The Spectacle Tree

The topiary at the top of my garden is definitely due a hair cut. I’ve resisted doing it myself because a lack of three dimensional vision has lead me to the conclusion that I have no skills in this department. Months of covid lockdown have lead me to the same conclusion about my own hair. The only thing that I can say about cutting my own hair is that it would be shorter.

Some relief has come about, over recent days, at the thought of a garden that is running wild, inhabited by an owner with wild hair, once clipped to within an inch of their lives. It has come about because I lost my reading glasses. I lost them without noticing, which shows how much use they are.

I have been looking for my readers, for over a week now. I have looked in the dishwasher. I have done a meticulous finger search of nearly ten days of household waste. I have been through the mounting bags of charity shop donations as well as the ironing, the washing and my phone book, asking anyone who has dropped off food at my door, or sat in my garden for the proverbial two-yard cuppa, to check they have not taken them away with them.

Relief was at hand. Not the glasses, but the availability of a hair dressers appointment and gardening assistance. I’ve waited for months and both came along on the same day.

“Ewe. I’ve found a pair of glasses in your flowerbed,” said the garden support team. “Are they yours?”

I must have lost them leaning over a plant I inspected, working out whether or not I should pull it up and consign it to the recycling, or water it. The blind truth of the matter is that I didn’t notice the scattering of spectacles in the flower bed and sprinkled them with a light dusting of mushroom compost that had to go somewhere because the bag burst.

One look at the glasses told me they were beyond redemption. Getting a replacement pair is proving harder than expected. I need an up to date prescription. That is, I don’t need an up to date prescription as it makes no difference to me. The Opticians seem to think it’s important. A quick e-mail revealed that not only was my Optomitrist on his hols but he’d gone to Slough for his respite. On his return he tells me that my prescription is in storage in Coventry and not to bother asking why. I don’t.

When I explain to my local high street provider that I don’t need an eye test, my ten-year-old prescription will do, no one rings me back. I suspect they suspect I’m calling from #Down The Line. Their fear of making a fool of themselves in front of Radio 4 listeners trumps further enquiry. Who in their right mind would buy reading glasses with an out of date prescription?

A good dousing in #Fairy Liquid and hot water has eliminated most of the mushroom compost staining. The blur is much the same as it ever was, apart from the large blob in the middle of the left lens, so I have started wearing the readers again, at a tilt to counter balance the blob.

In the drive for better looking glasses I lost my chance to book a hair appointment.  I can probably do without one, but unlike the prescription for my reader, there is always room for improvement. I will be nothing if not persistent. The garden is looking beautiful, although not by my hand.  

Image is Siobhain Santry's drawing of Anna's face.