In the olden days, libraries were quiet places policed by tut tutting librarians with long-distance, laser stares. These days Gwen (who is researching images of disability in nineteenth century fiction) is able to create her own biblio-oasis merely by removing her hearing aids and descending to tranquil and solitary pools of silence. It’s a gift, one of few afforded to those with partial hearing.

A similarly gifted woman, Suzanne, sits nearby (researching the interface of technology and the partially hearing, and currently scouring disability studies journals for references). Time for a coffee. Suzanne engages her chunky NHS hearing aids and makes for the exit noticing, en route, the similar artefacts of hearing loss lying idle on Gwen’s table.

A kindred spirit, perhaps? Suzanne gently taps Gwen’s shoulder, points to her own ears and to Gwen’s idle machines. Then the international sign language for ‘fancy a drink?’

Seated behind their large cappuccinos, the topic of deafness is an obvious starter. Both are considered moderately to severely hearing impaired, (although neither embraces the term impaired, preferring the Disability Rights position that it is society that does the disabling and impairing).