see, in the summer after my GCSEs I went deafer than I'd ever been before. I didn't notice so much as I wasn't in an environment where listening was that important. I was having holidays. I was having fun.

Going back to school for A Levels, I noticed that I couldn't hear anything. I was falling asleep halfway through my 90 minute lessons. And doing four A Levels, meant I had a lot of lessons.

So it was decided, halfway through the September term, that I would do three A Levels in 2 years and one A Level in one. A third year of 6th form. Which actually was quite a good thing as I was a year ahead at school after a mix up in kindergarten so it meant I would be going to university at 18, not 17.

The summer after my A Levels, I was in denial about going back to school. About all my favourite people not being there. Being at uni or on gap years. But that first day back, it hit me like a big rising wall of panic.

It was horrific. I panicked when I woke up, I panicked as I drove to school and then I panicked as I walked into the 6th form common room knowing full well the fun of the last year was gone.

I remember thinking the panic was never going to go away. That I would never feel like this was the right thing again.

But it went away gradually, day by day as I found my feet, realised that not seeing my friends every day didn't make them any less of my friends. And I made new friends, too. What's more, a third year of A Levels got me the grades I wanted to go to the uni I wanted. To set me on the amazing path that has been non-stop work and play to this moment.

Today when I felt this rising panic, I had a moment of wondering if I had made a terrible mistake.

Choosing to leave my amazing friends at work. Leave the job I stayed at school an extra year for all those years ago.

But I have to believe that I've made the right decision. And when I feel the rising panic, remember that it's only a temporary feeling. A reaction to change. A reaction to fear of the unknown.

Because it is the unknown. It's days stretching out in front of me where I have to form my own structure. Face my fears. And find new words. Every day.

There will be lots of tears this week, I think. There will be moments where this rising panic probably threatens to cut off my air supply. And when I walk out my office on Friday for the last time, I think I'll probably bawl my eyes out.

But it's OK. I'm ready for it.

And this time next week, I'll be sat at my desk, cup of tea brewing laptop open and I'll be Deafinitely Girly, writer. Freelance. Available for cake baking. Available for dates. Available for columns. Available for general writing miscellany…

It's going to be good right?

It has to be.

Having a deaf(er) day

Last night I went to bed late. I turned my pillow over a million times to keep it cool. I marvelled at my amazing still-feel-new sash windows which, when open at the top and bottom, cause a perfect breeze. I also tried to stay awake for the thunder.

And that didn't work because according to BBC Breakfast it all kicked off at 2am and I was fast asleep.

I guess I don't always hear thunder after all.

Anyway this morning I hit my alarm more times than a Catchphrase contestant so ran out the door to make my bus and forgot my hearing aids.

Cue frantic checking of diary for important meetings and the realisation that today is going to be a very quiet day for me. Aurally at least.

I've had my hearing aids for nearly 10 months now. And every day I marvel at the way they enhance my world. I mean, I can hear stuff I never thought I'd hear. Important stuff too, like police sirens – excellent when on a Boris Bike – and cats meowing.

Last night, I downloaded Vampire Weekend's new album and listened to a bit of it through my iPhone speaker. As you know when I first got my hearing aids, I had a teary realisation that I could hear iPhone ringtones for the first time ever. Well last night, without my hearing aids in, I noticed gaps in the music. Gaps where my ears in the last 10 months have had music. I put my hearing aids back in. No gaps. Amazing huh?

Even though the pitch compression isn't that melodic with my sound recover aids, I still prefer to leave them on this setting when listening to music because without it, I realise what I've been missing.

So today I'll miss the phones ringing in the office, the hum of the air con, the radio and the steady wail of police sirens outside.

Today's gonna be a quiet one starting from now.

*takes a power nap

A natural Deaf Girly alarm clock

This morning I woke up in a very good mood. In spite of the fact it was 5.30am. In spite of the fact I didn't get back until 11pm last night.

One of the reasons for my good mood was that something woke me up! Not my vibrating alarm clock that sits under my pillow like a psycho jack-in-the-box, ready and waiting on a weekday basis to scare the living daylights out of me.

No, no.

I got woken up by something much bigger and better than that.

I got woken up by thunder!

To be fair, the best part of my hearing is low frequencies, which means thunder; cars with big engines and men with low voices are all in my 'hurrah, I can hear these, usually no matter what' category. But I was asleep. Nothing normally wakes me when I am asleep.

There's something rather amazing about a thunderstorm I think. As a kid, when I could hear even better, I was scared to death of them. Any thunderstorm would see The Rents' bed overrun by one child, two dogs and two cats all in need of a large dose of tranquilliser. Big Bro usually braved it out in the room next door.

But this morning, as I lay in bed, no pets or housemates for company I found myself grinning like a loon. There was an amazing noise going on outside. An amazing crashing, banging noise, caused by nature. I could hear it. And there was no way my neighbour could blame her early morning wake up call on me!

So anyway, one of the other reasons for my buoyant mood is I had a marvellous weekend with SuperCathyFragileMystic and The Photographer. In their idyllic village, with their brilliant neighbours and their rather marvellous friends.

There was a croquet tournament or 10, none of which I won, despite my teammate's valiant efforts, and there was even a Red Arrows fly-by. Another low sound I absolutely love.

I should really be suffering from weekend-withdrawal symptoms right now, but as its only three more days until my weekend starts again, I think I'll be OK.

So Happy Monday from a beaming Deaf Girly.

Who got woken up by thunder.

Brilliant!

DG 

X