Friday October 6, 2006
To the dentist’s this morning, rather later in the morning than I’d have preferred, for an inspection, removal of the stitches, and a standard NHS scale and polish.
“I’m afraid that’s all I can do for you on the NHS,” she said. “What you really need is a prolonged session with our hygienist. That’ll protect your remaining teeth and make them last a lot longer.”
I gulped. “Is that terribly expensive?”
“It’ll cost you £45.”
“Fine. I’m a bit short right now, though. Can it wait until the end of the month when I come back for my impression?”
“Yes, of course. No harm in that. We’ll make an appointment for you next time. You’ll only need the one and then we’ll be able to keep it going on the NHS.”
When I got outside it’d stopped raining and I found myself really, really hungry. Past my lunch time, it was. My choices in the immediate vicinity were between the Sainsbury’s coffee shop, MacDonalds, or the workmans’ trailer bar in the Focus carpark close by. I was enjoying the fresh air so I opted for the latter and grabbed myself a breakfast roll (bacon, sausage and egg in a soft bread roll) and a cup of black tea. I enjoyed my breakfast roll. Sat down to gum the bligher to death with much gusto but little style. I’m gratified to discover that the exposed strip of gums is now completely healed and hardening up nicely, quite up to the job of handling bacon.
I’ve had quite enough fiddling and poking inside my mouth for a while. I’ll happily submit again at the end of the month but just now I want a bit of a holiday from it all.
Graham was not pleased with me when we spoke a little later. “You silly old fool. You should have made the appointment there and then.”
“You’re probably right. Never mind that now, though. How are you feeling? You sound a lot better.”
“Oh, I’m feeling a lot better. Tired out of my skull but much better, thanks. Last day of the transvestites today.”
“I suspect you’ll be glad to see the back of them.”
“Don’t care what side I see so long as it’s disappearing into the distance.”
I slept heavily during the afternoon and woke just as it was getting dark at about six thirty. As I sat looking out of the window the rain came back, heavy and wind-blown. They’re forecasting rain and gales over night and so far it looks as if they’re right.
This house sings in the wind. As the weather cools I’m closing the casements firmly shut, rather than in their locked but slightly open state, leaving only the ventilation strips to provide an air flow through the house. When the wind is just right the windows set up a chorus; one will whistle upstairs, then another, then another, going round and round and up and down the house for all the world like the sound of a choir echoing round a cathedral. I like it, finding it companionable and reassuring. Some folks can’t bear it and will go round closing ventilators until the place is air tight. I suspect the previous owners here were like that and that’s one of the reasons why the place was so grubby when we moved in. Me, I like a bit of air about the house, no matter what the season.
Sitting down at my desk I opened up my mind to write another poem. Nothing much happened. I think all my poetry particles were outside, dancing in the wind. Well, bless ’em. They’ve been serving me well these past few days and can probably do with a bit of a break, too.