We all need someone to see it our way, someone to help and see you through the dark times and the lighter moments too; someone (or something) to welcome you with open arms in the morning with a clear point of view on the right way ahead is always very much appreciated. Yes, I thank you, my very own glasses, spectacles, double glazing, optometric wizardry, call them what you like, if you see what I mean.
But really, if you have ever had to wear glasses to correct your impaired vision rather than just for fashion, a visit to the optician tends to prompt (from me at least) one of those unanswerable questions. It goes something like this: “But which pair of specs are the REAL me?!” With so many styles to choose from (if you ignore the silly price range) it’s sometimes tempting to fondly recall the days of limited choice (and less angst). You either went for a pair of circular, owl like glasses which John Lennon or the German playwright Bertolt Brecht also seemed to wear without any doubt. Or, you went for specs that were vaguely reminiscent of Superman’s bumbling alter ego, Clarke Kent. I tried both (and stayed surprisingly much unkissed) before the bewildering world of choice arrived at my local branch of Dolland and Aitchison, where new, sexy, stylish and fashionable glasses made me suddenly irresistible and so much more kissable. Well, no, maybe it didn’t because, alas, my hapless choice of specs also unwittingly put me in the lower league of eighties band The Buggles and Deidre Barlow with her very own spectacular crimes of fashion.
Hegley to the rescue
Thankfully a spec wearing messiah eventually arrived and I was saved from all of this horror by the mandolin playing, poetry superstar complete with, er, a hessian dog, John Hegley. He defiantly and bravely spoke up for all sad, lack lustre, sorry owners of spectacles and gave us back our pride. He was out and proud to wear glasses and he had a (20:20) vision and foresight (if not short sight) for us all. So, just as our glasses always reliably welcome us, we too welcomed him, with grateful, open arms.
Seeing the real me
But which pair of specs are the real me?! I got closer to an answer from an optometrist in lovely Leeds and was gently walked away from the half face mask style of swimming goggle glasses which tended to cover over half of my face in thick plastic framework and glass. Happy days, but not so happy that I could reject glasses forever and run away with the good looking kids with CONTACT LENSES. Alas, no, they never work for this particular author (yeah, me, over here, put your glasses on!)
Of course, some of the benefits of wearing glasses include the ever popular, slightly hallucinogenic, misty window pane effect caused by walking inside a warm pub from the cold outdoors. How the regulars seem to always enjoy me knocking their pint glasses to the floor as I fumble for a tissue or a handful of jumper to dab the mist away. Or, there is the fabulous star burst filter system, conjured up by a simple shower of rain for that back to the sixties psychedelic rush of colour, rainbows and weird blurring effects. Who needs expensive Google glass with all of these neat tricks pre-loaded with every pair of glasses.
Dancing with joy, or I was framed!
And finally perhaps the biggest pipe dream and fantasy of any fellow wearer of corrective glasses, not sun glass wearers or people who can wear glasses just for fun (oh no!) the biggest dream is surely the day you can simply throw your glasses to the floor and dance all over them with care free, and joyous abandon. Alas, such is the gift of myopia that if I did that I’d never know where my glasses are to hurt, harm or scrunch them into the ground. But I can dream and more easily enjoy the common nightmare of accidentally treading on my glasses and having to walk round in my prescription sun glasses, at night. Oh there would be tears, as I carefully try pick up every last part of my mangled frames. Where once there were welcoming arms, now all that is left are my uncomprehending, unblinking, cold lenses looking up at me with hard, glassy eyed horror.
Fifty fabulous things - where seeing is believing.