Marriage with no sight

I think I'm going to be on the radio next week talking about getting married.

 

I believe I'm discussing all the visual stuff. It's a terribly sight-oriented thing, I've realised. I am to be wed later in the year which is why I'm dwelling on it, incidentally, and presumably why "the radio" is interested.

 

It's all about design. It's all about look. Yes it's about providing a meal and working out seating plans - I can contribute to that - but much of the rest of it is very visual.

 

OH OK so I CAN choose readings for the ceremony, I CAN choose the music that we walk up/down the aisle to (I get confused which is up and which is down; this upsets my future wife more than it should really). But clothes. Decor. Centrepieces. Flowers?

 

That's just the start. The further you wade into creating your own wedding, the more involved it gets, the more minutiae has to be chewed over.

 

And what about that moment when the bride appears? After having made so much effort, and having paid for a make-up artist, what's the correct response from a partner who can't see?

 

"You look lovely, darling," feels like it could easily be found out as a bit of a fib.

 

I'll be missing that knocked-out-of-my-socks bit when she turns up in her dress, looking wholesome and beautiful. Usually I compliment her on smell of perfume or whether her hair feels silky, things like that, but .... well ... I'm gonna have to get creative on the big day I think.

 

"Your aura is ..." naw. "The force is strong in you today ..." nope. I'll work it out.

The S Factor

I've got no idea why people are so obsessed with zombies these days.

 

World War Z? Sean of the Dead? And, well, other stuff more recent than that. There's plenty of it but it goes over my head.

 

I simply don't get it.

 

When trends arise that I don't understand, I have to assume that it's because of something visual. Basically zombies must "look" so damn cool that people with eyes just can't resist watching them.

 

It's the S Factor (where S = sight, just to be clear)

 

I lost my sight in 1984 at 13 years old, so, with the kind of media I was absorbing as a young teenager, I could be missing a layer of skin when it comes to zombie knowledge I guess ... but I severely doubt that, blog readers.

 

I'm mostly thinking about Scooby Doo monsters. An excellent example of the zombie genre I'm sure.

 

I'm imagining big-shouldered men lurching forward by extending their legs out in a semi-goosestep. And I'm imagining they've got their arms outstretched in front of them with upper limbs in-between which you might get captured if they fall into you. Right? That's a zombie, yeah?

 

And maybe that guy Den Heggarty from 50s style 70s band Darts looks like a zombie. I think also ended up on post Tarrant Tiswas, went "bong" with his bass tones and sang some kind of monster mash as well as having his own comic strip in Tops magazine (a quasi Look-In mag that no one else remembers except me and John Tollervey).

 

Well, what can I say, zombies must've got so much better since. Sooo much better. Cos zombies ain't all that, to me.

 

Also in the S Factor category I have to put people like Stacey Solomon. "Heart o'gold" I'm sure but, heck, can she really read an autocue? Or is someone kind of gesturing words at her so she can carry on presenting. Amazing really.

 

I appreciate she's an ITV celeb, and therefore low rent, but all I can say is ... she must look gorgeous. How else could a presenting career have sprouted?

 

It's the S Factor again. She must be oozing sex and I'm oblivious to it. I'm guessing the Slater girls on EastEnders must also look stunning.

En train

I spend so many hours on trains doing my commute.

 

A quick caluclation puts it at 12 hours a week. And only six thousand pounds per year too, amazing value.

 

Anyway, here is a pic from through the window of my carriage this evening. Enjoy it.

Vanish

I took Little Man to his swimming lesson yesterday. Thankfully he got in the pool this week - last week I had to sit on the very edge of the water getting soaked as I encouraged him in.

 

This week, whilst readying him in the changing room, he spotted something and let me know.

 

"Daddy, you've got a mark on your trousers," he said, putting his finger on it so I knew where. "It's black."

 

I could feel the mark a little so I scratched at it and asked: "Can you still see it?"

 

"Yes I can," he said, "it's not gone away."

 

I hate having to ask him to use his eyes for me. I don't do it very often unless it's basic kid job stuff like "Find the remote control for Daddy" if I can't find it - something I figure most parents do as they slump on the sofa after a hard day.

 

Having kids can certainly be a boost to your access requirements ... though many out there are probably reading this, vomiting at how I must be stealing his childhood away or reaching for the phone to call social services. It just happens, OK? He'll randomly offer up information that I find useful. I can't stop him being a visual being and he just says stuff. And if someone told you that you had a dirty great mark on you, well, you don't ignore it do you.

 

I rarely ask him anything visual or get him to do things I find difficult but, when I do, my personal rule is that it never places responsibility on his head and there are no consequences if he gets it right or wrong or chooses to ignore me. "Go and hoover the carpet" is not something you'll hear from me ... I'd rather over-vacuum a room taking ages using strategy rather than sight before asking that of him. It takes me far longer as I have to assume everything's covered in dust and suck every square inch time and time again even if they don't need hoovering which really can't do my joints or RSI any good.

 

I strongly believe kids should have jobs and responsibility towards the household though ... it's good grounding for their future. Actually, mental note, I must get him to do more round the house now he's getting older.

 

Anyhoo, back to the black mark on the trousers yesterday.

 

"I tell you what, Little Man," I said, "when we get home I'm going to rub something on it and put it in the wash. It's some magic soap that will take away the ..." I was interrupted.

 

"Vanish," said my five year-old.

 

"Yes, that's right," I said slightly taken aback that he was already a step beyond magic soap.

 

"Which one will it be?" he asked. "The red one or the pink one or the blue one?" I had no idea there were varieties of it but had quickly cottoned on that he knew the brand name, and probably from an ad break on a children's channel.

 

It upsets me a bit that brands break through into his little world so I tested it a bit further to see how well it had stuck.

