Eyes Right?

           Reading specs, driving specs, computer specs, varifocals (for general use); even the simplest of tasks is now complicated by having first to choose, then locate the appropriate eyewear. My optician is unsympathetic. In fact, he told me that he had recently read a professional paper arguing the case for even more specs. Its author had concluded that the visually challenged should, ideally, have a separate pair for every one of life’s tasks, which would add up to eleven, different prescriptions. How would you even manage the logistics? But perhaps it would be possible, one day, to have just one pair of digital lenses, adjustable by scrolling, to match every prescription.

          Anyway, having found my computer specs (not in the obvious place), I hurriedly finished the online ‘artwork’ for the poster advertising the latest jazz-themed social evening. I needed some actual paper copies to reach out to the social-media-challenged, so I primed the printer and pressed enter. When the prints came out a different colour from the on-screen version, I thought for a moment that I might need another trip to the opticians to check for colour-blindness. But the diagnosis was obviously non-medical: the cheap substitute cartridges I’ve been using are incompatible with the hardware. (Or, more likely, the hardware is programmed to play up when it detects subs.) Either way, I would have to buy the branded ones. I found them at the local computer shop, but the exorbitant price reminded me why I had shunned them in the first place. “Don’t worry,” said the man, “we can print them for you. Just email me the image”. Five minutes later and £2 lighter of credit, I walked out with ten, perfectly colour-balanced copies and a growing conviction that some things are best left to professionals.

          On the other hand, when the old campervan needed a replacement rear window wiper motor and the mechanics declared it obsolete, I sourced a pre-owned part on eBay and, out of pique, fitted it myself. The bill was cheaper, but it cost me a stiff neck and considerable time removing and replacing plastic panels, exploring the wiring etc… not to mention the hassle of having both reading and varifocal specs to hand. In the end, I recalled the wisdom of the old rhyme:

M'lord tried to fix the electric light

It struck him dead

And served him right

T’is the duty of the nobleman

To provide employment to the artisan.

But I had been keen to get the job done prior to our drive to Lyme Regis, where we were going to join some old friends for a couple of days in a rented sea-side cottage.

          Lyme Regis is a little place, but it punches above its weight in the arena of international fame. It was noted in the Domesday Book and granted the “Regis” (Latin for “of the King”) tag in 1284, because of its status as a port. It was renowned then for its unique harbour wall, known as the Cobb which, though it has since been rebuilt to a different design, remains famous. Jane Austen visited it as a tourist and it features in her novel Persuasion and in John Fowles’ The French Lieutenant’s Woman. But, above all, Lyme Regis is known for being a centre of palaeontology, ever since Mary Anning (1799-1847), an uneducated local woman, began to excavate and categorise the fossils embedded in the Jurassic era cliffs. Although in her day she received scant professional recognition, in 2010 she was recognised by the Royal Society as one of the ten most influential women scientists in British history.

          The cliffs at Lyme Bay are prone to slippage, making it easy to access the famous fossil beds. We visited on a grey, rainy day – just the sort that causes the slippage – and there were people on the beach, chipping away with little stone-hammers. How much easier it would be, I thought, if they had X-Ray specs.