Today was the day of my annual (or thereabouts) eye check up at the Royal Infirmary. I moseyed on down the hospital for an appointment first thing and went through the usual procedures.
We started off with the standard eye-sight test which involves reading letters off a board. This is done by looking at the board via a mirror, for reasons I’ve never been able to fathom.
As always the top line was ludicrously easy and so it remained until we got down to the bottom of the chart. “Q. A. Blob. Squiggle. Probably a B. Might be a C.” and so on. Anyway, apparently I have the eyes of a hawk or something equally silly.
I was then strapped to the photo machine and systematically blinded in both eyes with the extraordinarily bright flash. At least – thank heavens – the Drops of Doom™ weren’t needed.
Drops of Doom™, which dilate the pupils to the size of dinner plates, are designed purely to torture poor, innocent diabetics. When they’re inflicted on me I in;