 

"So, we'll go home, we'll rub the magic soap on the mark and then it will ----" I left a space for him to say the brand name.

 

"Disappear!" he shouted joyfully.

 

This pleased me.

 

The little girl has been exploring new words this weekend. I'm pretty sure we can now say that, after "mumma" her first word is "shoe". Well it's been developing from "ought" to "shoosh" round to something more like the word we know and love.

 

After a family discussion about what kinds of new things they could invent to put on toast in the mornings, I think we can now say that the third bit of vocabulary she has learnt is "ham jam".

Vanish

I took Little Man to his swimming lesson yesterday. Thankfully he got in the pool this week - last week I had to sit on the very edge of the water getting soaked as I encouraged him in.

 

This week, whilst readying him in the changing room, he spotted something and let me know.

 

"Daddy, you've got a mark on your trousers," he said, putting his finger on it so I knew where. "It's black."

 

I could feel the mark a little so I scratched at it and asked: "Can you still see it?"

 

"Yes I can," he said, "it's not gone away."

 

I hate having to ask him to use his eyes for me. I don't do it very often unless it's basic kid job stuff like "Find the remote control for Daddy" if I can't find it - something I figure most parents do as they slump on the sofa after a hard day.

 

Having kids can certainly be a boost to your access requirements ... though many out there are probably reading this, vomiting at how I must be stealing his childhood away or reaching for the phone to call social services. It just happens, OK? He'll randomly offer up information that I find useful. I can't stop him being a visual being and he just says stuff. And if someone told you that you had a dirty great mark on you, well, you don't ignore it do you.

 

I rarely ask him anything visual or get him to do things I find difficult but, when I do, my personal rule is that it never places responsibility on his head and there are no consequences if he gets it right or wrong or chooses to ignore me. "Go and hoover the carpet" is not something you'll hear from me ... I'd rather over-vacuum a room taking ages using strategy rather than sight before asking that of him. It takes me far longer as I have to assume everything's covered in dust and suck every square inch time and time again even if they don't need hoovering which really can't do my joints or RSI any good.

 

I strongly believe kids should have jobs and responsibility towards the household though ... it's good grounding for their future. Actually, mental note, I must get him to do more round the house now he's getting older.

 

Anyhoo, back to the black mark on the trousers yesterday.

 

"I tell you what, Little Man," I said, "when we get home I'm going to rub something on it and put it in the wash. It's some magic soap that will take away the ..." I was interrupted.

 

"Vanish," said my five year-old.

 

"Yes, that's right," I said slightly taken aback that he was already a step beyond magic soap.

 

"Which one will it be?" he asked. "The red one or the pink one or the blue one?" I had no idea there were varieties of it but had quickly cottoned on that he knew the brand name, and probably from an ad break on a children's channel.

 

It upsets me a bit that brands break through into his little world so I tested it a bit further to see how well it had stuck.

 

"So, we'll go home, we'll rub the magic soap on the mark and then it will ----" I left a space for him to say the brand name.

 

"Disappear!" he shouted joyfully.

 

This pleased me.

 

The little girl has been exploring new words this weekend. I'm pretty sure we can now say that, after "mumma" her first word is "shoe". Well it's been developing from "ought" to "shoosh" round to something more like the word we know and love.

 

After a family discussion about what kinds of new things they could invent to put on toast in the mornings, I think we can now say that the third bit of vocabulary she has learnt is "ham jam".

Kickstarting this old blog

I'm coming towards the end of a week off work and have been pondering whether or not to kickstart my blog again. If you're reading this, it seems I have. If I had the energy and willpower and conviction, I'd stick at it - wouldn't I?

 

This blog is called Do Your Worst because it was always meant to be a place where I just write - do MY worst at it - and sod the badly composed consequences. It's about having a thought, opening up my site and putting it down. It'd also be nice to make connections with people and hopefully "inform, educate and entertain" ... oh no, that's the day job seeping through into my hometime scribblings.

 

The phrase "do your worst" was also meant to be a kind of nod towards, well, the deity. Him up there. Or her. It's something like ... c'mon, throw all you've got at me, it's not going to put this spark out. A vague nod, I suppose, towards the fact that I went blind when I was a teenager and, in the same year, also had major open heart surgery.

 

Ya know, thinking back on it, 1984 was a pretty crap year. And it's only now in my early 40s that I've started looking back on what happened with a sense of clarity and disbelief at what happened and how I wriggled my way out. More will unfold here on related matters I'm sure.

 

Let's see if the writing continues. I'll try and put some pics in from time to time but they're a bit harder to do.

 

On that note, I can hear a 1 year old screaming outside this room and ought to go and tend to her.

About this blog

Written by Damon Rose, this blog is here to help him gather thoughts and "do writing". It's just stuff, and stuff is just stuff ,after all.

 

You may have come across Damon in various ways over the years but you may not: He once was a performance poet, he was a DJ on a Kent radio station for a while, and - with his friend Sara Morgan - he was one of the presenters on the popular internet talk show BlindKiss, an archive of which can be found at the new address blindkisspodcast.com  (the old BlindKiss.com address has since been taken by someone else unfortunately).

 

More profitably he has worked for the BBC since 1997 variously as a TV and radio producer and since 2002 has been editor of the BBC's disability blog and podcast at Ouch.

 

Damon was born in 1970 on the Isle of Sheppey in Kent. He has been blind since 1984. He had to leave mainstream school at that point (he was 13) and attended New College Worcester (formerly Worcester College for the Blind), a boarding school in the midlands which gave him a grounding in blind and disability culture which has been the focus of a lot of his creative work since. He also got A-levels there and went on to university - shouldn't forget that really.

 

Damon lives in East Anglia with his partner and children.

 

All thoughts on this blog are his own and not those of the BBC.