Last week I was due to see my dentist, Dr Gorgeous, but the appointment was cancelled at the last minute because he was sick.
He’s been our dentist for a couple of years, taking over the practice after our dentist of 25 years had to retire because of ill health. Our previous dentist was a few years older than me, with a gentle manner and a pleasant humour. Dr Gorgeous, however, is in his mid thirties, likes taking part in triathlons, plays the music station BBC 6music in his surgery and likes to chat about current trends. He is also tall, athletic, dark haired, with piercing blue eyes and a soft Irish lilt in his voice.
I remember Lady Barton St Mary returning from her first appointment with him, with a rather beatific smile on her face.
“Yes, I think my visits to the dentist will be rather pleasant in future,” she opined, “I’m quite happy to lie back in a chair and look into his eyes.”
Our old dentist was quite happy to leave my teeth alone, but Dr Gorgeous has that youthful enthusiasm. It’s almost as if he sees my nashers as a rather decrepit building he’d like to restore to its former glory. In my more fanciful moments, I can imagine reaching my sixties with teeth that could rival Simon Cowell’s. I wouldn’t be able to smile in the street at night time for fear of reflecting the headlights of oncoming drivers back into their eyes and causing a terrible accident.
So, three weeks ago, he gave me some special flossing sticks which looked a bit like miniature lavatory brushes.
“Use these on your back teeth,” he instructed me in his sing song accent, “I’ll see you in three weeks to decide on the future of your mouth.”
I’d never felt so important. A summit meeting for my gob.
He showed me how to use them. I spat blood into the bowl.
“Ha! A bit o’ blood! That’ll happen to start with!”
Dr Gorgeous seems to like bleeding mouths. Momentarily, I wondered if he’d like one.
So, for three weeks, I’ve been using these miniature bog brushes in between my back teeth. He was right. The bleeding eventually stopped. Perhaps he had my best interests at heart after all. In fact, he’s always done a fine job. He’s never really caused me any pain. He likes John Grant and can speak knowledgeably about indie music past and present. He has the current issue of Esquire magazine in his waiting room. He likes to talk running and cycling.
To be honest, I’m starting to see Lady BSM’s point of view.