Friday, 31 August 2018


Although ever fewer.

We’d run out of bread (how?), so Z suggested muesli instead of toast.  I haven’t eaten muesli for about twenty years, so I was clearly happy to try a drastic swerve away from habit.  It was delicious.
About a third of the way through, I thought ‘that isn’t a nut’.
It was a tooth – or to be more exact, a metal cap that had, many years ago, been glued onto what had remained of a tooth after the dentist had filed it down to a thin but firmly rooted spike.
Unfortunately, whereas usually if a cap comes off the peg is still in place and so the cap can just be simply glued back on again, in this case the peg had snapped off too.  I knew instantly that nothing could be done, so of course I phoned the dentist to book an urgent appointment to confirm that.  They offered me 11.15.  Z kindly drove me to Norwich, on the grounds that a) if something unlikely could in fact be done, it might involve anaesthesia or sedation or anything that might render me incapable of driving and so entailing inordinate complexity and expense, and b) parking’s really difficult around there.
Andre, our brilliant expensive dentist, confirmed my self-diagnosis – nothing can be done – but filed off a little rough bit anyway.  No charge!  But it was a wake-up call, or a heads-up, or a JFDI.  I’ve been procrastinating for nearly two years now, mainly with the excuse that, hey, I won’t be able to chew on that side, will I? – but now I can’t anyway.  So starting next month, I’ll be getting two whole decks of new teeth, or more efficient and durable equivalents.  I’m not sure whether I want to distress you with the details of this ‘procedure’ (as medical people tend to euphemise major invasive surgery), but I don’t see why I should be the only one to suffer, so here goes.
Firstly, the remnants of the old teeth are pulled out, and holes are drilled into the jawbones.  Threaded implants are then inserted into these holes, and the whole thing is left for three months to settle down.  If that all goes well (I haven’t conducted a risk assessment, yet), pegs are screwed into the implants, synthetic teeth are glued onto these pegs, and after another settle-down period chomping can recommence.  What could possibly go wrong?
Well, given the cost of a decent small family car, I hope the answer is ‘nothing’.  But I’m going to check out any relevant insurance cover.


  1. Yikes!

    Will you be living on soup and jelly for 3 months?

    1. Not that bad. I still have a few functioning gnashers, and can easily deal with fruit, cheese and even the occasional packet of crisps. And wine, of course.

  2. I always thought Muesli was a more expensive breakfast than toast but this is ridiculous ��

  3. We know all about this ‘procedure’, after a general anaesthetic in January Ian lost a front tooth, eating wasn’t the only problem, it affected singing, more important speaking for he had to give the Father of the Bride speech in July. All was well and the speech and its delivery were most successful.

    The very expensive dentist to which we were referred was in Ealing, not far in distance, but heavy traffic, lots of junctions and pedestrian crossings meant a slow journey for what was often a five minute appointment to check progress. Another complication was parking, one couldn’t park in the nearby roads between 10 and 11am and 3 and 4pm, sometimes we could squeeze into the tiny car park at the back of the Victorian house that was the practice. The appointments took a lot of time and energy out of our day, I always went so we could share the driving.

    It was on our last visit we discovered a gigantic Waitrose with a huge open car park nearby - if only we had known it would have been so much easier and less stressful.

  4. Just an update: I have now advanced to pasta, quiches, most vegetables, even thinly sliced charcuterie - oh, and beer of course. Initial dental appointments have been booked. Our dentist issues resident permits if needed.