Optical delusion

I paid a visit to my irreplaceably lovely optician this morning and had to explain away my red eyes. He's worried I have an unhealthy eye (aside from generally being big and blind), so insisted I get a second opinion from a stern woman who told me I am developing an allergy to my contact lens solution. Only saline can save me now.

The lovely optician, who regularly tells me I'm a star for completing the simplest tasks and looks a bit like Omar Sharif in a bad toupee, spent a lot of time explaining the problem with my eye, unfortunately he has a very strong accent so I couldn't actually understand what he was saying, but it was very nice of him to try. I had been thinking of asking and medical types rarely share their specialist information so freely. However, I am condemned to specs for a week while my eye heals. Fortunately I can hide in Tallinn where no one will see me, aside from shiploads of stags, their attendants and the native Estonians.

Last night I saw a few of the other CELTAs and said one of my first goodbyes, to Matt, although I only vaguely remember the goodbye - sorry Matt! I was distracted by tequila and the 12-year-old bar manager. Anouki has sworn (pinky swears hold a lot of weight, apparently) to join me in Tokyo. If she doesn't, there will be trouble (although far less in Asia, I expect). Got back to Streatham and bopped all the way home, waking up poor Assaf with my screetching rendition of 'Superstar'. I don't think I'll ever be one of those.