I’m sitting here, typing away at this article and listening to a live concert by Norah Jones on French Radio which is nice. Isn’t she lovely?

Anyway I digress; this piece is all about the fact that no matter how long I’ve been forced to wear the confounded things I’ll never get used to my glasses.

I should, before continuing, say that I suppose I’m lucky in that it wasn’t a necessity until rather late in my life therefore not being subject to the, say, intimidating tactics of school bullies in the “Hey four eyes, where the hell d’ya think you’re going!” and that old favourite: “What do you call a short-sighted dinosaur?”* etc.

(In fact, let me state here, for the record that I was rarely “bully-bait” at school but that’s another story J) Is that an emoticon to my left? Acually no, it's a"J" now, whoever "J" is.

The fuzziness, I’m referring to my eye-sight rather than my state of mind, began in around 1996; I had a few musical friends, who’d come to stay at my house in Cornwall and Trevor, who was the main man of the band had asked me to knock up some humorous likenesses of the various members of his group for publicity purposes.

Sure, I thought, no problem.

Problem: I couldn’t quite see the point of focus in the centre of my vision.

(I notice, by the way, that my Norah concert seems to have developed hic-cups, must be my internet connection. Oh well…)

So there it was: a blurred spot right in the middle of my field of vision.

I decided to seek medical advice and subject myself to an eye test with romantic imaginings of sporting a monacle, Bertie Whooster fashion, so I could go around saying things like: “I say chaps, what ho!”, “Anyone for tennis?”, “Toodle-pip!” and so on.

Of course I was under a misapprehension wasn’t I.

I had to accept the fact that I had to wear glasses if I was to continue my life being able to see details that previously I’d always taken for granted. My 20/20 vision was no more.

Anyway, as this very pleasant concert is drawing to a close, I feel the need to draw this article to a similar close by leaving you, dear reader, with a song that I composed, although not as yet committed to tape or digital ones and noughts, whatever, in a moment of frustration but not without some humour (feel free to do a version of it if you want but make sure you count me in on any royalties received, I need the money!):

Fickle bi-focals (A country song in ¾ time)

Now, once in a while, I’m wearing a smile,

‘Cos everything’s fine with the world,

But it won’t be long, till something goes wrong,

With that part of my fickle bi-focals.

When the arm has come free, and there’s feck all to see,

Of the tiniest screw in the world,

It’s a nightmare, you see, (or not as with me)

When I can’t fix my fickle bi-focals.

(Mid 8)

The world looks absurd, when everything’s blurred,

It’s all fuzzy from my point of view,

Oh, where has that screw gone? Please hand me a

Glue-gun, this sure ain’t my idea of fun....

(Verse): I’m losing the fight with the loss of my sight and

Seeing’s not believing at all.

Can’t see to repair that bit of the pair of my

Fecking-well fickle bi-focals.

I’m flipping my lid over things that are hid,

And nothing’s no-where to be seen.

I’ve got other pairs, but they’re all used for spares,

For fixing my fickle bi-focals.

(Mid 8)

My hands are all shaking, with this undertaking,

I think something’s dropped on the floor…

Can’t take any more now, I’m off out that door, how

The pub..is..waiting… (acapella) (Pause)

(Instrumental-as intro)

(Mid 8)

(V.): It’s taking so long now, to write out this song, how can

I see what’s teasing my eyes.

I think it’s a curse on me, what’s even worse is me (my),

Mem-or-y’s-failing…(acapella)

(Chorus: sung with venom)

Well I’m fed, fed, fed up to here,

Wherever here happens to be, (Twiddle-ee-dee)

I’m sick, sick, fecking-well sick,

I’m sick of my fickle bi-focals. (Repeat ad infinitum)

And thanks to Norah Jones (I’d forgotten that she is the daughter of Ravi Shankar) for some very good songs.

*Answer: Do you think he saurus? (I assume you were paying attention).