This is an absolute case of ‘writing for therapy.’ Oh, I’ve a trip to the dentist this morning and am about as blithering as one can get. I half blame my late father for this ….. have to blame someone! He is the only person I ever met who loved going to the dentist. He had gorgeous teeth that he minded better than misers mind their money and never saw the need for any kind anaesthetic, even for extractions!
He remembered poor unfortunates back in his youth in the West of Ireland in the 1920s having their teeth pulled by someone attaching a piece of strong twine and lining up a few strong guys ‘tug-o’- war’ style. Or at least, that’s what he told me!
I can just hear him laughing at me now, eyes peering over the Irish Times, drinking his umpteenth cup of tea with four overflowing spoons of sugar in it.
Now if you had to sit on wet grass while some fella dipped a lump of twine into the dregs of a bottle of whiskey and then had a go at yanking out your front tooth, I might have some sympathy for you.
And let me tell you, it was sitting on wet grass that gave him the heebie-jeebies but that’s another story entirely!