I'm too specsy

I have finally come to the unsayable conclusion that I am in need of some help with the old 'vision-thing'.

For example, see above.

Mr. Benjamin "" Thomas and I were indulging oursleves in a quick bout of our favoutite pastime - "Saucy Robot Wrestling" - and I asked him to pose for a quick snap for my private album. I was sure I had opened my aperture correctly and got his focal length sorted, but alas and alack-a-day you can see the unfortunate result.

I can only wonder what Mutt Faithfull or the Red Snapper would make of this shameful effort?

One can't expect to beat off the depredations of tempus forget forever. And being a driver who knows nor fears the meaning of the words 'speed limit', 'neck brace', 'navigation' or 'blow into this, sir' I have wrecklessly forgone the necessary care and attention my beautiful peepers deserve.

But I cannot go on like this, letting what could be the veritable prime of lush womanhood pass through my field of vision merely as a blur of whimpering, fuzzy-gorgeousness. Who knows what opportunities I might be missing out on?

So I am heading to Sightsavers for a gander at their prestige top-flight range of "Cheap-o-spect" optical assisters.

If I can find them.