There were two reasons I had to go into Skobieville yesterday.

The main reason was to buy a battery for my watch.  The fecking this wore out a few weeks ago and the hands stopped moving, though I could still see the time if I peered very closely at the very faint numerals.  As a result I have been getting up at unearthly hours thinking it's midday but in fact it's nearer nine, because I couldn't read the watch in a darkened bedroom.

The other reason was that I have been bumping into things lately.  It didn't bother me, but Herself started to complain that I was bumping into things even when I was sober.  She told me to get an eye-test.

So hence my trip to Skobieville.

We drove in [Herself insisted on coming along too] and I managed to find parking within a couple of miles of the shops.  I got my battery [in the only shop I have found to date that sells that type] and we mosied up to the opticians.

Whatever happened to the good old days where they would just ask you to read off a card on the wall?  They put me through about ten different machines.  Some flashed lights at me, some flashed colours at me, some squirted air into my eyes [not pleasant] and others did things that at that stage I was too fucking blinded to see.

We did the old fashioned bit of reading letters on the wall [except that nowadays they use a screen] and the bastard made me read them backwards as he had a shrewd suspicion I had memorised them.

The upshot of the whole rigmarole is that my eyesight is absolutely perfect for someone my age [except that I need glasses] so my sight matches my hearing – absolutely exceptional for my age [apart from the Tinnitus].  I'm getting new lenses in a few days time.

Herself had her eye test too.

Turns out she needs an operation in hospital.

Fuck me!