Blind as a Bat

I’ve always considered myself to have pretty good eyesight; particularly when taking that of my parents into account. I have to apply Mum’s make up for her, as she can’t see without her glasses, but can’t put her mascara on whilst wearing them, and Dad’s glasses have become a much more frequent feature in recent years than I remember as a child.

A couple of months ago, I went to see Carmen at the Bolshoi Theatre: a new production of a great opera, by British director David Pountney. It was a little too modern in some places for my liking. We all know that Carmen is a floozy, but with some of the action now set in a pole-dancing club, I did feel like I should cover the eyes, and protect the modesty, of one of the girls that came with us, who happened to be just 16 years old. But I’ve strayed from the point. As I am in Moscow, the French is of course translated into Russian on the screens at either side of the stage. During one of intervals, I casually remarked to my friend, how much difficulty I was having reading the words (I even had to use the opera glasses at one point) and how disgraceful it was that it was so unclear. Yes... well... It turns out the words were perfectly clear and it was my eyesight that was the problem. Oops!

So I stressed about it a little; phoned my Mum to thank her and Dad for giving me poor vision, to match the short fingers and thunder thighs I’ve long known about! It was with some indignation that she replied it would be nice if I phoned to thank them both for my intelligence and beauty just once in a while. (Oh and modesty, clearly!) And of course I would, if only my eyesight was good enough to make it out!

In reality, my eyesight doesn’t seem to actually be that poor. I think it is distance that’s the problem; something that I never noticed, as I haven’t driven for nearly a year. Just as I had consoled myself I had completely overreacted and my vision was in fact fine, yesterday I happened to be watching Slumdog Millionaire (a film I have already raved about on this blog) with quite a handsome man that I’ve been seeing rather a lot of lately, and rather embarrassingly I had to get up and move the TV stand two feet closer in order to read the subtitles (my Hindi not being quite up to scratch). So it looks like I have another appointment to add to my list of things-to-do upon my return to Blighty, which is to get an eye test. I have to say, it is all rather frustrating, because I would much rather spend the £150 that a pair of glasses will cost on a couple of new dresses. But until an experienced professional tells me I can’t see, I am going to have to live with the TV just that little bit closer.