Excuse me if should come across a little bit tipsy at the moment but, following my recent discovery in Brittany that I actually enjoy a tipple, and my blog announcing that I intend to drink more, I could hardly refuse a drink or three from the bottle of lovely red Australian wine that Catherine, my friend and neighbour, brought around half an hour ago (it was a thank you for mowing the grass the other day – quite unnecessary really because all the effort of getting through the thick couch grass down by the sea wall was rewarded already by a two pound weight loss (of course I put it back on again but it’s off again now). But that isn’t what I wanted to tell you about this evening, let me think….

Oh yes, I remember. Our nice P’aussie (Pommie/Aussie) visitors left for Cornwall this morning. We really enjoyed their stay, so much so that both Chris and I forgot our commitments for the day; there we were chatting away merrily after breakfast when the phone rang. It was Ron ringing to remind Chris that he had promised to take our neighbour to hospital for a minor operation, which in turn reminded Chris that I had to go to the dentist. That call was rather a conversation stopper, suddenly we were all running about getting ready for “the off”; Chris flew out the door first (the hospital was waiting), Sue and Glenn threw their suitcases into their hire-car and bade their sad but hasty farewells, and I spent twenty minutes in the bathroom, cleaning and flossing my teeth, and gargling with mouthwash, before setting out to Newton Abbot with 45 minutes in hand for the twenty minute journey… in winter traffic.

I arrived at the dental surgery five minutes late and had time only to read one Somerset Maugham short story before I was called in, greatly to my surprise. “You look surprised”, smiled Alison, my dentist, knowingly, from the doorway as she watched me fumbling with my large book and reading glasses, “I see you expected a very long wait!” It was a different room to usual. And a different chair.  “No armrests”, I noted and Alison understood. She usually gauges when to stop drilling by the whiteness of my knuckles gripping the armrests and by the curling of my toes simultaneously – I always endeavour not to scream although I have been known on occasions, when the drill makes it impossible for me to hear myself, to make funny whimpering noises without me even realising it.

Alison gave me what I now realise was an injection on a par with a tranquiliser dart for an African elephant, no doubt to make up for the loss of the vital armrests. In spite of the fact that I felt no pain, my tongue nevertheless objected to the shrill, watery drill and it tried (against my will) to push the blasted thing out of mouth.

– “Can you pull your tongue back, Sally?” Alison asked.

– “I’m afraid it has a will of its own,” I apologised.

We had to stop several times for me to swallow and for Alison and her nurse to compose themselves.

My dentist had to make a temporary crown for a back tooth that had broken off (the ravages of popcorn – eat it at your peril) and she had to guess the size of my mouth in order to choose the right device for making an impression.

– “That’s perfect,” she said, very pleased with herself that she had guessed correctly.

– “What size is it? Am I normal?” I asked. (Well, you would, wouldn’t you?)

– “Average”, Alison answered, “but there are small settings and large. Just the other a day a man came in with the biggest mouth I’ve ever seen!”

– “I’m so glad to be average,” I said. (Never thought I’d ever say that.) “Have you ever kissed anybody who had a really small mouth?”

Alison stopped making her impression to give the matter some thought while the dental nurse giggled somewhere in the distance behind me.

– “No, I haven’t actually,” she looked at me in the manner of a pretty blonde meerkat and continued,  “why have you?”

– “It was awful,” I informed her.

– “Yes, I can imagine,” Alison then puckered her lips and moved her mouth up and down.

– “That’s it exactly,” I laughed.

We all burst out laughing. As I left Alison told me to be careful with my new temporary crown (the real one will be fitted in a fortnight), especially when eating, for the following two hours. Chance would have been a fine thing! And I was starving. All I could eat three hours later was an ice-cream (sorry but the diet was of secondary consideration at the time) and even then I bit the side of my mouth terribly, but I didn’t find out until that elephant dart injection had worn off six hours later! By that time I was nearly finished painting Ron’s balustrades with Chris (it will be a nice surprise for Ron when he comes home tomorrow) and when at last we had dinner of steak and broccoli I couldn’t eat it because it tasted of bathroom sealant (at least, as I imagine bathroom sealant tastes!). So you see, my slimming Dukan diet hasn’t been affected too badly after all. Tomorrow may be a problem though because I want to go vegetarian…