My weekend has started well. This morning I managed to sit on, and break, my only remaining pair of glasses.
I have spent the morning fiddling around with bits of Sellotape, super glue and cotton buds in an effort to repair them. How successful my efforts have been remains to be seen.
As it happens, this is the kick up the arse I need to go and get another pair, for these ones have been annoying me for months now. I bought them before I went to Glastonbury last year, and, figuring it’d save me either having to fiddle with contact lenses or take a spare pair of sunglasses, I opted for a pair which react to sunlight by turning dark.
A great idea, in theory, until you realise just how susceptible to day light they are, and how long it takes them to turn back from shades to normal glasses. I soon found that going out to get some lunch in the depths of winter was enough to set them off; I lost count of the amount of people who, on my return to the office, asked me what kind of a prick wears sunglasses in January.
They have, on occasion had their benefits, though; I was once queuing up in a corner shop to buy bread and milk, when the chap in front of me turned round, saw me, and immediately offered to let me go first. Slightly bemused, and thinking how nice the locals are round my way, I accepted his kind offer; it didn’t occur to me until after I’d left that his kindness had been prompted by my glasses being dark and his assumption that I must be visually impaired.
The irony is that now, I, kind of, am.
Still, it gives me an excuse to post this little belter:
I look forward to your “should have gone to Specsavers” comments with barely concealed disdain.