I was once reliably informed that I began wearing glasses at the tender age of three. (Something to do with a by-product of checking my health after scarlet fever – though just how the hell you test the eyesight of a three-year old who can't yet read is something to wonder at.) I have therefore developed a rather robust paranoia over the last fifty years about anyone touching my glasses, let alone fiddling with them. Now, the connoisseurs of this blog may recall that I recently lost the pair I use for reading and that, as a consequence of replacing them, discovered my prescription had changed. Cue new specs for distance, as well. These I picked up yesterday from my local suspiciously-swarming-with-staff Saving Specs shop.
I took them back today. Nothing major (apart from a slightly disconcerting impression that maybe the prescription was wrong), but the right-hand ear-piece needed a little tweak to match up with the left. I passed them over to a young lady in the shop.
What followed next can only be described as diabolical manipulation. I think I would have winched less if it had been my genitals. But hey, they fitted! Only trouble was, when I moved on to Waterstones and swapped them for my new reading pair, I discovered she had twisted the arm nearly out of its socket to achieve the match-up.
I went back.
More 'adjustment' which would have impressed The Marquis De Sade followed.
She presented this 'improvement' to me. I decided to put on my reading glasses to inspect them. I think the look I gave her afterwards may have prompted her next move: she went to the display and came back with a fresh frame and swapped the lenses over. (Only it wasn't actually her who did this, some techie downstairs called upon to complete the job.) She seemed pleasant enough, but I got the impression that job dissatisfaction was being exhibited by her grip.
As I said: suspiciously swarming with staff ...
After lunch, I went out on my bike. Those of you who live in Britain and have been outside today, may have noticed it is a tad on the cold side. I was wearing five layers of lycra on the top half of my body (plus arm-warmers) and didn't need a bath to wash off the sweat when I got back. This may lead some of you to argue that I wasn't cycling hard enough. But let me reiterate: it's a tad cold out there, today, buster – what the girl in the shop metaphorically started, the chill-factor had a good go at completing ...
Don't do stupid – it's just not clever.
Total recorded cycled miles since 21st July 2012: 1837