Dental costs and benefits.

I got stung for a £160 dental bill - not for me but for my dog Milo. Milo was anaesthetised. The vet shaved fur off his front legs and neck I presume to stick various needles into him. Then he used an ultrasonic device to clean all the tartar off my dog's teeth. There was a lot of tartar. Milo had already lost a tooth and his breath smelt pretty bad. After the operation his breath ceased to smell. I don't know that he appreciated this as a benefit. When I went to collect him from the vet he looked very pissed off. On the way home he tried to left a leg but couldn't balance properly. When we got home he tried to run up stairs but he couldn't make it. He tried again at a more sedate pace and this time he made it. He retired to my bedroom and used it as a recovery suite. He can't have held too much against me. He gave my hand a couple of licks.

The procedure was something of an ordeal and so I have resolved not to put him through that again if I can possibly help it. I have started cleaning his teeth on a daily basis. He hates it. If he sees me getting the tooth brush out he runs to the opposite end of the house. He wriggles and writhes as I try and reach all the teeth. It is two minutes of unpleasantness but then it is over. I tell myself each time that regular brushing will prevent the build up of tartar and that if I stick at it he won't need to undergo another avoidable operation.

More orthographic errors than necessary

When my grandmother, an author, sent a manuscript to the Oxford University Press she got a bill back together with a note saying that there were more orthographic errors than usual. That is a polite way of saying my gran couldn't spell. Indeed she once tried to show a student, a Ugandan whose first language was not English, how to use a dictionary to look up the word "quarrel". She looked it up under k. So it is with humility that accept Francis's comment about my spelling of the word gym. I got it wrong. Sorry mate.

Returning to the gymn

I'll admit it. I used to be a regular at the local gymn but I think it must be a year or so since I last worked out and I am feeling the effects. Things I used to do with ease I have to strain to do. My muscles are feeling flabbier than I'd care to admit. There are plenty of ladies with ampler figures than me in King's Lynn. You can't miss them. They wander round in shoulderless tops, their flab going wibbly wobbly just like a jelly. I don't want to go to that extreme but oh my is it nice to lie in instead of bothering to the gymn.

My big excuse was that I had lost my membership card. The other day a mailshot came from my gymn Bodyworks. There was a telephone number. I rang up and discovered that all I had to do was turn up at Bodyworks and they would issue me with a new card. It was as simple as that. I brought along some passport photos but these weren't necessary as they had a digicam which took a photo which made me look like the poor gentleman in Edvard Munch's scream. Still I wasn't going to quarrel. The nice young lady arranged for me to be "reprogrammed" - her choice of verb not mine. She meant devise a new exercise program.

OK so now I'm worrying that I don't have the right kit. It is strange but King's Lynn sports shops don't seem to sell gear that you'd actually want to wear if you were doing a sport. At least I'd say that applies if you're female. Sports shops sell fashion ware but they don't sell kit in which you can get hot and sweaty. There is a dress code in the gymn. Your clothes don't have to be brand new. In fact it is better if they look used and faded. But you do need to wear trainer socks which I hate because they don't stay on my feet properly and become all runkled up inside my training shoes. Calf length trousers are obligatory for women that is unless you are going to clad yourself in skin tight scanty lycra. Tattoos are popular too...Maybe I'll forget about peer group pressure and fashion and turn up in my regular shorts and t-shirt.

Corpses, corpses everywhere

I remember how pleased I was when I planted up my front garden in the spring. I put in two rhododendrons, four heather plants and a bunch of pansies. Only the pansies survived. Today I began removing the casualties. I should have watered them but by the time I noticed the wilting leaves it was too late. This has been a particularly dry summer. I am not that an experienced gardener and I guess I will know for next time that plants need water. I will see if I can choose specimens that are more drought resistant. As if to rub it in it wasn't only the plants that were dying. There is the corpse of a dead bird in amongst the weeds.

How dumb can you get

Yesterday - the hottest day of the year so far - saw me walk head first into a lamppost. I was talking to another dog owner at the time and I was slightly wary as the dog was running loose on an extending lead right around my fee so I didn't see the lamp post. The first I knew of its presence was when there was a loud clang just as my head made contact. At first I just felt dizzy. This other woman was asking anxiously if I was ok. My head was ringing but even then I had to see the funny side of it. I didn't get a bump on my head and in a few moments my head resumed to normal functioning but today I was very wary of all dangerous lampposts.

Tooth and Blood

My dog Milo attacked a cat the other day. There was a lot of blood. The cat escaped apparently unharmed and, as Milo was on the lead, I managed to pull him away. On closer examination the blood seemed to be coming from Milo's mouth. I looked at his teeth and one of his canines looked wobbly. That was the end of our walk for that day.

Instead I took him to the vet. Milo displayed no pain or discomfort. The vet told me that Milo had poor dental hygiene. He recommended that it was best just to leave the tooth be and let nature take its course. The tooth would fall out eventually. We agreed that I would come back after my holiday to book a tooth cleaning session. This will mean a full general anesthetic. Afterwards I shall have to clean his teeth on a regular basis. I did try to clean his teeth when he was younger but he protested every time and I didn't enjoy these sessions either but having seen him lose a tooth I feel bad.

The dog is not at all bothered. When I took him for a walk today he found one of those paper cases from a bun. Not content with licking the paper case he swallowed the whole piece of paper - crumbs and all. I feed my dog proper dog food but he just scavenges in the park and it is a habit which seems to have done him no favours but how do you stop a dog from scavenging save by keeping it on a lead the whole time and if you do that you'll only have the vet on at you for not giving the dog proper exercise.

Pygmalion

OK, OK, I've had my little rant. It is peace now.

The writing is going well. I seem to thrive in a fake Italian cafe. It is funny how work can take shape if you simply plug away at it for two hours a day. Initially all I seemed to produce was absent-minded reveries but gradually the words became more focused. It looks like I have characters and I have a plot. The action set in Scotland, the place where I grew up though I am not, I hasten to say, Scottish.

This all begs the question is it OK for an English person to imitate a Scottish accent? I can think of plenty of people in Scotland who'd object and who'd deride any attempt to do so but one of things I want to explore - from the safety of my Norfolk home - is the interplay between Scottish English and English English. I can well remember my school friends laughing at my London accent. I felt slightly hurt but I wouldn't say I was bullied. My friends used to give me elocution lessons to tame my southern vowels. I think they were inspired by My Fair Lady but I reckon they rather missed the point of it. After all what obscenity did the good lady yell at the races?

My speech may have been mocked in the playground but in the classroom I thrived. The kids with broad accents were pilloried by the teachers. The funny thing is when I got to university some of my public school peers used to long for regional and working class accents. I find it all very confusing.