I've an appointment with the dentist I have to have a filling. I hate to have to listen to the high pitched whine of drilling.
I wait with trepidation and read a magazine. It's about the coronation, full of pictures of the Queen.
I have a glance around me there's a young girl on the phone, she's been waiting ages and she's rung her Dad to moan.
I can smell the disinfectant or it might be blue mouth wash, and I glance at a big poster showing the right way to brush.
I am getting a bit nervous and I feel the need to cough, though my teeth are fresh and minty and I've flossed the small bits off.
A nurse walks in the waiting room, she's calling out my name. My tooth has now stopped hurting and I wonder why I came.
The dentist has a mask on and he asks me how I am, just as my tongue discovers a wayward bit of ham.
I sit upon the chair of doom I'm at the point of no return. I smile at him quite sweetly, but he's looking rather stern.
And then he tilts me backwards, like a Thunderbird on go. sliding swiftly downhill until I have to shout out Whoa!
He says that he is going to drill a hole into my tooth. I should have taken care of them when I was still a youth.
He says he'll dig the bad out, put amalgum in the hole. Then I'll rinse out with blue water and spit out in the bowl.
He fills a big syringe up and injects my poor old gum, it feels like my mouth is swelling and my tongue is going numb.
I look up to the ceiling and see the poster about brushing, how to floss the bits out there is no gain in rushing.
The nurse gives me some goggles and a bib to catch the blood, she puts some suction in my mouth to catch the rising flood.
The dentist starts the drilling he says he'll stop if I feel pain, I can't grit my teeth and bear it so I fear it's all in vain.
I feel the water building and choking is a worry, then my nose has started itching I just wish that he would hurry.
I keep stretching my mouth open as I look right up his nose I try to avoid eye contact and not bite the suction hose.
And then it is all over and the words I want to hear: “Don't come back for six months” I give an inward cheer.
I promise to keep brushing and attacking all that plaque, especially if it means that he doesn't want me back.
I walk back to the car park feeling quite sedated, I suck a bar of chocolate then I feel more elated.
And yes I'll have to go back and he will tut and say, we need to have some x rays it won't be much to pay.
So I take out a small mortgage to cover all the costs and be grateful that I've kept more teeth than I've lost!