I got replies! I'm insanely happy!

I mean, firstly, I don't get snail mail very often (and therefore, mail does not = bills, just yet.), so, whenever I do, I get a feeling of exhilaration. And, secondly, it was all positive.

I received lovely card and photo in a frame from the NDCS, who  I shall have to thank. Secondly, my local Odeon actually replied and, thirdly one from my local MP.

. Apparently, the lack of subtitles was a temporary fixture because they were doing something or other – the letter is over there, and this is a blog, not a press release – but now they will be able to show subtitles on three screens, rather than just the one, within a few weeks. An improved T-loop system is on the menu, for when they up the technology in cinema generally.

No word of convenient timing, but a start is a start. An apology is quite nice.

Apparently, I’m going to get more letters from my MP as she receives repliesfrom the people she’s (or, probably, her assistant's) is writing to.

For all the care I took over my letters, both had typos!

Then there was the not-so-friendly letter which my mother recived, regarding me, about my hearing aid check-ups. I couldn't go to one, for some reason or other and then we never recieved the letter they allegedly sent with the date for the next apointment. They were threatening to kick us off the list if we didn't call within two weeks. The dentist's letter was pretty shirty, too. Guess we should keep up with appointments. Oops.

Whilst away, I experienced some tinnitus and was advised to pinch my nose and blow as hard as I could.

I didn’t think it would work. (“You youngsters always think you know better than those of us with experience.” And it didn’t. (“You didn't blow hard enough, then. Kids these days...” ) (<- The space is there because this thing appears to be under the impression '"' + ')' = Computers, these days...)

So, yeah, the tinnitus stayed for a bit, and my ears popped a little.

Does it really work? ‘Cause it wasn’t suggested to me, when the psycho-lady seemed to have convinced herself I must be depressed as aresult of some ringing in my ears.

Aha, no.

Oh, and, no, I don’t have any intentions of reducing the decibels, or frequency at which I play my music.

Yes, I do know what damage it will do to my ears.

No, I do not have slower learning, thanks; I am able to doresearch by myself and am also able to pay attention at school. (No, she didn’t suggest there was anything ‘wrong’ with my learning, but given the curriculum at present, it seems as though she was suggesting so.)

No, I didn’t learn anything useful- I read all of this on the internet.

Yes, your questionnaire was awful. No, I can’t remember why. It was ages ago, why do you expect me to remember, I have better things to retain, thanks.

Obviously, I didn’t exactly say (all) those things, and certainly not in that way (teenage attitude was clearly what they expected, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint).

As you can imagine, we booked a cheap flight to France, so that I could go away with friends. I was a bit dubious about the place, as I had never seen it. (It turned out to be beautiful, completely and utterly stunning.)

So, we're on the plane. Waiting, waiting... still waiting.... The plane isn't as snazzy as the last one I went on; there aren't even tellies in the gangway, much less individual touch screens. But, y'know, there's more to life than such technology.  I heard some of the annoucement, not very much-  I couldn't even tell whether the voice over was in English or French.

Now, being a cheap flight, there were no televisions and no visual display to inform people of what they were saying - not even a recline on the chair, either, but that's a different story altogether, - and, frankly I didn't know my belt was meant to be done up until I saw everyone else - meaning my friends - scrambling around to sort themselves out.

I think, it's back to the better airlines.

I remember my childhood well – some of you might even say I’m still in it, perhaps you’re right, - and I recall being informed that I was deaf. Hazily. I was six, almost seven, then. A late diagnosis, they said.

I once wrote a detailed account of it, but I seem to have lost it. And with it, I have lost the emotion that I managed to put in - I cried in the process of writing that.  This is not an attempt to recreate that, it is an attempt to inform you of what happened.

I don’t remember much of the testing I was put through, I guess it was neither important nor unimportant enough to remain with me – for it’s often the pointless events which I can recall with ease, and the ones which maybe I should which become scrambled over time – but I remember a little of it.

