Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Last week I wrote a story about a new NHS dental practice. Since then, I have been inundated with requests to register from patients. This, I'll have to tell them I suppose, won't work. I've got a fair few tools; pliers, pincers, hammers and a lot of allen keys (Ikea!) that would probably get me by, but I'm not sure I could successfully cap a tooth without the join showing (although I do have some decorator's caulk and a fair bit of grout left, both of which might do the job well). So, although I've tried my hand at most things, dentistry is probably where I draw the line. Such is the desperation for people to get themselves registered with a practice though. A worrying footnote in the email from Beverley gent Anthony Smales and his family: "p.s. Gemma & myself require immediate treatment." My God, what have they done? Did their teeth clash in a moment of extreme passion? Is he hitting her and she hitting him back in self defence? Is someone else hitting the pair of them? Do they suck on too many sherbet-filled sweets? I shall probably never know. In other news, the elderly man with tinnitus just phoned me back. "It's there during the day now," he said, sounding extremely concerned about the racket that only he can hear. I made some poor journalistic excuse about "being on deadline", which is the only way out sometimes.

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