A warrant of fitness by Trevor Plumbly

A vintage model I’m into pensive a bit more lately. This was sparked by seeing one of those 1950s Mercedes parked up the street. I felt a sense of kinship with the old heap; it’s done a few miles and, like me, shows a bit of wear and tear. Of late I seem to be losing a little more sight: simple actions, such as fitting a key into a lock, require a fair bit of fumbling and, of course, patience. Torches and magnifiers are more like outgrown toys than vision aids these… Read More

An eating disorder by Trevor Plumbly

Food for thought An increase in mishaps involving stained clothing along with the newly proven fallacy that ‘I can manage!’ has forced me to accept that a change of diet will be needed if I want to continue to eat in public. It’s not the quality of the food or the presentation; it’s the mechanics of the thing. The stuff’s perfectly OK left on the plate, but when I try to eat it, it seems reluctant to accept its final destination, preferring instead my shirtfront, lap or the table-top. Being blind, I’m… Read More

It’s Not My Bloody Fault! By Trevor Plumbly

She’s Got Her Troubles I’m getting a bit wary about having a pint with Emily; all sorts of dire stuff seems to befall her afterwards. One time she ended up half dead and hints at my involvement: what the bloody hell does she expect when she leaves the pub and goes on to cram her pudding chute with tofu. I’ve tried to explain to the girl my mother’s wisdom that there’s a difference between scratching your bum and tearing yourself to pieces, but it just doesn’t sink in. Anyway, I’ve got my… Read More