7th October 2008

Every evening when we switch on SkyTV, there's a strange sense of confusion. All day we've been experiencing the tranquility of a French mediaeval village, and then, by the flick of a switch, there's Nostradamus saying 'I told you so'. We're apparently nearing the end of the world via the demise of Capitalism. I'm pessimistic enough as it is, but now? Then I look across at him indoors, chuckling over his latest bout of wordplay scenarios and think: is it all in the mind? Is how we live our lives merely the way we choose to think? Take yesterday when we went to nearby Caussade. H needed an eye test. We went through the usual foreign confusion before we understood that we couldn't just go into the French version of Specsavers, wait an hour and then go home with a new pair of specs. First we had to find the ophthalmologist, with me acting as interpreter. It's difficult being asked 'which is brighter, red or green?' when I'm not the one sitting in the chair! But we managed it and, armed with the vital prescription, we were able to walk into the optician shop over the road and order his glasses. The point of all this is: can I change my attitude to that of H by constantly being cheerful, despite all the doommongers on TV? I laughed when H asked if the ophthalmologist was called Mr. Bannister and whether he used to be a teacher - because he has to control the stares and his pupils. Maybe that's what's wrong with me. I need to put sticking plaster over the glasses of my nervous life so as not to make a spectacle of myself! With H by my side, laughter is the best medicine for all the world's ills.