The Enchanted Path & the Colonel
I had a right result at the dental
surgery this morning and they are words that I have never uttered before. I lost half a tooth biting into a pork
scratching in the Flagon two weeks ago, so I went to the dentist, following pay
day. I expected the old drill it and
fill it routine but the new dentist, Shulman, told me that I have got three
choices. Choices?! This was a bit of a turn up for the books as
my old dentist Walter, who has now retired, just got on with the business of
filling my mouth with metal.
Shulman explained that the remainder of
the tooth was not decaying and the fact that I was experiencing no pain or
sensitivity bore this out, so he can a) do nothing, b) fill the gap or c) put a
crown on the tooth. I asked Shulman how
many readies the crown would cost and he said £250 – I corrected him and I
explained that I only had two choices as I have not got access to a quarter of a
grand. If I had the crown I would have a
tooth worth more than my car, the decrepit but stoical Pat.
After brief discussion with the dentist
I opted to simply leave the tooth as it is heeding the old litigator’s motto,
“Don’t trouble trouble until trouble troubles you.” And it is no coincidence it was also the
cheapest option. The receptionist
explained that I did not even have to pay a consultancy fee, so unprecedentedly
I left the surgery not having to part with a penny. All in all, despite his tardiness and
slovenly appearance I am taking a shine to Shulman and his new age
dentistry. There was an odour of spicy
food sweats permeating from Shulman this morning though and I surmised that he
has risen late and skipped the inconvenience of a shower. For all I know, Shulman’s failure to get up
at an earlier hour might well have been the product of late night studies to
further his vast knowledge in new dentistry techniques, so I won’t pass
judgement.
As far as Walter is concerned it just
goes to show that a pair of smart, polished brogues and a clipped moustache can
go a long way to inspiring trust in a man, which turned out in hindsight to be
misplaced.
All of this meant that I had 60 notes
burning a hole in my pocket as I had prepared myself for the dentist’s bill by
carrying cash as the only other payment he accepts is cheque and the last time
I paid him to my eternal horror the cheque bounced, so I am not risking such
humiliation again. Cash in the pocket
will inevitably mean a trip to the Flagon later to celebrate my good fortune
but in an effort to preserve the few good teeth I have left I think I will
steer clear of the pork scratchings.
Whilst waiting to see Shulman I was
reading a magazine called Heart Matters in
the waiting room, a publication which the title suggests, gives helpful advice
on all matters cardio. Predictably there
was a double page spread on tips to reduce alcohol consumption which included
all the usual favourites such as drink lower ABV drinks and alternate alcoholic
drinks with soft drinks etc. (If I go to
a bar to order a coke for myself the words never come out quite as I intend and
they normally sound something like, “A pint of best bitter please.” The word coke seems to stick in the throat; I
choke on the coke so to speak.) Anyway
one odd bit of advice in the article was use smaller glasses for your drinks
and drink slower. As you and any other
self respecting drinker will know using a smaller glass will usually increase
alcohol consumption as the drinks will go down quicker, so at that point I lost
all respect for the writer of the article who clearly is not a drinker
himself. Given the choice of going to
heaven for the climate or hell for the company the article’s author would
undoubtedly choose the former, which is just as well as that means I won’t have
the ill luck of meeting him there.
Willy Mantitt
informs me that his unfortunate work colleague the Colonel (part time comedian
and ex-MC at the Hawthorns) was in need of a dump but was stuck on the M6 as a
poor, tortured soul was threatening to jump off the motorway bridge. Instead of sitting frustrated in his car with
his log touching cloth the Colonel should have left his vehicle and walked up
to the bridge and exclaimed, "for f*ck’s sake, just jump off the bridge I
need a Tom T*t." It would have at least provided a light hearted moment in
a desperate situation, even if the Colonel subsequently soiled himself.
I have always had a liking for light
hearted moments in otherwise difficult circumstances. There was a lovely
photograph in the Guardian many years ago of the mass murderer Fred West and
two policemen smiling, probably sharing a joke or laughing at an audible
fart.
Talking of mass murderers what a
dreadful affair the Boston
I was delighted to foreclose on a deal
of securing a cut price bottle of Navy Strength Plymouth Gin the other day and
consequently I excitedly left the Flagon planning to use the spirit by mixing
my favourite gin based tipple, gimlets.
Although I know full well that you have to use Rose’s lime juice in the
making of a gimlet I foolishly purchased the cheaper Sainsbury’s own
equivalent, which resulted in disappointing consequences. It is like cooking a piece of prime sirloin
steak and smothering it in foul cut price mustard. I will never learn.
Meanwhile, in an uncharacteristic fit of
enthusiasm I had the misfortune of doing a spot of gardening at Codger Mansions
the other day. I realised that if I
start now, before stingers sprout up chest high as they do, I could re-establish the Codger’s enchanted
path (in the copse at the back of the garden) down to the Loyal Lodge public
house down the road on Fungus Hill. When
he lived in the Mansions my dear brother the Codger used to tell Mrs Codger
that he was popping out to weed the patio and sneak down the enchanted path to
the Lodge for a surreptitious pint. I
decided against maintaining the path as I have no need for such
covert
operations not having a wife or anything similar and I do not have a strimmer
anyway. And to boot I do not
particularly have a desire to go to the Loyal Lodge with the Pirate’s Pleasure
Palace (aka the Flagon & Gorses) being only a 10 minute walk up the road.
The renovation works in the bar at the Flagon & Gorses move on
at a pace. It just happens to be a slow pace.
Chilli Willy seems to have conveniently forgotten that he bet me a pint
that the work would be complete by the end of April. I am not going to press him on this point as
Willy may get upset and heaven knows what he might put in my dinner at the
impending Jewish food night. The
plastering has at least been completed in the bar and many a punter has
commented that it is the first time that they have seen the Flagon plastered
and not its customers. On getting
plastered (in the drinking sense) the convivial Pirate commented, “there are
those that do it with panache and then there are c*nts.” Enough said.
© Dominic Horton, 13th May 2013.
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