Earlier today I was in the leather chair. The seat tilted back, seemingly of its own accord, quite smoothly and gently, which crossed my mind as being rather incongruous, considering what was about to happen. Someone from behind me put a bib around my neck and, matter-of-factly, passed me a pair of goggles. Without question, I put them on. A strong light shone directly in my eyes and I closed them, partly because of the light but also because I didn’t want to look up my inquisitor’s nose. I was not bound to the chair – that wasn’t necessary – for I knew the drill. Undoubtedly, that was why my hands clenched into fists in readiness…and my legs were crossed tightly like a virgin defending her honour.

First came the easy bit, the prodding and pulling, an occasional clash of metal against tooth, and a tug that pulled my upper jaw open wider. Then came the screeching, whining, whirring, freezing cold – water and steel – device of torture…

“Be brave, Sally,” I told myself, “and don’t let them see your agony – don’t even flinch.”

The hard edge of spinning metal fenced around my gritted wisdom teeth and darted over my molars, and a managed to keep stock still, well almost…

“Would you mind keeping your tongue still?” came the authoritarian voice of the dental nurse by my left shoulder.

I tried.

“Try pushing it up to the roof of your mouth,” she said.

My dentist paused and withdrew for a moment while I apologised and promised to try harder.

The instrument of torture resumed and made its way to the delicate part of my lower front teeth, just where the gum meets the bottom of the teeth. My tongue stayed firmly against the roof of my mouth but, although my torso stiffened, my arms with clenched fists flailed in the air and my knees, with a will of their own, came up closer and closer towards my chest. I thought of the film, “Marathon Man”, in particular, the part when the Nazi dentist torturer (played by Lawrence Olivier) asked “Is it safe?”, each time before drilling out Dustin Hoffman’s teeth.

You wouldn’t imagine that a scale and polish could be quite such an ordeal – would you? And the less said about the little red Christmas tree thing like a bottle-brush (which my dentist poked between my teeth) the better!