Sat on the window seat of this 13^th century house we rented for the weekend, I have time to watch as the world goes on around me. Chester is curled up on the bench beside me, his head rested on a soft cushion, Oswald is sprawled out on the floor under the enormous dining table and Scout, my brother Dave’s miniature schnauzer is curled up beside the large open fire. Around the table my two nephews are munching away on marshmallows toasted on the fire, Kira is scrolling through reels on her phone and at the end of the table everyone else is poring over the 1,000 piece jigsaw they brought to while away the dark winter evenings. The low hum is occasionally interspersed with the odd exclamation as mum or Jess (my sister-in-law) finally discovers the location of an elusive section of puzzle. I’ve never really got into large puzzles and the door has firmly shut on that particular pastime unless a miracle drug to regenerate cone cells is discovered but listening to the cacophony of voices there is a part of me that wishes I could join in hunting for more pieces of bunting or a tiger’s tail or the handle of the sword embedded in the stone.

We’re staying at King John’s House near Shaftesbury for the weekend to help Mum celebrate her 70^th birthday. We came here a few years ago during COVID for a family holiday and it was so nice that Mum wanted us all to descend on the place again as the perfect way to mark the event.

After a hearty breakfast, we took the dogs out for a walk and stumbled across the local Christmas market. As we ambled up to the entrance we were politely informed that, due to the free-roaming peacocks, dogs couldn’t come in. Chester was obviously welcome due to his special status but we opted to play it safe and separate into two parties with the ladies going in to explore and the rest of us carrying on down the track back to the house. As we had an hour or so to kill, we took a detour to the local pub to check on the arrangements for the evening’s celebration dinner and, of course, it would have been extremely negligent of us not to do some quality checks on the bar selection.

The great thing about staying in a place that dates back to the Magna Carta is it has so many nooks and crannies making it the perfect place for a game or two of sardines in the dark (it also boasts some magnificent tapestries, a dining table big enough to comfortably seat 15 people, extensive gardens intersected with an impressive rill to name but a few features). As someone with limited sight, you would have thought that I would have the advantage here but that’s the funny thing about sight loss – it affects us all differently. You see, I spend most of my time in a sort of dusk twilight state with just enough light to find my way around. To be fair, if I have to choose between bright light and none at all, then I’ll trust my chances in pitch black any time. So, alas, as the torch lights flashed on and off into dark corners, any night vision I had was completely decimated and eventually Kira and I hatched a plan where we would buddy up. I would lead us around the obstacles from memory and she would check in the dark corners with her phone when needed. This worked surprisingly well and you’ll be pleased to hear we didn’t come last in any of the rounds.

It is so tempting to take the easy escape, sit these games out and watch from afar but that doesn’t benefit anybody and pushes me back into that self-imposed isolation I have fought so hard to get away from. This internal conflict between wanting to be involved and not wanting to be a bother is one of the biggest battles we face every day and there really isn’t an easy answer. For example, not long after this trip to Shaftesbury, I had the chance to join the rest of the family at Taskmaster Live. Once again, I am sure that adjustments would happily have been made so I could join in but on that occasion, I opted to sit it out with William so Oswald wasn’t left home alone. As for Christmas, this is a time for all the family to join together in the celebrations. In the run-up, we took our annual trip out to choose the tree and then Kath coordinated the decorating alongside the kids whilst I put the lights up outside. It must be a funny sight as I feel my way along the icicle lights for the pre-installed wire hooks before fumbling along the rim of the living room window for the next eyelet and secure the lights in place but who can argue with the end result as the lights flicker into action.

I will leave you with this final thought as you settle down in this weird period between Christmas and New Year where the days blur into one and we just hope that we remember to put the bins out on the correct day. This year I had the duty of cooking the turkey for Christmas lunch. For this meal, all the sight-loss tools I’ve accumulated over the years have come into their own – the speaking scales to weigh the joint, my bbq gauntlets for moving the hot pan around, the iPad magnifier to check the recipe from Delia’s Merry Christmas cookbook, my talking instant-read meat thermometer to name just a few but the end result was one to be proud of. We’re often told our disabilities limit what we can do which is fucking frustrating as it only reinforces our own internal ablism. Just look around you at all the disabled people going about their daily lives, it is very clear that this is simply not true and we are just as capable of achieving as everyone else, we just get to the end result in a very different way.

Merry Christmas and I wish you all a prosperous New Year

Chris – Blind Man with a Backpack