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Colour Blindness

I have that.  Colour blindness.  I have trouble distinguishing different colours from each other and it’s a fucking nuisance.  I can’t tell the food colours apart.

The what?

The food colours.  The ones spoken of by women.  You know, the colours that have the name of edible substances.  Aubergine.  Claret.  Salmon. 

Do you ever listen to women talking? 

Jesus that’s a lovely burgundy dress.

Thanks very much.  Do you like it?

I do.  It goes really well with your peach knickers.

What is this?  Men have no idea what all this talk is about.  What the fuck is chartreuse?  Bisque?  Almond?

Now, admittedly, I do happen to have a colour deficiency, diagnosed and everything, officially, by a qualified specialist testing-person, qualified and specialising and everything.  You see, once, as a student on the summer holidays, I tried to become a train driver on the London Underground.  They sent me for an IQ test or something like that, which was designed, as far as I could tell, to make sure I wasn’t an orang-utan, and after I convinced them I’d really finished filling out the exam paper in five minutes, they sent me for a medical, which went just fine until they showed me all those little colouredy things involving pictures of shovels and devils and tractors and numbers all jumbled together in a pointilliste hell, specially for me.

You’re fucking colour-blind you drunken Paddy bastard!!  they screamed at me.  Fuck off and don’t be crashing our wonderful London Transport trains.

That’s not true.  I just made it up. They didn’t say anything of the sort.  They just said Fuck off, you drunken, colour-blind, terrorist Paddy student-fucking-bastard fucker.

It was a long time ago.

That wasn’t my first indication that I might possibly have a colour problem.  Maps are a difficulty, and were a big trouble to me in school, especially the colours that tell you how high on a mountain you are.  Let’s see.  That looks like a light, brownish type of a colour.  Let’s have a look at the little chart at the side.  Yup.  Just as I thought.  That light brownish colour could be any one of a hundred different colours on the chart.  I can definitely tell you that we’re between zero and twentyeight thousand feet above sea level.  How’s that?  Any help?

I can never be a pilot, or a doctor, or a train driver, or an army officer.  For fucksake.  Isn’t it terrible?

But we were talking about women and their names for colours.  Tangerine.  Apple.  Orange.  LemonSangriaMint. Raspberry.  Chocolate. Asparagus. Latte. Apricot. Marzipan.  Plum. 

This baffles me, and not only because I’m blind.  Do you think two men would have that conversation?

Jesus, Tommy, I love your outfit.

Do you really?  You don’t think it makes my arse look big?

Not at all!  You were a fat bastard anyway, and that mashed potato colour really suits you.

But what about the tie?

No.  That’s fine too.  I like that subtle shade of fried egg.

Colours?  Me? 

Sorry.  You’d need to ask someone else.

11 replies on “Colour Blindness”

You’re very humourous. Thank you for the smile.

My heart is so heavy with the Gaza postings. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. Just tears rolling down. Where are you, God?

Thank you, Bock, for showing it as it is. And for letting people speak.

I was told I was colour blind when i tried to join the army aged 17. looking back now it does has its advantages.

my january blues are lifted by your humour to think that their are some people out their who call themselves comedians and earn fortunes and here we have you and we are not
giving you a copper. on a more depressing subject, I watched your video clip on gaza, shocking, absolutely shocking. thanks bock.

Bock, am also colour blind. I was asked to leave the Sluagh Muiri in case I brought plague to foreign ports with my inadequate flag signals. Some of the clothes that I have bought over the years have been choice, as for my prowess on the snooker tables of Limerick, legendary. A cold sweat comes over me when I think of those circles made up of different coloured dots.

Yes. I sometimes have a problem when the snooker balls are old and faded. Those murky colours confuse me, especially in poor light or if I’m blind drunk.

I needed a laugh today and that was just the ticket.Excellent.Thanks.I’m completely shite at snooker and I can’t even blame colourblindness.I think it must be the bendy arms.Doomed to a life of porter drinking.

BOCK, have to tell u, there are males of the species that talk of colours in this manner too; believe it or not! Some time back I enquired of a male shop assistant in a menswear shop in this home town about poloneck jumpers or similar, he told me straight off the bat that he had poloneck ganzies but only in one shade and that was ‘buiscuit’!! This is a true story!!!

Thanks for the laugh Bock. I had the very same experiences, but now I’m happy in my bacon-flavoured t-shirt and hamburger-coloured jeans.

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