I waited until I was sure my eyesight had settled down and stumbled off to Spec-Savers.
I got to put my head in several interesting machines which weren't anywhere near as bad as the optic interrogation with bright lights I got when examined in the hospital.
I am directed to a room with a soft-spoken Indian optician in it.
I look at eye charts and green and red squares whilst having various lenses put into the sort of frame I'd really like, but isn't available to buy.
Imagine my disappointment.
After the examination I am invited to choose some frames.
This is a bloody minefield an' no mistake.
In the end I chose the frames I decided were the most unfashionable yet still had a certain style about them.
That was a week ago.
I went back to collect my new face furniture:
Shit, it's my Dad.
(I didn't specify the 'Antler' option.)
During my eye examination the soft-spoken optician casually suggested I might consider making an appointment with my G.P. for a blood-pressure test.
I didn't bother to ask why he thought I might need my blood-pressure testing, as soon as I returned home I made the appointment.
Up the health centre my blood-pressure is taken by the practice nurse.
She tells me my blood-pressure is fine if not perfect (for a man of my age).
I ask the nurse if she can check my weight.
I seem to be losing quite a lot of it recently.
I know this because all my trousers seem to belong to some fat bloke.
I am 90kg or 14st.
I've lost 1.5st since my last check-up.
Which is a good thing according to the nurse.
Not if you've got to buy new trousers it isn't.