Spick and Span

It was kind of the dental nurse to swill away the blood and plaque from the basin in the surgery, so that I could blip it without appearing to have wandered into Emergency Ward 10.

Actually I exaggerate shamelessly. After poking about my mouth with these horrible pointy utensils, and being unable to dislodge a filling or even find a teensy bit of decay, she declared herself satisfied and gave me a clean with a brush that sounded like a street sweeper coated with the dentists' version of Vim, and the bill for £10.20.
Out and in within 15 minutes with only a small dent in my purse.

As a reward for good hygiene, his Lordship disengaged himself from the new MacBook and we drove to the Land of Flowers for a coffee and scone.

I counted this as breakfast having denied myself anything before the dental visit lest I be found with a morsel of oatcake or worse, lurking behind a molar.

Not only that, but I bought some small dreaded C gifts for six of the grandchildren- only five to go then. Can it really be as long as 45 weeks since the last C festival?