Orthodontry blues.

Forgive me for thinking this was the twenty first century but I thought dentistry techniques might have improved.

     I might have jokingly mentioned that I’d chosen a pair of pliers to remove my teeth if the dentist did not. And that’s exactly what she used. And although there’s probably some dentistic (did I just invent a word?) appellation for the other tool she used at the same time, I call it a screwdriver. Sixteen, yes sixteen injections in and the agony remained unabated. Pliers and a screwdriver!!

     Back in the safety of my house, a loud wind whistling through the cavern that is now my mouth I don’t regret it. Pain remains, albeit of a different kind, but at least my entire head doesn’t feel as if some Dalek just exterminated it.

     So that’s the final molar and pension-based complaint. I just discovered how much the government has deducted from my salary for this new pension scam, I mean scheme. Not the GDP of a small country but still taken without my approval or consent. I’m giving it two weeks. If they haven’t contacted me by then and given me the option of opting out and a promise of the money’s return I’m gonna start collecting empty vodka bottles, and there’s an old shirt I’ve been meaning to dump for some time.

     Another edit of Old Geezers done and I’m getting to the end of it. I’m glad but also a little sad. Still, Old Geezers three is well under way, as is Progeny of Kongomato: the third and final novel in my monster series. I’m going to have to find a suitably gruesome ending. My only real problem is deciding who wins, and what else I can destroy on the way. Oh the problems of a hooligan writer.