I pointed out, politely, that his surgery seemed to be falling apart.
He agreed. The thing is he's going to be moving into an all-new health centre- with all-new equipment- next year (fingers crossed) and he wants to make his old equipment last till then.
I was late for my appointment. I had it fixed in my head that it was for 11.30 when it was actually for 11.00. At 10.55 I picked up my appointment card- and panicked. But I rang ahead and asked if they could still fit me in- if I got there in 15 minutes- and they said they could.
In the waiting room I skipped through a copy of The National Geographic- it had photographs of dead and decapitated narwhals and drawings of Ancient Mayans killing one another with spears and obsidian knives- and read an article in the Daily Mail by A.N. Wilson about how David Cameron is insulting us all by dressing like a teenage slacker. The reason Britain used to rule the world is because we wore tailored clothes and leather shoes that had to be shined every morning. Having to shine your shoes every morning builds character- which must be why I don't have any.
The dentist poked at my teeth and blew air at them and talked about his move to the new health centre (across from the swimming baths, only they haven't laid the foundation stone yet). Then he counted my teeth out loud and told me everything was fine.
On the way home we stopped off at Sainsbury's and bought a couple of packets of hot cross buns.