Last week, I had another flossing incident. I was see sawing away, trying to eradicate some very clingy muesli when ping,  a huge chunk of molar flew across the bathroom. So I hopped on my bike and took a trundle to the torture chamber, sorry dentist, that is Mr Pappadopoulos and his evil sidekick, Tracy. Except it wasn’t Mr Pappadopoulos anymore – it was Mr Shah – a very dapper individual with smiley eyes and spray on hair. Think 70s underwear model- that’s Mr Shah. Anyway, he got me to sign something that said I wouldn’t make a fuss if he broke my jaw by mistake, took his pliers out and after kneeling on my chest for about 10 minutes while Tracy mopped his brow, he managed to rip out the remainder of my tooth. He then whacked a cotton wool cocktail sausage into my mouth and shooed me out of the room reminding me not to disturb the clot with my nosy tongue. I am now living on porridge and custard.