I thought I was seeing things. I kept trying to brush my eyelashes out of my eyes, or pick fluff off them. Last night it slowly dawned on me that something was getting between my brain and what I was looking at.
First thought - floaters, those little bits of stuff that are sometimes found in the vitreous humour of the eye. But my eyes (especially the right) felt a bit gritty and tight. So off it was to the optician's, where I was due for an eye test anyway.
Two-and-a-half hours later, my eyes had been observed, tested, dripped with stinging drops to make the pupils dilate, with soothing drops, and finally photographed. Here is my right eye:
Now you know me better than I know myself.
The optician could see some floaters, one of which looked a bit like a tadpole. Of course, they are pretty well untreatable except in extremis.
In case there is something he's missed, he's written me a letter to take to the hospital ophthalmic department of my choice.
All I need is the time to fit a visit in between work and my appointments for my shoulder, while making a moment for my burglar alarm engineer and getting the builder down to rectifypart of the job he began and never finished (and I have yet to pay for...)
Oh, and I left the shop with an order in for two new pairs of glasses amounting to a cool £700.
I'll never be rich.