When Sutton Guardian reporter Richard Lyons was asked if he would like to experience being deaf for the day, he was quick to accept. But what would it be like to lose one of your senses, if only for a day? Here, Richard tells us how he got on…

What is the big deal, I thought? Having a contraption over my ears while trying to go about everyday business would be a novelty, maybe even fun.

What is more I reasoned, I’ll still be able to see – it’s not like being blind for the day.

But my initial blasé response was followed by a feeling of surprise and panic as the process began.

It was only when sat in the treatment chair with the audible world extinguished by blue silicone in my ears that I began to understand exactly what I had agreed to.

Deafness was no longer a novelty but a reality.

When I met audiologist Suzanne Stevenson in the Ashley Centre, Epsom, she was quick to put me through the same consultation given to those who come to her with hearing loss.

First my ears were examined for obvious causes of deafness, such as a build up of wax or perforated ear drums, and then I was quizzed about the medical history of my ears.

It was then on to the hearing test where a series of bleeps are played into my headphones at different frequencies. The intention is to pinpoint the volume at which the bleeps become inaudible and thereby discover how sensitive (or not) your hearing is.

Thankfully Suzanne, who works for hearing aid supplier Scrivens, told me my hearing falls into the normal range, particularly at the low and middle range frequencies. Not so good is the fact my ears were less able to pick up the higher sounds and I attribute this to the years spent both playing in, and watching, rock concerts.

The consultation over, it was time for me to know what it is like to be deaf. Suzanne approaches, ready to syringe blue silicone into my ears and suddenly I understand why she earlier found it necessary to soothe me by saying “don’t worry about it” and “I’ve had done to myself”.

As we experience life through our senses, so it follows that having one of them shut down is like partially dying. Not surprisingly, I don’t want part of me to die and naturally recoil.

With my ears full of hardened baby blue silicone, the first thing I notice is how loud all the sounds in my head have become. Breathing, swallowing and even just moving my jaw are all amplified.

Fortunately, I also notice I can still just about hear what Suzanne is saying. My hearing is impaired enough to make me feel strangely vulnerable though, and as Suzanne leads me downstairs out of the shop, I take tentative steps, sticking to the banister.

Upon entering a nearby shopping centre, another thought dawns on me. Sight may be the sense by which we orientate ourselves in the physical world, but it is largely through our hearing that we communicate.

In the melee of the shopping centre, the voice of Sutton Guardian photographer Terry Kane is utterly lost in background noise.

At first I try to join a conversation he is having with Suzanne by leaning closer or craning my neck to read their lips, but as we walk side by side into the street I resign myself to my own world.

To be deaf I understand, is to be isolated.

Faced with my first task as a deaf person, I do not feel like smiling.

We are in the post office and I have been charged with buying a book of second class stamps as well as getting a receipt and a driving licence form.

At first all goes smoothly through a mixture of impaired hearing, lip reading and guesswork, I can just about understand what the assistant is saying and I have the stamps, change and receipt in my hand. Then just as she hands me the driving licence form, she launches into a speech of which I can only make out the word passport’.

Leaning closer I ask her to repeat herself, but only understanding a few more words the second time I just nod politely and shuffle off with the form in my hand.