Every Sunday
We'd go and see my grandad, who lived in Whitstable. He was a fantastic man, a proud...Whitstublian (?), had worked the barges there and had helped during the Dunkirk Evacuation, taking his little boat across the channel to get people home.

Anyway, it just so happened that our weekly visits coincided with the visit from his nurse, and part of her weekly ritual was to take out his glass eye and clean it.

Because we all respected his dignity we'd leave the room and sit in the hall until the nurse had done what she needed to do. It was only about 10 or 15 minutes.

Anyway, one day he didn't get his regular nurse - he got a new one, as in new to the job. We did our usual routine of evacuating the room. As me and my brother were sitting on the floor slapping each other about (which we did non stop from age 5 up until I was around 18), the door creaks open.

"Umm...badongismum...can I borrow you? There's a problem."

"Oh....?" My mum was really, really close with her dad. I think she aged 10 years in 2 minutes at this summoning.

"I'm afraid...I've dropped your dad's eye on the floor. I can't find it and I'm worried I'll step on it. Can you help me find it?"

The poor thing - the following week she put the eye in upside down so we came in to see my grandad with one eye permanently gazing up at the ceiling.
(GONEism, Thu 20 Nov 2008, 23:15, Reply)