A week later, I’m walking through Dewsbury Market. I can see the price tags on the fruit stalls without squinting. I can hear the banter between the butcher and his regulars. It’s like someone turned up the clarity knob on my life. I even caught my wife’s sneaky comment about my new “grandpa specs” from two rooms away. I chose to ignore that one.
Look, if you’re in Dewsbury and you’ve been putting off either a hearing test or an eye test, stop. Go to that branch on the main street. The staff there treat your senses with the same straightforward, no-nonsense attitude that makes this town great. They’ll even give you a cup of tea while you wait. Just don’t ask for a biscuit—I think they’ve learned to hide them.
