When I was small every trip to the dentist seemed to result in some work being done. I've heard it said that in those days dentists were paid by the filling and, if that's the case, I must have single-handedly funded several Majorcan jaunts for the chap who exercised his skills on my choppers. Over the last thirty years, though, I haven't had much done. One tooth removed s0mewhere near the back, one crown and the occasional bit of drilling and filling fun.

A few weeks ago, I went for a check up and I was told I needed a filling and also a visit to the hygienist to clean off some tartar. I booked the hygienist for one day and the actual work for the day after, thinking that the former would serve as a gentle warm up for the latter. That first day has come 'round and so this morning I set off for Kendal, cheerful in the bright sun whilst wrapped up in my longcoat against the cold.

Well, it was less of a giggle than anticipated as various instruments whined, jabbed, scraped and the pushed their way between my teeth. "Open your mouth a bit wider": I could do that. "Just relax your cheeks": well, that was a new one but I managed it. But then "Just relax your tongue". That, embarrassingly, proved impossible as my tongue seemed intent on relentlessly patrolling my teeth and gums, occasionally blocking the suction device. By the end it was bloody aching. (And now, writing this, I've become aware of it again!)

Anyway, it was all over in half an hour and then I headed back to the office, stopping by Abbott Hall to take this photo of the castle.