The room was white, possibly a common feature of suchplaces, I don’t know where it is, just that it wasn’t the one I go to now. I also know, having been told, that it was a referral.

I remember the room being huge, and white, clinical and ratherthan one, there were two doctors (audiologists? Perhaps) and though the wording they used has long since slipped passed me, I know, and I know well, that one was male and the other female. The desk they sat at was like those at schools; the ones which seat two people. They sat on one side, and I at the other. Perhaps, it was two joined together. I don’t know. I remember them smiling, telling me I should sit in a room.

They gave me a small button to press, the sort you hold in your hand – it was black and had button for my thumb which could be pressed - , the demand seemed relatively simple; you sit in the small dotty – I later discovered that it was soundproofed – room.

I would imagine that it would be rather claustrophobic at my age, but it seemed large enough, then. I sat there and listened; I didn’t strain my ears because it was all a game, a game they had spoilt since I could no longer cheat by watching them press the button, but a game nonetheless.

Once it was over, we sat around athe desk once more and we play –what to this day is – my favourite game of all; they read words off a sheet and I read them back. At first it was easy, then they stepped up the game play - for the first time they covered their mouths. And for the first time, I did badly in one of those tests.

I went home cheerfully.

Films should be accessible to all.

Seriously, if your local cinema isn’t providing subtitling – at a reasonable time of day, if at all –  write to them, complain, start a raucous.

Deaf people, by law, shouldn’t be discriminated against, but they often are.You shouldn’t have to use a plant pot method to watch films, whether you are deaf or hearing. Nobody should.

Of course, given that, at least when the film is first released, most of their revenue (for the cinema) comes from popcorn; they’re not going to want to draw in less viewers because of some subtitles – and they don’t know how many peoplemight go – which makes the idea of subtitling rather... unappealing... in the grand scheme of things.

So, if they’re getting their subtitle disks from DTS – a subtitling company –they probably have them prior to the release – provided the disk didn’t getlost in the post – which means, really, they should be showing them.

If your local cinema is Odeon, they probably have the machinery; don’t let them waste it!

I was on the tube, yesterday. Now, I hate tubes; whenever I make a trip, my snot ends up blackened and my eyes itching from the grime. Of course, most of the announcements are made by my much favourite voiceover, however, more recently, I have noticed that Transport for London have been making use of the drivers themselves; before I listened to a clear, enunciated voice, which has now been replaced with a poor quality something-or-other (presumably the microphone) to relay a rather muffled, scratchy the audio of the driver speaking and I sit there on the train wondering what on earth s/he is saying.

Unfortunately the visual display is not in line with the audio and the message, whether it be ‘we’ve stopped because another train is approaching/has to leave the station, we will be continuing shortly’ or ‘the doors are about to close, please mind the doors’ no script appears on the nice little bar which will probably tell you where you are going - or possibly which station you’ve left, if there’s a delay – and that’srather useful, as you might be able to imagine.

Where has my much beloved ‘please mind the gap’ voiceover gone, and how long will it be before they start making safety notices accessible for the deaf community?

My work day begins at 10, an hour after the rest of the office, despite this, thetube is still jam packed and people are still rushing around. Not quite as much as they might an hour earlier, but nonetheless more busy than other deadened hours. The office is full of bright, bubbly staff but when introductions have been made, and it is not lunch hour, the room is deathly silent. When working on an engaging piece of work, this is useful for concentration, however, when the mind numbingly, skull achingly dull admin type tasks, repetitive and robotlike by nature, must be done gradually the silence becomes a great smog, looming over the office whilst everyone taps away, memorised, focused.

Fortunately, most of the time, the tasks – like letter and briefing writing -  are amusing enough for my attention to be drawn into that, and I am sure, that I too, am one of the many mindlessly tapping away. The campaigns team, who most of my work experience is with, seem to have the most fun (as well as a shipload of excruciatingly boring meetings,which seemingly surprisingly are informative) with outings and interesting tasks, like discussions and on one day we went on a trip to a subtitle making company. Really, it doesn’t get much better than that.