George broke his arm a few weeks ago on his trampoline, landing funny on himself. I've never broken a bone; I guess a lot of kids do though. He's on the mend now anyway, and the pot is off.
Last night I went to bed with one of my molars feeling a bit loose. I woke up around two in the morning feeling like my face was in a vice. I made an emergency appointment at the dentists and sat practically in tears waiting for it. Turns out it was infected underneath one of the huge fillings I have in nearly all of my teeth. These fillings, I now believe, were put in by a dentist around twenty one years ago completely unnecessarily. I was on the dole at the time in Leeds, and a dentist can make a reasonable amount of money from the state by doing a lot of work that a working person might not be up for paying for. I was young and naive, and thought I was doing the right thing, going for a check up after a few years of not bothering. It was certainly a surprise at the time to hear that I'd brushed my teeth far too hard all my youth, brushing off the enamel, and that they were all no good and needed filling. So I've spent the second half of my life with a mouth full of cement. I remember seeing some graffiti not long after that, that said: "Dentists are dangerous money grabbing bastards". Perhaps they'd met the same dentist. Anyway, at around twelve forty-five today I had my infected molar ripped out. The pain did not subside however; if anything it became worse. The worst headache I have ever had, if not the worst pain I can remember to be honest. Finally the more-than-recommended amount of paracetamols I've been necking since two a.m. kicked in and I fell asleep on my sofa. I've woken up and the intense pain has subsided. I guess I'm over forty now so things will start coming apart slowly, including bits of my head.
