Well, this is a new one! At last, yesterday I had my new hearing aids fitted after a six month wait. I mentioned the long wait to the audiologist at the hospital and she looked so troubled I immediately changed the subject. Poor things, they must have had a battering from angry patients. These new ones are a bit of a game changer because they’re bluetooth capable and they’ve also got some kind of wizardry built in that generates faint white noise which subdues the tinnitus noises. They’re caused by the brain which doesn’t like the silence of deafness so it generates some very unappealing whistling sounds to compensate. I think the hearing aids, by making sure that it’s never silent, stop the brain having to fill in the gap. Nature abhors a vacuum even when it’s between your ears.
Anyway, she also said that although it would be uncomfortable it was better to wear them continually so that the brain would get used to the change in sounds faster. I now know what she meant. We walked down Green Park road yesterday and the high frequency noise of passing car tyres was almost unbearable. By the evening I was completely exhausted by beeping kettles and roaring washing machine and so (as you do) I asked Google Gemini whether the tiredness was a known side effect of new hearing aids. And it seems that it’s well known enough to have a name – “listening fatigue” which results from the brain – which even on a quiet day burns 20% of your energy – desperately trying to catch up with this new sound environment. The upside is that I can now (with some help from my friend Kate) listen to music, take phone calls and turn off the subtitles on the telly while reducing the volume. Our neighbours will be rejoicing . My dad used to have the telly on so loud you could hear it halfway down the road.
When, last January I had a routine blood test I had no idea what a storm of hospital appointments and procedures would be unleashed. I am now grimly familiar with the Royal United Hospital and hope – in the nicest possible way – that after one last appointment with the glaucoma clinic in January and one more blood test, we’ll be able to go our separate ways; but I can’t leave without saying how great they’ve been and how grateful I am that the many overseas nurses and doctors who helped to find out what was really wrong were prepared to stay here and keep the NHS running in spite of the racist abuse they have to put up with. In the end it turned out to be a pretty non-lethal and treatable combination of troubles and I’m glad to say that the engine is now running smoothly again; my appetite is returning along with a lovely touch of optimism. Madame too is practically back to normal after her knee replacement and the campervan is back on the road with a reconditioned engine, new clutch, cambelt and alternator so 2026 is filled with the promise of new adventures. In a month’s time we’ll be back in Cornwall armed with the trailcam and moth trap. Can’t wait.
On an equally celebratory note, I managed to fulfil two of the three resolutions by going back through all the old jumble of photos, stored – shoe-box style and beyond reach. I managed to turn the 22,000 photos into 1000 records and I identified 500 species of plants growing in the places we visited. The only resolution I didn’t meet was to complete a million words on this blog – but I’m only 8000 words short and they’ll be written before we go down to Cornwall and start a new set of lists; this time including moths. I’ve started the fungus records as well, so there will be hours of head scratching to look forward to.
2025 was the year in which we decided to give up the allotment and then changed our minds when I was well enough to walk up to the track without stopping three times. So now we’re ready for whatever the climate crisis throws at us next season. As always the point of growth is the place of injury and we’ve learned a great deal about gardening through extreme weather and even managed some decent crops right at the end of September. The apple crop was magnificent and we’ve still got a few fresh allotment apples in store.
At home the Pensions Board have finally begun to plan how they’re going to deal with the black mould in our flat – it’s only ten years after all since we first complained, and the Church of England never rushes a decision when it can be kicked into the long grass for a decade.
So that’s it. The Potwell Inn is signing off for 2025 but the doors will probably be open again tomorrow. I suppose someone will call last orders at some point, but for now we seem to have escaped, Bon Voyage mes amis!
