Visionary

Yesterday I got new glasses. A little too new. As soon as I put them on it was like somebody put my eyes into Warp Factor Five, and Scottie was in the engine room shouting 'I just cannae get the power Cap'n!' They were way way too strong, I walked out of the shop and nearly got run over, stepping off the pavement was like falling off a cliff, my spatial awareness was about as good as a mother-of-three on her mobile phone whilst reverse parking her 4x4. I dropped off a costume at RADA and bumped into Alan Rickman, wearing a mustache like a swashbuckling cravat. That Alan Rickman could make anything look good; if he wore a dead fish on his face I'm sure the effect would be nothing but pleasing. As I knocked him sideways he gave me both barrells of full on glare and I peered into his face before recognition dawned, and bowing and scraping, fumbled for the revolving door. Falling on to street I ricocheted my way to meet a friend and when I arrived, promptly clonked him on the head with my folder. The thing is, all that magnificent slapstick filled me with nothing but happiness and peace, it stripped back my pretensions. I'm no slick-wheeler, and being that bumpy little clown in the surly streets of London reminded me of my place. I must hold that place lightly. Sometimes in life, large objects may be closer than they appear.