Fillings

I spend an hour in the morning, on my back, in a dentists chair. I’m full of local anaesthetic, but cold jets of water and the whine of the drill insinuate themselves through the numbness to delicately torture my nerves.

The numbness continues to deepen at work. There’s no feeling in my chin or the left side of my face. My tongue feels huge and misshapen.

The soup in the cafeteria is minestrone - too lumpy for my senseless mouth. Babarista’s soup is chunky vegetable. Mr Tatty’s is leek and potato. I go to the corner shop and acquire a tin of Heinz Cream of Tomato. Smooth and soothing.

As sensation returns it becomes clear that the filling is too high. They manage to squeeze me in for another appointment just after 4. I leave with a mouth that feels almost normal again.

To celebrate, I arrange to meet Dave for a swift pint at the Brass Monkey. Walking up Leith Street, the horizon is replete with cranes, slowly filling the recent void of the St James Centre. Numbed by the onset of night, the cranes are stationary and the drills are silent.

Among other things, Dave tells me that Lee Scratch Perry is playing Summerhall in March. Goody - another gig.