Home for the Arvo

"You're having a tooth extracted today," said Martin, as cheerily as if he was telling me what a gorgeous morning it was in St Kilda, which it was. Acland Street was bathed in glorious sunshine. I could so live in St Kilda, it would be my second choice to Fitzroy.

"Am I?" I asked.

"We discussed this on your last visit," said Martin - who was looking quite sparkly and handsome today. He's either been exercising, or he's given up the wine. I always thought he looked a bit puffy like a drinker, but not today. He looked quite fine.

"Okay," I said. I wasn't nervous, never have been with dentists. Sure, take it out. I've always been like that, since I was a kid. No stress. I've never really ever been hurt by a dentist, the worse is some needles and I've had plenty of dental work done.

"You sit yourself down and settle yourself," said Martin. "Some one nicked the latest copy of DNA, so I can't offer you that while you wait."

So my last wisdom tooth came out. Martin said I should go home and rest for the afternoon. Actually, that's what his dialogue had morphed into by the time I got back to work, let me tell you. Well, my tram went right past the front door, so I dropped in.

"Must go home and rest, doctor's orders."

"Yes, yes, you take yourself home," said the powers that be at work. Tracey later said my face was quite swollen. Lucky break.

So, I was in and out - like a boy prossy down Shakespeare Grove - in ten minutes. And here I am. I don't need to be told twice to go home from work, I can tell you.

I bought smoked oysters and muscles to eat, nice soft food for lunch. Of course, I have just realised, I can't have the crackers. Sad face. Where's my fork?

I did smoke, but I rinsed with salt water after everything, picking my nose, farting, I was fanatical! Well, I figured I'd have to be, if I smoked. Grimace.

I watched Capote and ate yoghurt and tinned apricots.

(Ed note - There were quite a few hours between the oysters and apricots, let me assure you. There was sleep.)