Examiner

There was always a thin crack between the curtains in the living room of my childhood home. On really sunny days, when we weren't all in there, my mum kept the curtains closed so as not to fade the furniture and carpet. On such days I can remember standing for what seemed like hours staring at this slice of golden light and in particular the dust particles that danced there.

I would pick out one mote and follow its progress for as long as it stayed within the beam, breath held for fear of disturbing it's flight. I imagined it to be a spaceship, navigating an asteroid field. Or a microscopic superhero, flying to the rescue. Or simply saw it for what it was, a miniature piece of natural wonder. It would swoop and shift and spin on eddies too small to be felt.  Eventually it would vanish as it flew back into the darkness of the room and I would move onto the next glowing subject.

It was at about this time in my life that we discovered I had poor eyesight and I can now see (if you'll pardon the pun) that this may be the reason for my episodes of Dust-watch. I'm short-slighted, so only those things close to my face are clearly defined, and the give-away to my parents was how I'd watch television.  I would lay on the floor in front of the TV, half underneath it, with my knees hooked over the cross-bar of the set's legs. I thought nothing of it other than I could clearly see 'Top Cat' from there. But a visit to the opticians was to prove otherwise.  

Although it was hard to be a small child wearing glasses I did enjoy those visits to the optician; the dark room, the trays of lens, odd machines, mirrors and lights. The whole place was a cross between a magician's cave and a mad-scientist's laboratory. My optician even looked the part. He was short and wore what I seem to recall as a three-quarter length grey-brown, lab-coat. He was bald on top with a half-crown of hair (like Lobot's headgear in 'The Empire Strikes Back') and was immensely calming, due to a soft, sing-songy voice that could relax away a years worth of 'Four-eyes' based abuse.

All my family attended that optician at one time or another and his catchphrases became part of our lives:
"Is better 1... or 2... 1... or 2... or not much difference"
"Look at my shoulder... now look away... now look at my other shoulder... now look away"
Today a visit to a small, impersonal booth in Boots or Specsavers just doesn't have the same magic.

I am now a full time, card carrying specks wearer (and proud of it) and ironically I also spend pretty much all day with my face staring at a screen much closer than my old TV set. My life is far too hectic for hours of idle contemplation (although some might say otherwise) and I'm currently at a disadvantage when it comes to sunlight, as my office has no external windows. Instead I will have to hope that, even without my vigilance, somewhere the light still shines so the dust may dance...

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