At last I set out across the lawn, my cane scanning the blades of grass in front of me, left and right, left and right. I climbed the steps to the entrance, feeling for dimensions, height and width, as I'd been taught. Inside the clinic I followed the corridor that led to my ward. My vision had faded slightly, but I could still make out the pipes massed on the ceiling, the plain wooden chairs against the wall in the visitor's waiting room. I had to be careful to ignore the doctor who was walking towards me. I had to make sure I didn't move to one side. Suddenly it struck me - an exquisite moment, this - that I was only pretending that I couldn't see.