Well I am now just one day away from the 3rd chemotherapy course. It’s on a bit of a wing and a prayer at this stage, as to whether I pass the tests or not. There are a few blood tests to get through and a bit of a general health check. Even though I feel fit, you can never be sure about the blood tests.

Life does seem to be getting more and more bureaucratic these days. You can’t even open a bank account now without having to show passport and utility bills. Even if you have been a customer of the same bank for 20 years and the girl behind the counter has lived next door to you all your life, you still have to prove to her who you are.

I hear on the radio this morning that jobs worth’s in Brussels are now considering bringing in EEC law that shoe tread has to be of a certain depth. This would mean in theory that any policeman could at any time stop you in the street and examine your shoes to make sure that your shoes have the minimum10 mm amount of tread. Just how ridiculous do things have to get before our government tells the jobs worth’s in Brussels to get stuffed?

I recall an incident at Ronaldsway airport a few years ago. I was trying to pay for a flight and I was aware that there was a concessionary price for blind people so; I asked how much the concession was. The lady asked me for my blind registration number. I told her I didn’t have a blind registration number, I didn’t even know there was such a thing. Anyway she said “Sorry, without your registration number we can’t give you the concessionary price”. I said “But I am blind, I have two glass eyes and I can take them out and plonk them on the counter if you like”. She would have none of it though. If I could not give her my blind registration number then a couple of glass eyes were no substitute for this piece of red tape.

Mind you sometimes people just get the wrong end of the stick. I remember once walking along Athol Street with my white stick. I knew Barbara parked the car on Athol Street outside Zurich where she worked and I also carried a car key with me. It was one of these keys where you press the little button and you could open the car door from about 30 yards away. I used to walk along the street pressing the button on the key ring until I heard the click. As soon as I heard the click, I knew I had reached our car so; I would jump in and wait for Barbara. On this day, a kind lady had spotted me waiting for traffic to clear as I crossed Athol Street. She asked if I would like help and of course I said yes please. On reaching the other side, I thanked her and she went on her merry way. Of course to her horror, she then spotted me walking down the street, clutching my car keys and eventually jumping in a car. I also put the keys in the ignition so that I could listen to the radio while I waited for Barbara to finish work. I have absolutely know idea why she phoned Manx Radio to tell them about the so-called blind man she had just helped to cross Athol Street, who was now sitting in a car and for all she new, about to drive off in it.

Sometimes it’s easy for a blind person to forget that sighted people can’t manage very well in the dark. When we lived in Ramsey we returned home one night with John the Jug in tow. John Craine was a well known character in Ramsey and throughout the Island. He was probably the best known darts player we have ever had and was nicknamed the Jug because of all the cups he had won. He was not the shyest person that ever lived and could often be heard bellowing at the top of his voice. “I am the greatest!” Well on this particular night he did not fair to well. It must have been around 2 a.m when he decided; he had, had enough to drink and it was time to go home. We lived about a quarter of a mile up the road from him so, to assist him on his way I brought a torch from the drawer. As he stumbled about in the front garden cursing and swearing at bushes and walls, I decided it would be easier if I went with him. I set off ahead of him, shouting every minute or so for him to keep up. I could hear the swearing and cursing going on behind me as he bounced from hedge to hedge and falling in the gutter every 30 yards or so. On reaching his house, I stood waiting for him to catch up. He arrived panting and cursing calling me every thing under the sun. “What the heck is up with you” I said. “You, you effin so and so” he yelled, “You have the bloody torch in your hand!” Yes, I had forgotten to hand him the torch, so, although he could see light at the end of the tunnel. He was having great difficulty in reaching it.

And now, I am almost out of words as I have to try and keep the blog down to 1000 words.

Until tomorrow then, Tom Glassey, News at 6.10 a.m on the banks of the Silverburn River.