I went back to the dentist this morning for my follow up appointment, but it turned out that she had done all the work last week and I was in the clear. Which was nice.
Sadly I seem to have just as much toothache as I did before I went last time, so I’m not completely convinced it’s all behind me. Time will tell, but I have a horrible feeling that I’ll be making a Return to the Driller from Dubai before long.
Bill Bailey is one of those comedians who seems to be under the radar as far as the masses are concerned. When it was suggested back in the early days of January that a bunch of us go along to see him in mid-May, I’m glad I showed tremendous foresight in buying tickets for Fliss and I.
His eclectic mix of observational humour and topical comment rips along with considerable pace, with rarely a drop in quality. Most of the gags are of the “you had to be there” category, because nobody has the delivery skills of the man himself, not to mention the musical talent. I’m not sure if it was the throw away asides or the one liners that had me cracking up the most, but by the time it was all over my gut muscles were aching from the constant laughter.
I cannot recommend his show highly enough, so check out his site from the link above and chase down a ticket if he’s playing anywhere near you – you wont regret it.
First thing this morning I was sitting in the waiting room of my dental surgery, nonchalantly swinging my sunglasses around by the chord which pulls snug to keep them in their pouch. I was trying to see if I could ease my nervousness and apprehension by trying to appear as cool and collected as possible to the ladies on the phones in reception. I realised I was just being distracting and placed my sunglasses on my lap instead of pointlessly orbiting them around my finger.
Glancing at the neat piles of magazines on the low circular table in the center of the room, I made note that they hadn’t changed from the previous time I had been there – over a month ago. It reminded me of an account by my old mate Doddo, regarding one of his infrequent trips to the dentist; “Is it just me or does every doctors/dentists waiting area have magazines from the pre lunar landing period?” (Go and read Doddo’s tale before finishing this, if you like – he’s a far funnier writer than me – I can wait around here until you get back…)
As I thought of that story, and of other amusing anecdotes from Doddo, I completely forgot where I was – which helped ease the nerves until Miss Miserable Hygienist called my name from the stairway. Damn, it wasn’t the nice blonde girl who always smiles in a friendly way, despite knowing you’re usually there for the most unpleasant experience you’re going to have that day. Miss Miserable Hygienist just makes things worse – I’m not sure why, she’s just like a good vibe vacuum, making sure you’re under no illusions that this is going to be a fun and friendly experience.
My dentist is an indian lady (Edit : hence the misguided title of this entry – I couldn’t think of a place in india that provided the necessary alliteration), with a nice neutral accent and a very comforting tone. She always seems pleased to see me, which is a bit of a shame as I’m usually dreading seeing her – mostly due to an awful experience with a terrible dentist I had in the mid–ninties, whose failed attempts at fillings were being replaced on this day. Once on the chair I flinched as she was giving me the injection, and she asked if I was okay. “Well… yeah, sort of – it’s just not my favourite thing.” I explained, immediately feeling stupid for saying anything other than “Yes, fine thanks.” in a strong manly tone that would suggest I could take the next half hour of treatment without the need for any pain killing injection.