Old Scratch

 I scratched the left lens of my glasses on a thorn bush while having an emergency wee. You'll be like this one day. Everyday I do two things: drink a pot of tea and go for a lengthy walk. Normally this is fine, but the other day there was an unfortunate conjunction of the two events, and I found myself hiding in a thorny hedge pissing caffeinated steam where rain had darkened the earth's dark. 

When I emerged - checking for flat footed, puffing joggers - I noticed cuts all over the backs of my hands and the strange diffusion of light in my left eye. It was getting lens flare without having to watch a JJ Abrams movie. I took my glasses off and there was a sweeping scratch running from left to right like a flamboyant signature across the lens. Great. 

When I got home I looked up how to deal with scratches on lenses on the internet. The unaccredited genii of the web recommended using a soft cloth, and rubbing non-abrasive toothpaste in a circular motion onto the scratch. They generally recommended Colgate. So I did it. Did it work? 

Did it fuck.   

Tomorrow I'm off to the dentist again and, later, its a trip to glamorous Connswater to see if my Optician knows any sweet moves for getting scratches off lenses. I appreciate this is not in their best interest, given they literally have a shop full of glasses they're itching to sell and every time I go there they make me buy eye-drops I don't think I need. That piss in a bush is going to cost me.   

But it's so annoying. The scratch looks exactly like a hair complete with follicle. It's like I'm looking at the world and all I can see is a giant silver pube floating in front of me. No one needs that. Well, I can't speak for everybody - I'm not here to kink shame - I don't need that.