Visionary

Inspired by last years Glasto, I’ve been wearing my new spectacles recently. Well, they’re not new exactly. I bought them in March last year but they’re sort of new in the way that you might have a shirt that you bought in America eight years ago that you’ve never worn until one Saturday morning and someone, like your wife, says,

“Is that a new shirt?”

You have a slow think then reply firmly,

“Yes.”

“Oh. Where did you get it?”

You then have to think again. Where did you actually get it? Think it was Macys. No, that’s not right, it was JC Pennys. No, maybe the Burlington Coat Factory.

Not wanting to be wrong you say, “Dunno, love, somewhere in America.”

“What? In America? but we moved back from there 8 years ago.”

“Hmmm. Yeah. So?”

“Well, it’s not exactly new then, is it?”

“But I’ve never worn it before.”

Seemingly a lot of us men are in the “best not use that now as I don’t really need it right now, I’ll save until I really, really need it” category. Often this turns in to a period of a few months or in normal cases, ten years. Bit like my Uncle Jimmy’s collection of antique tinned hams and potted meats. I’m sure he’d have made a fortune on the Antiques Road Show:-

“Well, I do declare I’ve never see such a tin of spam before. If you look at the print at the back there...”

“Aye.”

“It’s hand written in dog blood.”

“Aye.”

“Well, that type of ink was used widely at Marks and Spencer’s in the early 1920s.”

”Aye.”

“Do you have any idea of it’s worth. Have a guess.”

“Och, it’s about two pound twenty three pence for 500g from Marks in Inverness.”

“No. I’ve got news for you. You’re wrong. A tin of ham that old, in such pristine condition, 80 years past its sell by date would fetch you …"

The audience gasp...

"Five pence.”

Women, on the other hand, tend to rip right in and cannot contain themselves with excitement when they buy something new, just like you with a fresh four pack of beer. Often they don’t even make it out of the shop, they must put on their new shoes, frilly knickers or fashionable head scarf immediately.

So, my glasses are pretty much in that vague category of manly new-ness. But they’re not totally new like the shirt ‘cos I’ve sort of dabbled with wearing them now and then at night time. Sort of sneak previews, break the family in gently sort of thing. So, maybe they’re not officially new at all.

Anyway, I’ve started wearing them kind of occasionally. Yep, I know I’ve said that already but I’m wearing them a bit more than I used to. So, it’s in the more occasionally stage but not quite regularly and nowhere near full time. I might do that when I hit like fifty eight or something or maybe seventy when I’ve given up football completely or I’m dead. Or which ever comes first, I suppose. Won’t need them much in a coffin. Mind you, do the myopic dead lose their specs? You know how people can look very odd with their specs off? Maybe they’re allowed to keep them on. Especially if people want to have a quick look at the body before it goes under. You can imagine they wouldn’t want friends and family seeing them for the last time not looking their best. They’d be mortified.

Usually there are whisperings like,

”Oh, she looked so at peace, with a gentle smile on her face.”

Instead you’d hear, “The auld man looked well weird withoot his specs on.”

Now, my glasses are the doggies – at least on paper. They’re the latest designer look from last year. Let me think now, who is it?…ahh Georgio Armani. Good, eh? Cost about 400 smackers. Wow. Should be able to see for miles with that sort of money. They’ve got a Georgio Armani case and a Georgio Armani wiper cloth thing, so it’s all top nicker.

But just like having a set of Ping golf clubs and being crap at golf, they’re not really working.

Everything takes on this curvaceous sort of look, but it’s not sexy at all. I go to pick up a pen and I miss by two inches. I try shaving and lose three pints of blood, cups of tea end up down my neck and horror of horrors, I can’t watch the footie without thinking everyone’s doing banana shots. I can live with this in an uncontrollable way, although driving can be quite thrilling. Still, that lampost needed moving and so did next door neighbours pot plants. Such a shame about Rover, well I did toot the horn. They’d be better off with a cat anyway.

More importantly to a vain man of the 60’s, are my looks. My eyes appear, I think, well I don’t know for definite, do I ? ‘cos I’m looking through the glasses to see what I look like and that might well give the wrong impression. But it certainly looks to me like my eyes have shrunken in size to that of a gerbils or maybe a mole who’s had a very bad nights kip. I’m a cross between one of the Kray twins and Buddy Holly, with a dash of Ronnie Corbett.

The kids are terrified but are quite subtle in their ways of hiding it. Usually they’ll bring the topic up over cereal:-
Pause in munching, “Why are you wearing glasses, daddy?” enquired Katy.

“They help me see, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

Munching continues.

“Can you not see without them daddy?” asked William.

“No, son. Unless I wear my contact lenses.”

“But why don’t you wear them then, daddy” asked Katy.

“Oh, it’s not good to wear contacts all the time.”

“Oh.”

Munch on.

“That’s a shame.”

“Hmmm. Why?"

“Oh, nothing, really.”

“Do you have to wear them outside?”

“Hmm. Could do.”

“It’s just someone might see you”

“What do you mean, Katy?”

“Nothing” desperately trying to back paddle. “They might not recognise you.”

Katy is becoming super smart with excuses and off the cuff thinking these days. I glance at her, or maybe it was William, and think aww, when she was a wee baby, I wouldn’t have had such a remark. Aww, those were the days. She’d probably just’ve farted, puked and then screamed the house down. Tom goes for the direct approach, points at me and gurgles “silly daddy”.
William, being a supportive brother says, “yes, they look a bit funny, daddy.”

“You just need to get used to seeing daddy wearing them”, Jenny attempts to smooth the waters but her smile is a tad too wide for my liking and I’m sure she spluttered on her next spoonful of honey nut cornflakes.

I feel a bit gutted.

The matter is drawn to a close by Katy, “you look really great daddy."

My spirits instantly rise, “aww, thanks, Sweetie. That’s nice of you to say so.”

“But I think you look even better wearing contact lenses.”

“Best buy some” laughed Jenny.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, and darling?"

“Yes?”

“Make sure they’re new.”