Pardon?

After days (actually, make that weeks) of nagging (actually, make that correctly pointing something out), I concede that I have a problem. With my ears.

For a few weeks now I have been becoming slowly deafer, to the point where now a small nuclear explosion could occur two feet to my left, and I would only be vaguely aware that someone may have coughed. I am getting over a cold which has inevitably made it worse (you don't want to know about the unearthly substances coming out of my facial orifices), but still - I think I can safely say it's not all due to the sniffles.

As a child, I had multiple ear problems. I have manifold memories of going swimming on holiday, but needing to put cotton wool in my ears. Embarassing. Maybe it's still there? Maybe that's the problem.

So I have bitten the bullet. I have made an appointment to have my ears syringed. I've got the drops to start putting in - but the problem is it isn't until a week on Friday. So my wife has to put up with another week and a half of shouting at me. I don't mind, but the neighbours might have something to say about it.

In a perverse way, I'm quite looking forward to it, even though I hate the doctors. If memory serves, the sense you get after having it done is that someone has literally turned up the world. Everyone seems to start shouting, and you can hear an ant cough six miles away.

I will, of course, let you know how it goes and you'll be most welcome to post comments.

But please don't shout.