I may be getting a bit oversensitive or perhaps a little punch drunk from the constant onslaught of the PC brigade, but somehow life seems to be getting more complicated. Many folk, well-intentioned though they are, seem to wage war on the concept of 'simple', which I, and I'm sure a great many other Blindies, find serves our daily doings pretty well.

I've previously covered the digital stuff, but since things are trotting along age-wise, perhaps it’s time for a more personal insight about what this means to me.

I now believe I've reached that pivotal stage in life where experience and wisdom combine to provide near-perfect clarity of thought, aided of course by the odd drop of single malt. Starting at the top, politicians and optics gurus would have it that I'm disabled, visually impaired or suffering from sight loss. Come on! Guys – a simple 'blind' should cover all three! But then I suppose you'd want to discuss how 'low', low vision needs to be to be considered 'low' and, bingo!, here we go again. My problem is that I'm reasonably keen to play the jargon game but when I join in, the buggers keep shifting the goalposts and I can’t keep up.

Old dog, new tricks?

Feeling that perhaps outside input and self-assessment might even things up a bit, I surfed a few podcasts. I'm not a fan of such things normally and the ones I struck were mainly chirpy folk anxious to pass on the secret of contentment, or latter-day prophets peddling their brand of Solomonic wisdom, most of which offered diversions rather than insight.

So I turned inward. At my age, embarking on a new train of thought poses a 'challenge', but I reckoned I was up for it. It led me to think that, if I am to be remembered as a ‘Blindy of note’, bits of my current personality need renovation, ie. my carefully nurtured 'wise old curmudgeon' attitude seems to be running out of steam, leaving me with the problem of having to adopt a new more happy-go-lucky one.

Unlike the professionals swapping case histories over chardonnay at conference dinners, my observations about myself and those around me are more 'coal face'.

Using a formula based on Blindies I have known, to me there are two types of people: 'adepts' and 'managers'. Adepts seem to swan through most of the stuff I can't manage, they come with the accuracy of brain surgeons, touch type and I bet some of them can eat at Chinese restaurants without making a mess. I don't think I could live life that accurately. Managers, meanwhile, seem to me to be the ‘model Blindy’, quietly tinkering away to create their own defence against the latest attack from 'improved technology'; a battlefield on which I've long been tested.

Despite a few personality hurdles, I thought the potential was there to use both of these models to ease me into a tolerant, populist figure. The temptations to do so were certainly there: I could make a quietly reasoned podcast, be a guest speaker at the odd support group, or perhaps even get the odd mention at the Blind Foundation level. All it would take is some airbrushing. Couldn't be that difficult. Politicians do it all the time; you'd never catch one of them saying ‘we're in the poo’ – unless they're blaming the previous administration, they just face ‘challenging times’.

As a starter toward the 'new me', I penned a little piece headed ‘Looking forward’, using snippets like, ‘empowering your potential’ and ‘boundaries are there to be crossed’, even lauding the importance of the latest new strategic plan. But when I ran it past my inner circle, they seemed to think it was funnier than I had intended it to be…

Back to the future

Having made what I consider to be an honest effort, I don't really feel I'm cut out for this happy-go-lucky stuff, because there's an inbred part of me that really enjoys a good moan. It's a British thing, widely regarded as conversationally important and, in some cases, therapeutic. Just imagine Coronation Street or talk-back radio without a bit of finger-pointing!

So, after due deliberation, I've decided a good moan isn't such a bad thing; more an inherited responsibility and one I'm now determined to uphold.

Eventually there'll be a space in Blindy folklore for grumpy old codgers prepared to call the 'journey' and the 'challenge' a bloody nuisance. As for the cognoscenti, keep on chucking the verbal confetti – I'm back from the brink, match-fit and ready with a good old-fashioned niggle.

Happy days!

Born in the UK, our ‘white-caner’ columnist, retired Dunedin antiques dealer Trevor Plumbly, was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa more than 20 years ago and now lives in Auckland.