This morning I have (and realise those of you with children will think “yeah, whatever, sound s like a normal Saturday morning” but it’s still new and exciting to me): been to get my eyes tested; bought printer ink; taken the younger sprogs to their respective sporting activities; done the grocery shopping*; phoned Mrs The Aged to wish her a happy birthday; had a quick ten-minute coffee and catch up with The Archers**; collected younger sprogs from their respective sporting activities; and made lunch.

*Obviously not all the grocery shopping. Just enough to get us through tonight and tomorrow morning, until CGF has a chance to do proper shopping. No that isn’t a sexist comment, but CGF knows better what shopping she needs.

**Not the whole coffee or Archers as CGF Sprog 2 finished earlier than expected.

This afternoon I am confined to barracks, as the gas man is coming to look at why the boiler isn’t working, and hopefully fix it. Though we know the real reason it isn’t working. It was a pile of rubbish when it was installed eleven years ago and is now well past it’s use-by date. In the central heating world it’s what metaxa* is to Cognac.

*My sister (I forget which one) once brought me back a bottle of metaxa from a Greek holiday. I think I ended up using it as toilet cleaner.

Eye test went well; my eyes haven't changed since last time. I passed the “look like a pirate” test; the “look like Joe 90 test” and the test where they blow air into your eyes (which I think was once in a James Bond (or similar) film, where the air-puffer was replaced with knife blades, and so always makes me feel slightly nervous).

“Do you have any problems with your glasses?” I was asked.
“Yes – I keep putting them down and forgetting where I’ve put them – but that’s more a problem with memory that eyesight”. And, to be fair, the problem isn’t exclusive to glasses. Keys, phone, coffee – they all mysteriously go missing from time to time.

“Which is the lowest line you can read?”
“With comfort or with a struggle?”

“Can you make out the next line?”
“G N H A D P and G – so that first one can’t have been a G: you wouldn’t have two G’s on the same line”
And when full sight was restored:
“Oh, it’s an O”

Before I went in for the test, the assistant told me about the dangers of the “ultra blue” light that is emitted from TVs and computer screens, and how it can damage the back of our eyes, and that I should consider getting an ultra-blue filter added to my lenses. Now, I’ve never heard of “ultra blue” before, so the cynical part of my brain (i.e. all of it) immediately wondered whether this is a made-up word, like the words they use for the stuff in shampoo and yoghurt. And as my eyes (front, back and sides) were given a clean bill of health, the full working day that I spend in front of a computer screen doesn’t appear to be doing me any harm at the moment. And here’s the real clincher. I don’t wear glasses for computer work, so any protective coating is going to be completely pointless.

I did, when I got back, do a google-search for Ultra Blue. Er, absolutely nothing about screen emissions or eye damage. But quite a few links that I think you need to be careful before following.

The Sky Man in the Eastleigh shopping mall intrigues me. He’s been there for years, yet I’ve never seen him sign anyone up. I should perhaps explain that by Sky Man I mean some bloke flogging subscriptions to Sky TV, not an acrobat doing high-wire acts.

Presumably he gets some commission for each mug he signs up – but can this really be enough to make a full-time job? Is it even enough to cover rental of his pitch? Just remember, those of you with Sky – you’re not only paying for Rupert Murdoch’s alimony; you’re also paying for some bloke to hang around in Eastleigh Shopping Mall.

I would also have thought that there must be fewer and fewer potential customers about. People have either already got Sky, or they have a life. Any new customers coming into the market would be new home owners who are young and therefore technical-savvy and therefore more likely to purchase online than from a bloke in the mall.

And that is all for now. The imminent visit from the gas man seems a good enough excuse to end with this. You knew I was going to, from when you first read “as the gas man is coming” several paragraphs ago.