I should be bubbling over with things to write, and I have, in fact, written enough to fill at least two posts, but none of it felt right.

After sleeping for a good six hours I awoke this morning  feeling refreshed and determined to do things. Top of the list was to ring the dentist.

I did this and they agreed to an emergency appointment at lunchtime, thus spoiling my chances of the 2.30 joke. If you don’t know it look at the bottom of the post. That was unusual as dental surgery receptionists tend to define “emergency” in a different way to the rest of us. Having spent the previous six weeks with a detached crown on the right side, I had given my left side molars a good workout. One of them, the one at the back that has been a problem for about 30 years, had finally given up under the workload and crumbled.

As the dentist had previously told me he wanted to take that one out, I wasn’t keen on going back. Apart from an impacted wisdom tooth I haven’t had an adult tooth out and it’s the thin end of the wedge, leading to the sixth age of man (the lean and slippered pantaloon) before I slide into the state  of being – “sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.” Especially sans teeth, as I’m resigned to reading glasses and the rest is still a way off. I hope.

Now, rather than slip into a gloomy reflection on mortality (as in the first draft) or a distasteful discussion on the state of my dental health (second draft), or even a polemic on mercenary dentists (both drafts!), I am merely going to say that this visit was a pleasure.

Twenty minutes after starting the treatment, without any pressure to spend money or have extra work done, I was out on the street again with a freshly glued crown, a patched up tooth (no mention of extraction from this dentist!), a bill for just £18 and a feeling that all was right with the world.

There was a snag, as I couldn’t eat for two hours as the glue and filling set, so I had to watch Julia eating lunch (more of the honey and oatmeal loaf) as my stomach rumbled plaintively.

I have also arranged for my annual hypertension appointment instead of trying to dodge it. Nothing useful ever comes out of it. It always seems to a be a different nurse and the same conversation – basically “you’re too fat”. Now, I’m not medically trained, but I had noticed that myself. Still, they seem to worry if I don’t get tested every year.

Finally, after a visit to Wilko’s, where they are selling off bird feeders for £7.50 each, I went home to work on my list of other things I need to do. I bought two of the feeders and still saved £4 compared to the price of one in a garden centre.

I was so industrious that I even missed Pointless.

This is a picture from Wednesday, as I don’t have any from today – for an idea of the wind speed just look at the tail feathers.

2.30 joke? Tooth Hurty. It’s a very old joke. I may be the last person alive that finds it amusing.