Understanding Her

When she stares at your mouth, kiss her.

When she pushes you or hits you like a dummy cause she thinks she's stronger than you, grab her and dont let go. When she starts cursing at you trying to act all tough, kiss her and tell her you love her. When she's quiet ask her what's wrong.
When she ignores you give her your attention. When she pulls away, pull her back. When you see her at her worst tell her she's beautiful.
When you see her start crying just hold her and don't say a word.When you see her walking, sneak up and hug her waist from behind.When she's scared, protect her. When she steals your favorite hoodie let her keep it and sleep with it for a night. When she teases you tease her back and make her laugh.When she doesn't answer for a long time, reassure her that everything is okay. When she looks at you with doubt back yourself up. When she says that she loves you she really does, more than you can understand.When she grabs at your hands hold hers and play with her fingers.When she bumps into you bump into her back and make her laugh.When she tells you a secret keep it safe and untold.When she looks at you in your eyes don't look away until she does.
When she says it's over, she still wants you to be hers

Anon

Not to see or to see; that is the question. Answer in six minutes

‘Best thing I ever had done’

‘Wish I’d known about it years ago’

‘I can see clearly again’

So the TV adverts for Laser Eye Corrective Surgery went. Ring this number for a free consultation. After pressure from a friend whose eyes weren’t suitable for the procedure I rang the number, went for an extensive eye examination and was given an appointment to commence for the following week.

Whoa, rewind, not so fast. How come the price was going to be three times that advertised on the TV? Okay, I was never going to get the three years interest free payment scheme; my credit rating was doing the equivalent of a dead yoyo so I had to start saving. A sizable bequest from a deceased aunt, bless her, speeded up the process and the whole amount was paid up front. An appointment was booked and I duly turned up with sunglasses and hotel room booked for one night, to save me having to do the 120 mile round trip for the ‘next day’ check-up. I was given a few routine eye tests then called in to see the surgeon, who was looking at the result of my tests.

I had been wearing contact lenses for years and had developed ‘dry eyes’ for which I was using 'artificial tears' eye drops. A week before the procedure I had to stop wearing the lenses and go back to glasses, so I stopped using the drops. Bad move.
“I’m afraid we can’t operate today” were the surgeon’s opening words. “How long have your lenses been out?”
“A week”
“Mmmm, a month would have been better. I’m afraid you have very dry eyes and this would make recovery.......”
I had zoned out when I heard the words ‘can’t operate today’, so the rest of his words went over my head. Apparently, apart from the dry eyes I also had black spots on my corneas. So, armed with artificial tears, two different lots of steroid drops with a complicated 5 times a day schedule and an appointment for a month later, I went home. No point in staying over now. Besides, I was gutted.

One month and four bottles of drops later I duly presented myself at the opticians after a two and three quarter hour train journey. Well, three and a half because of an oil truck which had broken down on the line ahead. Made a change from sheep or leaves. More eye tests were done by the optometrist; I didn’t even get as far as the surgeon. My eyes were still slightly dry and I had developed ‘sticky eye’ this time; I thought only babies got that. So I was sent away yet again with antibiotic eye drops, plus the basic ones, a recommendation to take flax seed oil tablets and another appointment for a month later. I was getting fed up wasting nearly a day on a train for a 5 minute consult but I had to admit that the quality of their care was excellent.

Another month later and this time my eyes were okay, but the optician recommended I see the surgeon before finalising a date to avoid a repeat of the first visit. He was available the following Friday, a week before Christmas, but by then I had a rotten cold and my eyes were streaming so I canceled. The next available space was the first week of the New Year so up I went in the snow. After another battery of tests I finally got in to see the surgeon.
“Well, this is an amazing improvement” was his opening comment. “I think we can set a date for the procedure!” My grin nearly split my face. “When would you like to come in?”
“Errr whenever; as soon as possible, whenever it’s convenient, I don’t mind!”
He looked at his assistant then back at me. “How about now?”
Result!
At last! I had to wait 45 minutes, time to read and sign the consent papers and send off a shower of text messages before being summoned upstairs to the theatre. For the sake of the squeamish I won’t describe the not so gory details; suffice to say that after 3 minutes on each eye I was back in the dark recovery room where I had to sit for ten minutes with my eyes closed while an assistant read a list of dos and donts. I was told that I would have unclear vision for a while, and once the anesthetic on my eyelids wore off there might be some discomfort. Then a taxi back to the train station with instructions to get a taxi home at the other end.

