Everyone, please be upstanding for my dentist. Come on, please, stand up and give him a massive round of applause. There we go, thanks. Now you can all return to your seats. Sit down. SIT DOWN AT THE BACK!

A few weeks ago, I had no dental issues whatsoever. No pain, no aches, nowt, nada, zip and diddly. Then I went for a regular checkup at my delightful NHS dentist, where he assured me I needed a filling on my molar. I have since had this filling and you know what?

My tooth HURTS.

Brilliant. Thanks Mr Dentist. Thanks for taking a tooth that caused me no pain whatsoever and forever damaging it by mangling it with a drill. Now, whenever I drink an ice-cold beer, the sharp sensation of pain I feel deep within my jaw will forever remind me of your delightful face, a face that I had to stare at for thirty pigging minutes as you bumbled around and obliterated my otherwise lovely tooth.

I’ve half a mind to work towards a new career in the specialist medical profession, ensure that my alleged ‘dentist’ suffers an accident that relates directly to my area of expertise, have him sent to me and then exact my revenge by botching his treatment.

“Oh, sorry Mr Dentist, was that your hamstring snapping in half? Yes, sore, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I know I’ve removed the wrong organ, but ‘appendix’ and ‘penis’ are very easy words to get muddled up when they’re written in Doctor’s handwriting.”
“Now would you look at that? I’ve only gone and perforated your eardrum! Whoops! And now I’ve accidentally set off the fire alarm! Oh silly me.”

I really, really don’t like dentists.