What the hell - ? Boss left the office four minutes ago to catch a train, and he's rung in already. He has had an idea about the new parking scheme in the town. Thank God for railway tunnels! He got cut off midway through dictating a letter to the local paper. Even unfinished, the letter is so long that it will need a page of the paper all to itself.

The thing about these ideas is that, when I remind him of them on his return to the office, he swats them away like annoying flies, and tells me that he is too busy to be bothered with all that right now. If I don't remind him, he will suddenly seize upon them three weeks later, and ask me why I have forgotten to remind him.

Oh, well. Right now, I'm more concerned about one of my teeth. It is what dentists would describe as "mobile", i.e. it's loose. I'm going to have to make enquiries about a dentist because I haven't been registered with a dental surgery for ages. I always thought one of the joys of being grown up was never having to visit the dentist, but our teeth make sure that it's a short lived joy.

The only time I have ever enjoyed a visit to the dentist was when my mother was in the chair, her mouth propped open, and I started to go through everything in her handbag. The gurgling sounds she was making did not alert the dentist to the fact that she was trying to shout at me to shut her bag immediately, and I happily continued to sort through photos, letters, receipts, lipsticks and small, private possession that mystified me. I tried on her (Californian Tan) spare stocking, smeared her (Cherry Pink) lipstick on my mouth, and sprayed myself with Blue Grass. Well, I was only six. I think they've stopped making Blue Grass now; I never smell it anywhere.