Playing a blinder


You know when you do so much exercise that bits of your brain pack up? No. Nor do I. But it happened to my mate Mr S. Single as you can see here. He was out enjoying a game of cricket in searing heat when his eyesight failed. This put me in mind of a story of a friend of mine – let’s call him Mutt – who once got so drunk and stoned that he went blind. No, seriously. He was in a bar, on his way to the lav, when suddenly he couldn’t see any more. He was still conscious, vertical and able to talk (ish) but he was one sense shy of the full set. He is joviality itself when he tells the story, because ‘I was fine the next day,’ but I bet he wasn’t so smiley at the time. He maintains that all in all it was probably a good thing he was so drunk, because otherwise the whole thing might have really freaked him out.

Before I read Sharp’s blog, I thought Mutt was an isolated example. Before I read Sharp’s blog, I also didn’t feel like I was anything special, but a boost can come from unexpected quarters. It’s like when you show your CV to a colleague. They start pointing out all the stuff that you think is a normal part of doing your job and therefore not worth mentioning, whereas in fact it demonstrates skills that merit remark and praise. So there we have it. I have a shiny new boast: unlike at least two gentlemen of my acquaintance, I’ve never done anything so much that I’ve gone blind.


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