Change the nappy and check the tyre pressures
by Graham Smith

Page 2 of 2

I have the usual fear of tooth butchers but this one seemed affable. Posh purple smock top, bit like Dr Kildare used to wear, white trousers and trendy white clogs. My left hand hung around his nether regions as he examined my mouth and I thought of gripping him sensitively and extracting a promise that we were not going to hurt each other, were we?

But he was wise and didn’t probe too deeply. Then the X-rays, no problem, then the full head X-ray. First problem. I have a fear of anything or anyone that grips my head in a contraption reminiscent of an instrument of Medieval torture but I was brave and let the thing encircle me taking all manner of pictures. Let’s face it there’s not much up there to damage.

Then it’s back to the waiting room and leggy blonde totters in with obligatory coffee and you’ve a choice of magazines to read, none of which, I was pleased to note, were bloodstained or had teeth marks in them.

Then we examine the pictures. Not a pretty sight. Basically your teeth are fine but the gums should come out and come back next week and I’ll give you the estimate. I did. Ten minutes of further examination, followed by frantic illegible scribblings on a pad, and the final figure is only slightly less than the annual bill from David Beckham’s manicurist.

Two days later his receptionist rang to ask if I had decided to go ahead. No was the reply. My financial advisor has been unable to obtain the necessary mortgage and I have the dog’s worming tablet to pay for.

Fish fingers down your spine
I’m told Yorkshire folk have a lot to learn when it comes to making romantic gestures, according to a new survey by Findus foods.

Nearly 50 per cent of people from the region admitted yearning for more magic in their love lives but a fifth said they never do anything romantic for their better halves. The survey pinpoints food as the ideal way to spice up a relationship that’s gone off the boil.

As I remember Findus make fish fingers. What the hell are you supposed to do with those?

Had his chips
Lord Archer, you know, he’s the one who’s in prison occasionally, nipped into a Lincolnshire chippy for his tea and left a plastic bag at the counter.

Geoffrey had had a hard day at the theatre poncing about while he should have been stitching mailbags with the rest of them. The chip shop owners rang the Home Office to ask them to let him know he had left his bag behind.

The Home Office? Oh, I suppose that’s where he has his weekend job.

© Mediaworld 2002

Graham Smith can be contacted by e-mail at [email protected] or by phone on 07092 103738, for ideas about having a laugh at life, internationally, nationally, regionally or locally.

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