Sunday August 20, 2006
I broke a tooth today. What a sad highlight for any good day. It was the crusty bread that did it. Ah well. There is no pain, the darn thing was dead anyway, often repaired, and more filling than tooth. Now I need to seek out a dentist and have the stub removed before it can turn rancid. Then I need to persuade him, and pay, to have a denture plate made and fitted so that I can eat crusty bread once more. Darn it, there goes the cash I’d put aside for airconditioning next year.
Meantime I shall be reduced to soft white bread and slops, and I shall need to cut my meat exceeding small. Not an unfitting diet for an elderly poet but I’m peasant more than I am poet, and the peasant likes to chew his food with gusto.
Ach. There are some aspects of growing older than are irksome. The benefits outweigh them but sometimes you do need to focus hard on the positive.
Other than that, as I say, it’s been a good day. I took my planned trip to Minehead though the thronging grockles decided me to avoid the promenade. Instead I bought postage stamps, mailed my letters, and treated myself to a bag of salty chips. Then, to the supermarket for provender, including the nice crusty baguette that took my tooth away.
For all that it was a good day, and I refuse to allow a deceased tooth to spoil it.