I have just been to a man in Soho, gave him money, and he hurt me.
I am not, however, Angus Deayton, allegedly.
For I have just been to the dentalists. It’s been the first time in eight years, and Christ, it wasn’t all that much fun
I told him I was nervous and had the dental fear, so he leant over, tutted at me, hit my teeth with metal and told me I had bad gum disease and that would be why my breath smells.
No one has ever told me that my breath smells… have you met me, do you know me, are you someone I hold dear reading this – does it smell? Does it.
He did some more prodding and told me to swill…I was disconcerted to find a bit of loose tooth floating around in my mouth.
He then put a DVD on, for my benefit, not the jungle book, but a thing about teeth. Though I feel I should point out at this juncture that this is no swanky private plasma screened dental practice, it’s the NHS place, the dvd was underneath a 1970′s portable telly on a stack of boxes.
The DVD basically told what the dentist was too lazy to tell me, he pointed to the menu that was called “Root Canal†and played… I watched a horrible American film about scraping the icky bit out of a tooth.
I wasn’t thinking this would be painful, or that it would be kinda gross, but in my head was just a kerching sound and an old fashioned till, as all I could think was this looked expensive.
And I wasn’t wrong…the work I need… need that is, only comes to ONE THOUSAND POUNDS…excuse me whilst I throw up…
That’s better.
No it isn’t
A THOUSAND POUNDS? For teeth? Can’t I get wooden ones?