Jim and John are both hard of hearing.
Jim says he loves his new hearing aid. “It’s high-tech, state of the art. It’s amazing. I can hear everything.”
John says: “That sounds great. Maybe I should get one. What kind is it?”
Jim replies: “It’s quarter to six.”
Deafness is hilarious – if you don’t have it yourself. My hearing problems crept up on me, just like people in this house who think it’s funny the old man has gone a bit Mutt and Jeff.
I began to notice I wasn’t catching everything people were saying. And I needed the telly louder than them. My ears felt bunged up.
Time for olive oil, but not the extra virgin cooking stuff. It didn’t do much for me, except a wet cheek when Mrs X missed my lughole.
Proud owner of an ‘unusual’ ear canal
After a few days to dry out my canal, I tried these highly recommended sodium carbonate drops from the chemist.
Sodium bicarbonate? Is that like bicarbonate of soda? Don’t be silly, it wouldn’t be anything like that.
Actually, it is exactly that, in a solution and put in a wee dropper bottle. Don’t try that at home. Pancake dough could start seeping out of your ears. Now that would be silly.
Now I must continue with the pancake ingredient and wait for experts from ENT to haul me in for a hoovering of my inner lugs
At first, the bicarb had no effect. Then those noises. Deep inside my head, whooshing and distant splashing. Then crackling. It was like a wee man scoffing a packet of Golden Wonder next to my eardrum. Honestly, I started thinking I could smell salt and vinegar.
It wouldn’t stop. Eating even an egg in the morning, every movement of my jaw caused sounds of chomping of loud, dry crisps. I felt more bunged up.
The nurse peered into my left tunnel and commented I’d an “unusual” ear canal. All wiggly-wobbly, not a straight run like in most people. He used a more medical term, but that’s what I took from it.
Now I must continue with the pancake ingredient and wait for experts from ENT to haul me in for a hoovering of my inner lugs. Apparently that’s what they do when a simple syringing is unlikely to flush excess wax out. I hope you’re not having your breakfast. Sorry.
Is Donald Trump headed here to hide out?
I’m also sorry Donald Trump is jetting to Scotland on August 21. Said to be a golfing holiday in Ayrshire and Aberdeenshire, I’m not buying it.
Back home, he’s been accused of flushing official records down the pan. The FBI have just raided his pad, and probably his pan, at Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach. Is he coming to claim asylum?
Imagine him going up to Michael Forbes, the Balmedie hero who refused to be bought out by Trump. “Hi, Mikey. Sorry, I called you those names. Can I come in and hide? They won’t think of looking for me here.” I’ll say no more about the chances of that.
Like I’m not saying much about the state of our ferries. I’ve been tub-thumping for donkeys about the Scottish Government not giving a hoot about people who live in these blasted islands. Now it is what everyone is talking about.
Island businesses are dying. People are openly saying they’ve to move away to the mainland to survive. The Lib Dems say it’s an emergency and want parliament recalled. Good. Most people aren’t bothered about crises that don’t affect them.
Still no firm commitments from the useless articles in Edinburgh. The fact is, every Scottish politician with any decency should be pressing transport minister Jenny Gilruth and the suddenly-deaf first minister for action.
CalMac may not be efficient, but government must resource it properly. Why aren’t they leasing short-term solutions? Are they deliberately deaf?
Dating is expensive
Someone else thought he had trouble hearing when he took his new girlfriend out for a slap-up scoff recently. Dating is expensive.
In my own case, Mrs X was happy with a poke of chips and sharing a can of cider, but now it’s a costly undertaking. Three courses with unnecessaries like wine, and a tip. The only extra I had to fork out for was when Mrs X wanted a pickled onion. The extravagance.
This young fellow, Stewart, is finding it very tough on his wallet. He took his amour out to Stornoway’s poshest hotel eatery.
As they got ready to leave, Stewart asked if they should split the £110 bill. That’s fair. She said: “Really? I believe it is the man’s duty to pay.” She then said that was why it was called the “men-u”.
I told Stewart that, if there is a next time, he should tell her that both of them should definitely pay half each. That’s why it’s called the “me ‘n’ u”.
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
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