I’d put it off for far too long. Six months, to be exact. I knew it was six months, because I booked the appointment when I received a text reminder.
Hence, I made the appointment to see Dr Gorgeous, the dentist. For those of you who are uninitiated, Dr Gorgeous is a dark, handsome brown eyed Irish man. Think Poldark with a drill. Since he took over the practice, Lady Barton St Mary is quite happy to visit regularly, provided she’s spent a considerable amount of time on hair and make up. Dr Gorgeous is as far away from the smoking, belligerent, anaesthetic avoiding, sadistic sociopath of a dentist I had as a child as you can get. Dr Gorgeous doesn’t just take exercise, he competes in Iron Man competitions. He’s a fan of BBC 6Music and says things like, “Did you see Royal Blood at Glastonbury? Oh, surely you must…”
So, today was the day for my implant, where Dr Gorgeous would make a hole in my jaw bone and screw in a little plug, carefully avoiding all major nerves. Nothing much.
I arrived early at the surgery, the first patient of the day. I was greeted by Pip, who informed me that today was the day they were making a film for their website.
“Dr Gorgeous decided that today would be good, because you’d be the perfect person to appear in his video,” she said, revealing her perfectly white teeth with a beautiful smile. I’ve observed that female dental receptionists and nurses have a similar look to those women you see on the make up counters at major department stores, but with a slightly lighter hue of tanning lotion.
“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” she asked.
I considered. How a rather tired looking middle aged man who has reached that stage in life where he visits the dentist to have teeth put back in is a perfect person, I don’t know. Maybe they wanted something like those property programmes where they take a derelict building and put it right, with my mouth as the ruin.
“No, not at all,” I replied, “in fact, I get involved in this sort of thing at (almost) voluntary work.”
I took a seat.
Dr Gorgeous appeared, bounding into the reception area to greet me and shake my hand.
“Has Pip told you about the filum?” he enquired.
“Yes, no problem, I’d be happy to help,” I said.
He gave one of his most winning smiles, the type that makes Lady Barton St Mary slide off the chair. I imagine. He reappeared with a camera light, followed by the woman who would be making the filum. Film. After some pleasantries, she was ready to roll. Dr Gorgeous turned to leave, in order to prepare for carving a hole in my mouth.
“Emma will be filuming your surgery too, that’s OK, is it?”
“I’ll ask you a few questions about Dr Gorgeous and the practice,” said Emma.
Dr Gorgeous stopped in the doorway and flashed that smile again.
“Remember,” he said, “say nice things about me.”
His eyes narrowed, but the smile remained.
“‘Cos I have a fecking great big knife waiting for you upstairs…”