Speaking of dodgy dentists, with the less-than-enticing prospect of some minor dental surgery looming tomorrow, it was a little alarming to read this not-so-charming tale, on my brother's blog...:
"One time my father was at the dentist. He gets on well with him (can't imagine how...) and the dentist was chatting away whilst leaning over dad's mouth, prodding and scraping away with his mirror and, well, scraper-thingy. 'Oh, one of your fillings has come out', says the dentist. He looks around my dad's mouth to see which one it might be... pauses again... rolls his tongue around his own mouth and says 'Oh, no, it's one of mine!'"
Let's get all the worried gulps out of the way now, rather than find myself swallowing, unwittingly, unhealthy shards of debris come Wednesday afternoon...
Maybe, just maybe, an afternoon of discomfort in the dentist's chair (sadly not Gazza's) is merely a small price to pay to avoid ending up like this.