I am visiting a friend at the dental surgery where she works. It is in a purpose built building only 12 months or so old.
First impressions, on entering, are of white walls and pastel blues with lots of space. The reception is open, with a wall to screen people off people passing back and forth. It works well, with the room having a feeling of calm but not enclosed. The waiting area chairs are a burgundy colour and stand out well against the blue of the carpet.
I am surprised that I was so calm writing the above description. For years I would be wracked with paroxysms of despair at the slightest inkling that I would actually have to visit such a place. In my mind all syringes were an inch long and did nothing to dispel the dread that gripped me.
The cure, or at least the antidote, for this affliction arrived in the form of an invitation to have a checkup; a friend had started work in a new dental practise and did not know any of the patients.
From this I went on to meet Cathy, whom I went on to marry. Maybe I was right to be scared of what can happen from visiting the Dentist.
I'm actually preparing this entry four days late. As I write I am listening to the Commute Cast with Ken & Barb, here in the background there is a sound I have not heard in a long while.
The rainfall is so reminiscent of Corfu, it is coming down that hard.
Handcrafted on a Sony Ericsson P910i
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