You can say that again

As a rule of thumb, it’s three strikes and you’re out. Ask someone for a fourth time what they just said and they’re likely to abandon the point they were making, with an “Oh, it doesn’t matter!” Except it does, a bit.

In recent years, I’ve been regularly missing the point. My harshest critics might argue such inaccuracy goes much wider than that but it’s certainly been exacerbated latterly by my dodgy hearing. If I were a reconditioned laptop, I would still have significant functionality but, sadly, would not be able to be restored to full capacity. Cheap, mind you.

I sometimes wonder if there was an early sign that things weren’t fully booted in my younger, more naïve days. As I was leaving the office at the end of a shift, a boldy dressed woman shouted over to me from the other side of the street. Unable to make out her call, I crossed over and received both an ear and eye-full.

“I said, do you want business, love?”

I declined, a little over-politely, sensing it wasn’t the sort of business meeting that should be pursued. Not in fishnets, anyway. Hers not mine, that is.

But now, it’s all rather more obvious. I have particularly lost my high-frequency hearing. This was pointed out a few years back when I was first shown the graph on a screen, outlining the problem. Though I had to put my glasses on to be able to see it.

Frustratingly, the sweetest of birdsong has disappeared from my range. I have now become a fan of the deeper, five-noted, common wood pigeon. (Aka columba palumbus, if you’re interested in blogs that are also informative).

All is not lost, however, and the hearing aids I purchased are shiny and silver to match my age-graded strands of hair.

They are the most useful of accessories and yet I struggle to love them. My audiologist told me off at my last visit for not wearing them enough. At least, I think that’s what he said. He might have been ordering a cappuccino. Granted, ordering a cappuccino while examining some-one’s ears is an odd way to behave but for the purposes of the joke, let’s stick with it.

It is, if I’m honest, largely about pride and vanity. It doesn't of course mean I'm old and daft, although there are other pointers in that direction. Every so often I make a concerted effort to listen to the experts. I once offered to make a programme about the issue, pushing myself forward as a potential “poster boy” for hearing aids. The silence in return was, um, deafening.

True, things have improved dramatically from the ear-trumpet-holding days of yore but still, what my mother calls, “deaf aids” are left trailing in the image stakes. Specs, for which ears play such an important supporting role, are often seen as sexy, stylish and a sign of intelligence. Glasses aren’t called spectacles for nothing.

By contrast, hearing aids are advertised as “tiny” and “discreet”. Much like myself you might think.

So I battle valiantly on, with or without my aids, often nodding inappropriate approval in a misheard conversation. Louder colleagues find themselves soaring up the best friends league table. The softly-spoken ones head in the opposite direction.

And there’s the gossip. People invariably lower their voice when injecting something juicy into the conversation, meaning all you can take away are the boring bits.

In the past few months, I have started guide-running for people who are blind or visually impaired. The other week I was side by side with the remarkable Tracey Hinton. One of us is the reigning 800 metre world record holder in their class. Safe to say it's not me.

I was charting the course when she shouted "Bike!"

"No, all is clear", I reassured her.

"No, there's a bike behind us ringing its bell!" she said, guiding me out of harm's way.

Maybe we can put that one down to team-work.

So, for all my concerns, I should really get a grip and put my own inadequacies in context.

Naturally for some, hearing aids simply can’t go anywhere near injecting the missing sounds and yet they live perfectly fulfilling and fulfilled lives. The wonders of signing show conversations don’t have to be audible to be heard. For others, they are a remarkable piece of technology that is both welcome and glorious.

When I tweeted about my reticence to wear my hearing aids, there were some inspiring and surprising responses.

Take the story of the child who, on first hearing, thought a flushing toilet was a roaring bathroom monster. His life has now been transformed for the better. And the little boy whose aids are proudly adorned with Welsh flags - in fairness, that is pretty cool.

Then there are those heart-warming social media videos of toddlers, their eyes lighting up at hearing their mother’s voice for the first time. The most precious of moments.

It all makes me feel rather silly about feeling rather silly.

So I shall have another go. And if you're missing out on something, maybe get a hearing test too, and, if needs be, join me in my renewed campaign.

Loud and proud.

Now that is something worth repeating.