THE CURSE OF RICHARD'S BASS BAG

Well, Richard's curse really.
I'm afraid I wasn't very sympathetic over the big wuss old jelly-belly Mr wimpy Richard's toothache and looming extraction a few weeks ago and now it seems he has cursed me.
I broke a piece off a large molar today while eating a ham sandwich. A bloody (almost) sandwich. How the hell did that happen? It was freshly baked bread, nice and soft, with a delicious piece of moist and fat free ham with hot English mustard inside.

 I suppose that the tooth had been weakened by the big chunk of hard Thornton's toffee that I had crunched up earlier.

This stuff is great. The 'Mother-in-law' sent some with the Christmas pack from Aberdeen along with Gold Bars, Caramac and all sorts of other sweet British stuff guaranteed to ruin your teeth. I'll have to send her a note telling her that it worked.

Murphy's (Sod's) Law of course dictates that you break a tooth during the Christmas closure for most dentists. I rang around and discovered one close to my work in Auckland that is open between Christmas and New Year. Well, they weren't open today so I had to leave a voice message (dentists haven't discovered e-mail yet).

I'll have to be careful what I eat between now and then. Soft and mushy stuff I guess which is OK when it comes to trifle but crunchy roast potatoes might be a bit of a struggle. Bugger. I could put the Christmas roast meal in a blender and suck it up through a straw I suppose.