EDitorial ± 10-Jul-2001
Fillings, Nothing More Than Fillings
Thinking that the usually reliable crisp-packing folk at Thurmaston had let themselves down, I extracted the gravel-like bit. Nope, wasn't a potato gone bad, but a piece of tooth (pictured). Before you defect to Golden Wonder or Asda's own, I should make it clear that the tooth was my own. I could tell this 'cos (a) the cold coffee didn't taste so good any more, and (b) the tip of my tongue had found a chasm in the bottom row.
Before you ponder on the kind of mind that pockets such an artefact and takes it home to the flatbed scanner, be grateful that you're seeing the more attractive side. Flipping it over reveals an unattractive lump of filling, most likely the result of orthodontics carried out the best part of twenty years ago. Ugh. Like the trooper I am, I gamely finished the crisps and even managed to down the unopened slice of chocolate cake in front of me. Shame to waste it.
Back in junior school, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer was dentist's assistant. Odd that I didn't fancy the dentist's job, but the task of handing over those hideous instruments and refilling the mouthwash held a certain appeal. Maybe I couldn't see myself inflicting pain. Maybe I simply wanted to observe pain being inflicted. Discuss.
My preferred career choice changed once I had my bottom six front teeth taken out at the same time, under gas. To avoid overcrowding, I think. Lunch that day took the form of banana milkshake and vegetable soup, if memory serves, perhaps with a straw.
If You Take Away With You Nothing Else
This won't hurt a bit:
- I can't go wrong, 'cos my dentist is called Mr Wright
- Pam Ayres: I wish I'd looked after me teeth
- what time is it at a Chinese dentist's? Half-past two!
Be seeing you!