D Day (or thank you Bella)

I finally did the deed and went to have my molar out at the dentist. In a moment of clarity I cancelled the initial appointment to have an impression for a replacement tooth (cant bring myself to say false) as with Christmas approaching couldn't justify spending £200 on something I still didn't know was necessary. To ensure I didn't do a runner like last time took Bella along as my Dumbo feather. Knowing someone would be in the waiting room, would be enough to stop me bottling it. But more importantly it would stop me feeling alone - the fear was enough without adding self pity to the cocktail.

So I drove round to Bella's feeling remarkably chipper which confused my 'carer' somewhat as she was expecting a blubbering wreck. Instead we joked, mocked and made our way to the torture scene. And even as we took our place in the waiting room I had none of the bubbling feelings of loss of control as last time. In fact I did feel slightly ashamed as a 40 something man with special needs (never sure what the current PC allowed term is - that probably isn't it) who genuinely needed a carer sat beside me clutching an A4 piece of paper at the top of which was written his name, Simon then a picture of a clock showing 11.15 and a picture of a tooth and scraper (maybe unnecessary). He was obviously terrified which manifested itself in loud animal whimpers.

Anyway soon my turn so all human empathy evaporated and it was back to me, me, me. My petite Italian (not eastern European at all as I had thought previously) looked suitably concerned - probably wondering if she was going to put up with this middle aged cry baby again. I assured her I would behave and in true dentist style she insisted on asking questions that required more than yes or no answers while sticking a huge needle into my gum. I would like to say that I don't know what I was worrying about and hardly noticed as the tooth slid out but it was as bad as I had feared. Not painful granted but feeling someone seemingly try and push your tooth through your jaw and out the top of my head is not a feeling I think I will ever shrug off as one of those things. Admittedly not quite a scene from Saw but unpleasant nevertheless. All the while I am trying not to gag on my saliva while big Disney tears bounce off my cheeks.

Soon enough the bloody tooth is lying in the stainless steel kidney bowl while my mouth is packed with gauze. I grunt some form of thanks and walk with slightly wobbling legs into the waiting room and nod towards the door at my carer now turned chauffeur. Putting her sketch book away and bidding farewell to her new friends in the waiting room, Bella skipped out beside me hardly able to believe her luck that I would be confined to being a grunting mute all the way home.

And that is that. Even after the anaesthetic wore off, there was little to no pain. I have spent the whole weekend terrified of it getting infected or developing the innocent sounding but allegedly agonising dry socket syndrome so have been rinsing with corsodyl for England. Most importantly the gap is not noticeable at all - unless I decide to grin like a chimp.

Thanks, Bella

Camden Market

A day in Camden Town is one of my favourite ways to spend the day. A catacomb of shops and smells and characters and food stalls. Even better on a sunny October day. Gothic, Vintage, Tribal, Punk and any item that may be categorized as Alternative...you'll find it there.... A buffet of international cuisines.

We wander endlessly through piles of multi-coloured and multi-feathered hats, trunks and battered leather luggage that will soon become coffee tables, records, cds, winding racks of

outlandish faux fur... leather jackets to Hello Kitty sweatshirts to summer dresses, a myriad of shops selling everything in a really colourful, deliciously smelling, and crowded way. The novelty factor probably comes into play but I love spending time in London. I love the tube.

I love the cacophony of different languages that greet you everywhere. It feels like a real cosmopolitan city. And as if one market was not enough, as the november sun disappeared in the early evening we wandered to Portobello as they packed

away. The day was finished off with dinner at one of my favourite restaurants – the Grand Bazaar just off Bond Street. A tardis of a restaurant whose exterior belies the Aladdin’s Cave of lamp-lit Moroccan delicacies within.