Spain

Teething Problems

It’s the little things in life that crop up to test us all…

Take for example the average year or so. Normal people get normal problems to deal with. Perhaps one per day per month. A flea in the ear that requires a dam good slap. Occasionally a fly swat is good enough, occasionally a cricket bat is required, but time is on side.

Wrapping up your life in a parcel and moving it to another country isn’t easy. We were fully prepared for our fair share of fleas. But blimey, it’s turned into a circus and we’ve been bombarded with a swarm.

Ironically these critter problems have absolutely nothing to do with our well laid out plans of moving from Britland to Spain. Aside from pedal to the metal over the odd speed bump, “Somewhere Between All Or Nothing” is running smoothly in the vague direction of SOMETHING. [She states with confidence, based on the fact that she doesn’t know what day it is]

They say “timing is everything.” Well in traditional terms that statement is a positive one, inferring achievement, attainment, and satisfaction of reaching the optimum moment at the optimum hour… Wonderful, if only it could be bunged in a carrier bag and bought over the counter.

However, take the little known phrase “everything is timing” and a sense of the unknown sets in, which can easily lead to anxiety and apprehension. If the timing is wrong, there is no control…

So in comparison to “a year in the life of problems for a normal person.” The past couple of weeks we’ve managed to achieve a good couple of year’s worth. Yes, pithy as it may be, the timing is hard to believe. Some problems have even deliberately waited years to jump in.

For example, this morning after arising from under the quilt I cleaned my teeth and half a filling dropped out of one, followed by the other half not long after. Now the thing is, I’ve not needed anything doing to my teeth for years. Not a cavity to be found or a crack to be filled or an extraction to be made. My dentist has told me on many an occasion “your teeth are indestructible.” Every six months when I walk into his dental operating theatre, his eyes light up like burning candles. “I’ll get her this time, there must be something wrong and I’ll fleece her purse something chronic.” After the examination the exasperated frown on his face is a dead giveaway. I know my teeth are all safe from needles before he gets chance to inform me…

So why NOW? Simple answer, we closed down our “dental account” just last week… I rang them up earlier to beg for an appointment:

“Well you’re not on our books anymore, there’s a walk in centre near you, try phoning them.”

I did, they said they could only put a “temporary filling” in and the wait would be roughly four hours. [On the bright white side]  I was advised to buy my own “do it yourself” kit from a chemist. WHAT?! There’s nothing better for the soul than a right good laugh when you’re thoroughly pissed off, nearly dropped my phone in the process. However, the SILENCE at the other end told me he wasn’t joking. Yes folks, it appears that these days it’s possible to service one’s own teeth at £4.50 a pop and dentists recommend it, just like they do with toothpaste. The thought of it makes me cringe.

But wait a moment, the average tooth surgeon is only interested in making money out of your teeth, so who invented putty for us plebs? Well of course, it’s the tooth surgeon himself. However worldly wise an individual may be, not many of us are qualified enough to manipulate our own teeth. Make a cock up and somewhere down the line he reaps the rewards of a DIY job gone wrong. There he sits on his comfy cushioned stool, ready and waiting to charge you double what it would’ve cost originally…

Anyway, I’ve decided not to waste my time, or give them the satisfaction of doing so. There’s still some of the filling left in there, no pain, and the tooth is fine, so it can wait till we get “home.” Spanish dentists aren’t sadists, they even give free examinations.

Yet another fine example of Rip Off Britain…

“We’re all in this together” refers to an exclusive club of politicians, posh people who live in London, corrupt individuals within a fifty mile radius of the place, bankers, and dentists everywhere…

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