By the time I was in my seat on the train the discomfort had started. My eyes wanted to close, everyone was sending me texts which I couldn’t read and it was sooo bright, even with my eyes closed. I had my hand over my eyes to cut out the light and slept for some time because when I opened them again my vision was clearing. The closer I got to home the more snow there was; my daughter was phoning me with updates while she was stuck in queues trying to get home. There wasn’t a taxi in sight so I walked home thinking that the surgeon would be having palpitations if he knew!

With more drops and a pair of shaded goggles to wear at night to prevent anything rubbing my eyes while I was asleep, I didn’t know what to do with myself that first evening. Having been told to rest my eyes I didn’t dare put my TV on! I did sneak a peek at my computer though just to let friends on Facebook know that I wasn’t really there. I was supposed to go back the next day for a check up but was snowed in, so I had my next day and weekly check at the same time. Everything was fine and healing well. I was able to read every line of the wall chart across the room then the optician asked if I’d like to see what my eyesight was like before I’d had the correction. He held two round glass lenses in front of my eyes and I was blind; I couldn’t even see the board, let alone read anything on it!

"It is the best thing I’ve ever done."

"I wish I’d done it years ago."

I have to wear reading glasses for close work but that is nothing. It’s just an age thing.

"I can see clearly again."

Going Home

A sea-battered cluster of rocks flung by a giant hand
A necklace of blacks, greys, greens, browns nestling in a sandy bed
Surrounded by crashing surf, bent by relentless winds and lashed by icy rain
Or lapped by gentle waves, kissed by warm breezes and caressed by the lightest rain


Spring brings the discerning lovers of balmy days, fields of yellow daffodils
The calm before the stampede
The walkers, nature lovers, itinerant workers
Who do not mind the sudden showers, sunny days and violent storms

In Summer visitors flock like migrating birds
Flooding the five islands, each with their different characteristics
Looking for a break from their frantic lives
They disperse between the islands to find sparsly populated beaches on which to relax

Autumn is the bridge between summer and winter
Grey and foggy some days, sunshine inbetween
Boats are brought ashore for refitting, either congregating in the boat park
Or dotted about the island in deserted fields

Winter shows the islands at their most desolate
The bleak landscape is unchanged by rain, wind and unexpected sunny days
The constant buffeting jeopardises the movement of aircraft and boats
Essential lifelines needed for survival as everything arrives and departs this way

This is where I was born and grew up
I do not choose to live there now, nor do I want to
But my parents are still there, so when I go back it’s not for a holiday
I’m going home.

Train Trip

Getting on the train at the first stop and seeing a forest of reserved tickets should have alerted me to the fact that the train was going to be busy. Instead of picking an unreserved seat, the obviously sensible course of action, I picked a seat that was reserved from my destination, Cardiff, or so I thought. As more and more passengers claimed their reservations, evicting hapless travellers from their seats, it wasn't very long before my turn was up. So, I grabbed my bag, squeezed past the person in the outside seat, pulled my coat from the rack above and joined the mass of seat-less passengers swaying in the narrow walkway. At the next stop it was all change, as everyone had to do the soft shoe shuffle to get off, on, or grab an empty seat.

I was pushed, shoved and attacked by 'ankle-biter' cases on wheels that were being dragged around with no regard for anyones' ankles and I ended up in the space between carriages, just outside the conductor's carriage. Some-one offered me one of the fold-down seats and I felt as though I was waiting outside the Headmaster's office for a good telling off! This small space was getting more and more crowded with young men clutching large cardboard cups of a Starbucks liquid. Eye to eye (so to speak) with some strange guy's crotch was not good a good place to be.

That was only a short trip. My next one was longer and involved three changes. Stupidly, I wore cowboy boots with a heel. Luggage consisted of my small ankle-biter and a well filled soft bag, both heavy. "Please mind the gap between the train and the platform" became a dreaded mantra; getting off the train was an insight into human behaviour. I can't see the point of gathering round the door of a train waiting to get on before the passengers have got off. My solution was to throw my luggage onto the platform, gingerly negotiate the aforementioned gap in the heels, then march off through the crowd dragging my luggage and leaving people picking themselves up off the platform. Getting on was a bit more problematical, because being well mannered (well, until provoked!) and practical i.e. letting people get off the train before I attempted to get on, meant I was pushed and shoved to the back. Preferable, I suppose, than ending up on the rails. Again I perfected a technique of throwing the ankle-biter on first, and pulling myself up by the rail dragging the bag (those darned boots again).

Reaching my destination I was then pushing against the crowd who were rushing for the connecting train, and, being twice as wide with luggage, getting stuck in the station doors. For the home journey I packed the heels, wore soft boots and balanced the soft bag on top of the wheelie. One lives, learns and collects bruises.