Gyles Brandreth: My hearing loss was making me the Joe Biden of breakfast television
I began realising a few years ago that while I could hear perfectly well, I couldn’t hear perfectly well. That matters. Especially for a pedant like me.
I’d turn the television up louder, but still couldn’t quite hear, so I put the subtitles on.
I politely nodded my head along in pubs, not catching words, only later realising I’ve accepted a dinner invitation – when I ought to have been replying “I’ve got to go now”.
It rather caused confusion, especially as words and language are everything to me. Language is power, as the great philosopher Bertrand Russell said: “No matter how eloquently a dog may bark, he cannot tell you that his parents were poor but honest.”
So recently, I finally took myself off to the high street to have my ears checked (“checked” being a much better word than “tested” which implies it’s an examination with some form of punishment). The hearing expert at Specsavers asked: “When did you first begin to feel that you weren’t hearing everything clearly?”
“About 10 years ago,” I replied. Which is typical apparently. Any issue with eyesight and people immediately seek a professional, but when it comes to our hearing we wait a decade before acting.
I entirely blame my generation’s stigma around wearing hearing aids for this. When I was a boy, two elderly ladies spent Christmas with us each year, both wore hearing aids the size of a book around their necks, with ghastly pink tubing attached to an amplifier. I’d carried that off-putting memory for decades.
Generally, I refuse to moan about ageing and have decided to adopt the approach of my good friend Judi Dench. She has challenges with her eyesight, so learning lines and manoeuvring around the stage isn’t as easy as it was. She loves being with a live audience and that’s one of the reasons why we do a stage show together. It’s a celebration of our extraordinary careers. But we never mention that in the show – her style is to rise above the ailment, not moan about it.
Judi is “Mrs Positivity” and I love that about her, she is firmly somebody for whom retirement is a dirty word.
Doing our show in Edinburgh last year, 20 minutes beforehand we were told the microphones had failed. Undeterred, 89-year-old Judi said: “We’re professionals. We will project and we will rise above the situation.”
At 76 I’ve reached the age where my doctor said to me recently, after I’d mentioned a new ache in the morning: “Look, if you didn’t wake up at your age with an ache or pain, it would mean you had died in your sleep. Be grateful for the aches and pains.”
So I’m with Judi – neither of us want to be old crocks comparing notes on the indignities of age. Even the very mention of the word “dignity” would get her goat. Because there are people of every age with eyesight challenges and hearing challenges. We’ve got to get away from the whole notion of indignity and make the best of what we’ve got.
All my role models in life are older people. The late Queen lived to be 96 because she had a purpose in life: her work and her faith and her dogs and her horses. Prince Phillip lived to be 99, he was a very practical person and wore hearing aids the moment he needed them.
Like them, my view is “just get on with it” And if there’s something that can help you get on with it more efficiently and effectively, like spectacles, if you need them, or hearing aids, (or “clarity aids” as I like to call them) then do it.
Interestingly, my left ear is perfect. Only my right ear is affected and so the audiologist asked if I liked to go shooting. I’ve never gone shooting in my life, I’m a vegetarian, I indignantly replied. I worked out that I’d spent much of my life on television wearing an earpiece in my right ear, which might have something to do with it.
Not hearing can lead to one feeling self conscious about saying “excuse me” and asking people to repeat themselves or “sorry I didn’t catch that”. You can’t help but think “oh God, I’m becoming old” and questioning whether you’ve become the Joe Biden of breakfast television.
Thankfully today’s hearing aids are so tiny and discreet they’re as good as invisible. Young people constantly have things in their ears they proudly wear called “buds”, and my aids can cleverly connect to my mobile phone, so I can listen to the news or a podcast through them and take phone calls through them.
They’ve got different buttons you can press inside, so there’s a button for when you’re going to the pub to help reduce background noise. You just charge them with juice at night like you do an electric toothbrush.
I urge everyone – regardless of their age – to get their ears checked as often as their eyes. I should have done it sooner. I also understand there is a link between dementia and hearing loss, but I personally believe socialising is crucial here. People need people to be happy in this life, you need community, whether at work, school, the golf club or the choir. And of course hearing clearly is crucial for that.
I’m pleased to say that I no longer need subtitles on the television, though aren’t they maddeningly difficult to get rid of? My grandson had to help remove them. My seven grandchildren are permanently rolling their eyes at me, but I think that’s probably more to do with my fondness for wearing bright Crocs and mad jumpers. They keep me young, teaching me the new lingo.
Of course there are clichés abounding about men being sent deaf by listening to their wives, but I rise above them. My wife Michèle never once complained about my hearing. I’ve been gratefully married now for 51 years and I know that the four most important words in the English language are “listen to your wife”. And now I’m pleased I can do so even more accurately.
As told to Susanna Galton
