Please be aware of the following disclaimer: “What you are about to read, at your own will, if some may think you misguided by doing so, please be aware that comments made about hearing and such brought on possibly by old age is not intended to make light of any folk that have these afflictions apart from the writer and his family.”

When I was a child my mother Edna had poor hearing and my dear brother and I used to make smart arse comments sometimes as she walked off knowing that if she wasn’t looking at us we were a pretty safe chance of getting away with it.

That was until she had an implant in the early 1960s that fixed her hearing to the point that Edna could hear the proverbial pin drop, which caused me great suffering as a child until the strap, the chord, the tree branch around the rear end eventually convinced me that I had to be careful with my mouth.

I know some of you will find this hard to believe but my speedboat mouth and tugboat brain eventually figured out that if I got into trouble the best bet was to shut up and do what I was told.

I never inherited much of Edna’s good stuff – her kind and caring nature, her positivity, her ability to cook or her radar-like eyesight – but I did get her abruptness and loss of hearing.

Coincidently, these days I am only deaf in our house, according to the ruler of my world, and apparently it is very annoying for old mate to have to repeat one’s self time and time again to her stupid husband.

This is the same caring person that worked with elderly and I was constantly told how wonderful and considerate she was by her clients.

Now I have always said that if I was going to lose a sense it would be hearing and even though I am constantly encouraged to get a hearing aid I keep losing the number.