I love the dentist’s so much I get there two hours early

Whatever happened to the mallet-and-pliers anguish of trips to the dentist? Rab finds the experience so civilised these days that the only thing to get worked up about is the pain of the bill

I’ve had to bite the bullet and make an appointment to see the dentist. A couple of months ago, a huge section of filling fell oot of my mooth – the part of my body where most of the fillings are – but enough remained to mean I could eat and drink without pain other than that caused by the taste of my cooking. At last, however, another bit of filling fell oot and I now have a dull ache and can’t swill hot or cold drinks around the locus, which is a pity as I’m fond of a good swill.

Am I scared of the dentist? Nope. However, I’m aware that bravery is foolish. I may have told you before – after all these years, I still recount this traumatic story regularly – about when I was a child, during the days when a dentist’s main equipment consisted of a mallet and pliers. The mallet provided the anaesthetic.

I bore up bravely but could hear another boy screaming as he was being treated by a dentist in the adjoining room. Proudly, after my treatment, I returned to my mother in the crowded waiting room, only to find everyone there believed I’d been the one screaming.

My mooth was too swollen, and my brain too stunned, to explain. Courage: a complete waste of time. The only courage needed at the dentist nowadays is in facing the bill. No one I know can explain how dentistry is free on the NHS but you have to pay for it.

One thing I do look forward to at my dentist’s is the waiting room.

The premises are part of a grand old mansion and, these days, are as close as I get to staying in a swanky hotel.

There’s a television and magazines and everything. Usually, I turn up two hours before my appointment so I can enjoy the ambience.

I’ll have to ask my dentist about the material used for my filling. Once, consulting Dr Google to find out why I was so dense, I came across theories that it might be caused by mercury in dental fillings.

There’s an alternative substance to mercury but it’s pricey and I’m not sure it can be used in fillings as huge as this one. Maybe I’ll ask if I can pay off the fee by working for free, mopping up the blood and offering counselling to distressed patients.

That’s if I can get a word in edgeways. There’s nothing more distressing than being asked where you are going on holiday, and having a mooth too full of equipment to explain that you haven’t had a holiday since Herman’s Hermits were last in the charts.

Luckily, my dentist is perfectly amiable, as are all the assistants I’ve had down the years. I’ve noticed that, wherever you go, these assistants don’t seem to last long, suggesting that the work gives them nightmares or that they get fed up being asked to pass things all the time.

There must be better ways to make a living. I’m sure the dentists themselves must get fed up, waking to think: “Oh lordy, more mooths to mangle.”

But they’ll get their rewards in heaven, where I’m told folk have lots of fillings thanks to swilling ambrosia roond their mooths all day long.