BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN

My great-grandfather was completely deaf (or pretended to be so), yet he managed to help keep the Conservatives in power for many years, despite a brief interlude under Ramsay MacDonald. His daughter, my grandmother, was also profoundly deaf. In her later years, she walked around with a portable microphone linked to her hearing aids, which she innocently placed in the middle of the dining table. Her grandchildren, however, would mischievously clip it to the dog’s collar, causing her to mutter under her breath about our terrible table manners. As she was deaf, these mutterings were louder than she intended, which only added to our amusement.

This week, I was informed that I have another fifteen years of being able to hear. However, I was reassured that there are now operations and technologies that can remedy the family ailment, ensuring that I should be able to hear until the day I die.

I was told to be ‘grateful to the scientists’ for their ‘impressive advances’ against deafness. But I am most disappointed by this news. I was so looking forward to going deaf.

I particularly enjoyed visiting Prague with tissue rolled up into balls stuck deep in both ears, rendering me instantly immune to a nagging girlfriend.

Incidentally, for all the Romeos out there, if you are dating a jealous type and wish to discreetly appreciate the pulchritudinous, a pair of SunGod Renegades is a must-buy for the summer, especially by the poolside.

Turn off the volume on a football match and it’s a glorious spectacle, losing the WWIII importance commentators give to matches these days. Immediately ameliorate Taylor Swift music videos with the sound down. Indian movies, muted, promptly metamorphose into bearable comedies. On zero volume, LBC mid-morning swiftly loses its churlish naiveté. Keir Starmer speeches could be interesting. Alan Carr matures into Taciturn Man.

Going deaf, the excuses seemed endless. ‘Darling, Nigel from the parish council is on the phone wanting to talk about drainage issues – oh.’ ‘There’s this Japanese classical concert we’ve got tickets for – oh.’ ‘Your mother in law is on WhatsApp wanting a word – oh.’

I was looking forward to becoming one of the three hard-of-hearing fellows standing on a street corner:

First hard of hearing fellow says, “Brrrrr, it’s windy!”

Second one says, “No…it’s Thursday.”

Third one says, “Me too, let’s go get a drink.”

Scientists, do something useful for a change. Focus on cancer.

Dominic Wightman is Editor of Country Squire Magazine.