Long gone are the days when I found myself being embarrassed by the fact that I have a hearing problem. I have also learned to live with my hearing aid, regarding it as just another item to be inserted each morning. So no big issue there on either count, all part of getting old.
This being the case, why then do I dread a visit to Woolmanhill where I get my hearing piece tuned, as and when required.
After all, I have no such fears when I go to my local health centre, the dentist, or even go under the knife, as I have done from time to time over my three score and ten, plus.
Right from the occasion when at the tender age of four when I had my tonsils out, I always trusted those in charge, right through to having a stent in my heart some 10 years ago.
Each and every time I felt in good and capable hands, which is still the case when I visit my medical chums at Ellon Centre who are in the main, caring professionals all concerned with my welfare, even in my old age. Cradle to grave and all that.
I suppose the crucial difference with my hearing contacts is that they seem to lack the social graces of the others, making even a short visit seem like an eternity.
Without wishing to take up their valuable time, I like the basic niceties of simply saying hello, or just passing time with a comment on the weather, not too much to ask you would think.
But no, this is not the way of the staff who appear singularly disinterested in my trivia.
Snubbed once again last week I tried to analyse why this should be the exception to all the rules, as previously spelt out, coming to the startling conclusion that the same staff were once upon a time, good communicators until they were worn out by the stunning silence of old folk, reluctant to speak for fear of not picking up the responses.
Very deaf old folk can in fact seem to be very rude, and abrupt, but spare a thought for them when the affliction becomes unbearable, rendering them speechless, and hopelessly incapable of meaningful communication, though I am not sure it best explains the attitude of staff.
I will, nevertheless, persist in trying to get them to be a little more responsive when I am next in the building. A grey soulless piece of granite that is scarcely helpful to social intercourse.
Finally may I remind you, just in case you had forgotten, we are only two months away from the next playing of the World Cup in Brazil. Yes that cup, the one with the round ball in which Scotland occasionally participates.
Interestingly even our English pundits have been very quiet about it, which is fair enough, given their team’s zero chances of winning the Jules Rimet Cup, but by June they will be a little more forthcoming, predicting yet another 1966 and all that. We’ll see.
No personally I am more interested in the cricket season, soon to be upon us, or even the Glasgow Commonwealth Games, though on that one I am not convinced the eyes of the world will be on the event.