314. For your eyes only…

Please don’t be shocked but, despite my alias, I’m not actually a fully-trained super-villain. 

Nevertheless, I do have some advice for Mr Blofeld and the apparent myriad of optically-challenged hench-people currently battling James Bond in local picture houses.

Mate, change your ophthalmologist.

Your current prosthetic eye, truly it’s doing nothing for you. And as for that monstrosity we saw bouncing about at your party – well, only fit for the Halloween section of a pound shop in my honest opinion.

We were standing, Pa and I and various staff, outside Moorfields Hospital waiting for the firefighters to give the all-clear, so I took the chance to ask Peter the technician how he’d ended up making false eyes for a living.  Apparently, he’d gone to Art School and then started temping as a porter at Moorfields while trying to build a career in illustration. So it was that he came across the department making prosthetic eyes and the work appealed. You should see the prosthesis he’s crafted for Pa – the one he’d just taken out of the box when the fire alarm went off.   Individually moulded and hand-painted to exactly match Pa’s good eye. 

The clinic must have been running late once we were given the all clear to traipse back into the hospital.  But from the unhurried care with which Peter finely adjusted Pa’s prosthesis, you’d think he had all the time in the world. The results are extraordinary: an exquisite replacement eye which moves in tandem with the real one. 

So my suggestion, Blofeld, is that if you’ve managed to keep your bionic eye a secret in jail, what with all the maintenance and charging it must take, then I’m sure you could hide a straightforward burner phone. You could then manage your evil empire via a WhatsApp group, in the regular way.

Just don’t take your burner phone with you for hospital check-ups. Turns out, they play havoc with the fire alarms.

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