Tuesday, 29 May 2012

I squeezed the larynx of said practitioner . . .

'Perfect Retirement Housing Complex
Inner Hamlet

My Dear Ralph
I think I may have made one or two spelling mistakes in my last missive.  Apologies dear.  During my years as an operative, my memoranda were always of the most exacting standard!
Our Leader has apparently told the Pope and the Popette (the 'unofficial' committee) that they are no longer allowed to make any profits from their Egg Head sessions in the lounge.  Pom-Pom and I have been trying to make sense of this, as any proceeds do go into the general committee funds (run by the 'official' committee).  It does seem that Our Leader is trying to limit the power exercised by the papal duo.  Unfortunately, as neither party has too much of a grip on the general principles of democracy, I can imagine that a certain amount of ill-will might be being vented, behind closed doors, at opposite ends of the building.  This is what happens when one dominant autocratic power challenges another pet!
Meanwhile, I have been reflecting on my recent, very physical, encounter down at the Inner Hamlet NHS dental surgery.  I think I may have told you dear, about the grisly tooth and jaw pain I was racked by several weeks ago?  Well, in all my years as an operative (40), I have never been reduced to manhandling a practitioner of the dental arts - and I haven't felt able to write further about it until today!  It is all very well pet, administering an injection of local anaesthetic, but it does have to succeed in deadening the tooth.  It is absolutely no good persisting with any attempt to drill on an exposed nerve!  So I'm afraid I squeezed the larynx of said dental practitioner between my thumb and forefinger, to prevent him from continuing and to communicate the extremity of my agony.  (I'm not altogether sure that he was expecting a lady decked out in silk and pearls to be acquainted with disabling tactics of this magnitude, as his respirations were still somewhat on the raspy side when I departed!)  And, before I departed, the tension and general atmosphere in the room resembled that to be found on the bridge of a submarine diving into the depths of the sea while being bombed.  My waistline was riven with spasms - due to the arching of my torso during this session - for days afterwards, and I can quite understand how our application of 'special measures' during the Cold War got results!  Now I know I am fortunate that a dead tooth is a silent tooth, but it is still one that I wish had lived and am sad to have lost!
Aunt Agatha

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