The first inkling I had that something wasn’t quite right with my eyesight was as a small boy singing in a church choir. When belting-out the psalms, my eyes would veer onto the following line from the one that one was supposed to be following: much to the frustration of our esteemed choir master. My mum took me along to Carlisle’s optician in Corby for my first eye test. Apparently, I had a ‘wondering right eye’ that would require wearing spectacles until such time as the problem resolved itself. However, as a prescription lens was required for only one eye, I ended up with a pair of ‘spectacle’ with only one lens, the left being bereft of any glass whatsoever. I immediately anticipated the detrimental effect that the wearing of such a beast might have on a schoolboy of my age. I begged both Carlisle and my mum to put plain glass into the other side of the frame, all to no avail, as this was seen as a short term adjustment with no need to spend unnecessary money on a plain-glass lens. Despite the ‘ribbing’ from all at school and in the choir (I’ll leave the choice of unsuitable nick-names to your imagination), the lens slowly began to have a beneficial effect with my eyes beginning to work as they ought. From that time until much later in life I never had need to visit an opticians again. My eyesight finally began to naturally deteriorate when I reached my 40’s, something I found difficult to accept. I didn’t want to wear glasses viewing it as a blinding consequential acceptance of the aging process. My test results were all too predictable as I prepared to present my newborn bespectacled face to the world: I needn’t have worried. My work colleagues smiled as I walked into the office. Complimentary observations flew in all directions as I recalled the words from the old Danny Kaye song ‘The Ugly Duckling’. I felt good.