Pert

I went for my annual eye test this morning, and received the unwelcome news that there's a cataract developing in my right eye. To be honest this isn't a surprise, because I've had a feeling for the last few months that there was something going on, but it was still a bit of a shock to see the photographic evidence - the image of my left retina was clear and sharp but the right one was hazy, as if they'd taken it through a net curtain. My close vision has deteriorated as well - more bad news, but equally unsurprising given that I had to put my reading glasses on at Grafton Wood last week to be able to see a damselfly that was maybe six feet away - and basically it seems that I'm now fit for nothing much other than gazing into the middle distance and watching owls appear over far horizons. If my left eye wasn't dominant I'd be in real trouble.

Possible solutions were discussed - not to the cataract, which will ultimately become a medical issue, but to the fact that I now need three different close-to-intermediate prescriptions. Varifocals were mentioned, naturally, and then contact lenses. I know people who use both those things, but I don't want either, so in the end we decided to try some mid-range glasses, to help me with those tricky Willow Emerald Damselflies, and reading Scandi-noir subtitles on a smallish TV from the sofa on the other side of the room. In other words, all the important things in life that aren't already covered by my reading glasses and my computer screen prescription. Sigh.

By the time I'd chosen some frames (a deeply traumatic experience because it involved looking at myself in a mirror) and handed over some money, I was feeling slightly unhinged, so I took myself off to BTP for coffee and cake while I contemplated the rest of my day. This had been due to involve a trip to Farmoor, but by this point the Met Office had changed their position on Farmoor and decided it was going to rain there all day, and having already endured one memorably unpleasant walk round Farmoor Reservoir in the rain I wasn't keen to repeat the experience. So I went to Hillers instead, spent forty minutes in the hide looking at nothing very much going on out in the clearing, bought a load of shortbread and chocolate tiffin and a large echinacea, and went home. An hour later I glanced at the afternoon bird alerts for Farmoor and began banging my head gently on my desk.... but with luck some of them might still be there tomorrow.

As I said, there wasn't much happening at Hillers, and most of the birds that did present themselves to the camera were still coming out of their annual moult and were pretty shabby - especially the Chaffinches, Blue Tits and hen Pheasants, which looked almost mangy. This sleekly handsome Robin was a notable exception though, and it posed in a way that suggested it was pleased with itself, and was showing off for the camera. R could tell you just how derogatory the word "pert" is when I use it about another human being, but in a small songbird even I find pertness charming.