You know the drill

Tomorrow I have to visit the dentist, where he'll perform a procedure that includes injections and drills and picks and strange alchemical tastes. Whilst I stare at the ceiling watching flecks of detritus getting stuck to the safety goggles and listening to piped Classic FM drowned out by the horrendous BRUZZBBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBL noise of that big drill that makes you think the dentist has decided to start a rival Channel Tunnel in your bottom right molar.

"Just wake me up when you reach Calais," I'll quip.

Except that, impeded by fingers, that vacuum thing that the nurse holds, and the fact that most of my mouth is effectively dead tissue, I'll actually say...

"Yush way ee uh uhen oo each alaigh."

I don't know if dentists receive training in re-inserting consonants, but if not he's going to miss out on a mighty fine quip.

On Thursday I'm going to a leaving do, where I'll have to dress smart, make small talk to people I've never met before and I'm unlikely to meet again, and basically Be Simon in an Unfamiliar Social Situation.

It says something about my psyche that I'm actually dreading Thursday a lot more.