Canal routes and root canals

I don't know why we're complaining. April is meant to be like this, and most parts of England need the rain. But it must be one of the wettest droughts we've had for a long time. Not to mention the hardest hail stones. So we do the next best thing to cruising – we plan. Out come the Nicholson's guides, and the route-planning websites are invoked to see how long it will take us to get to Chester in May.

Then I get tooth-ache – on our 39th anniversary of all days. Lower left back molar. Evening meal was a hesitant, jittery affair – food would insist on being chewed in that part of the mouth, and the flavour was no compensation for the nerves. We were actually going out for our celebratory meal two days later on a local Groupon deal (not that I'm miserly or anything). So, deciding the tooth was not going to subside on its own, I rang dentist Mike first thing on Monday morning and he, amazingly, was able to see me 40 minutes later. A large dose of amoxycylin, backed up by the usual tablets, meant we were able to enjoy the evening in style.

Unfortunately, Mike said the tooth was past saving. The infection in the root would re-occur, and he thought there was little point in trying to crown it (a subtle reference to my advanced age, I think). So out it will come. It's a wisdom tooth, no doubt more disposable that a top incisor. "If your eye offends you, pluck it out," says the Good Book, and I suppose the same principle must apply to teeth. But I'm not sure this was exactly what Jesus had in mind!

So it's back to planning canal routes, while I await judgment day on May 2nd. Just as well I've got lots to take my mind off the prospect.