Things have got worse. Because I've been restricted, in which parts of the face I am able to shave, I've started to look a bit like Malcolm. However, I've been told that these effects wont be long-lasting, but it has disturbed me, none-the-less.
This morning I went to the dentist, and a young girl dentist (who's new there, and who also seems raw to the profession), was checking me out. The way she was handling things didn't give me a lot of confidence, especially as she had to ask my usual dentist to come in and advise on things. She's going to remove the remains of a lost tooth, that are under the gum, shortly. I'm not looking forward to that, given her apparent nervousness.
Diane is quite right when she described the cyclamen meaning "Hope" in the language of flowers, to the Victorians. That's what it said on the accompanying slip of paper.
Maybe Dennis could get a cyclamen for Christmas.
