No 5 (Jobless + 3 days)

I want to ride my bicyle

My period of unemployment, brief though it has thus far been, has lead to an exponential rise in my cycling activity. From starting point of never cycling at all, that is. I have now, on at least two occasions, actually unchained my rusty, wheeled steed from its iron railing stables and taken it for a squeaky ride through the perilous streets of East London. Like the female Lance Armstrong of Bethnal Green, sans yellow jersey and huge thighs, of course (although if I heed my Mother's scaremongering pronouncements about cycling, my thighs are soon to be gargantuan).

I have discovered that there are a lot of Hoxton-trendy cyclists in East London. All tousled hair (un-helmeted I might add) and scuffed-up brogues, insouciantly cutting up pedestrians. I, on the other hand, look like some young Margaret Thatcher of the noughties, all bouffant ginger hair escaping from my bobble hat, which is squashed under my reinforced cycling helmet (can't put a price on safety, after all). I also seem to be unable to hone my braking capabilities. I frequently find myself careering artlessly towards the back of buses and the side of cars, further upping my cool levels.

My first cycling trip took me to the dentist. A near miss from a car door which was opened at an inopportune moment, an expletive tirade from one of the afore-mentioned hipster cyclist twats and a battle through heavy snow and I was there. However, concern for my personal safety did not leave me once I had reached the dentist and tied up the bicycle.

I am swiftly getting the impression that my dentist is the most passive aggressive man I have ever met. So super friendly to me, yet a man with an extraordinary penchant for extracting my teeth at such a heady rate, I fear he may be selling them off on the dental black market to fund some out of control mouthwash habit. Two wisdom teeth out in two visits.


So it is not without a certain amount of trepidation that I made my way to his torture chair once more.

My dentist, as well as being overly handy with the pliers, has, on my prior visits, also seemed to labour under the belief that I am 5 years old.

Him: Why so nervous love, what are you so worried about?

Me: The fact that both you and the 28 stone dental nurse called Precious are leaning over my numb and wrenched open mouth with tools not unlike those you might find in the cupboard of some S&M practitioner from the Middle Ages.

Him: There now love, once this is all over I think you'll deserve a sticker, don't you think, Precious?

Me: Uggggthhththmmmmm (there now appears to be some kind of dental dyson in my mouth, sucking out all my saliva)

Him: Now love, this won’t hurt at all (lies, vicious dental lies), you won’t feel the pressure (are you kidding me? It feels like you are balancing an articulated lorry on my tooth). Tell me, have you heard that Gordon Brown's handwriting is very bad? Have you heard about his glass eye? Did you read they think he's going blind? Now that's not very good, is it?

Me: uththtuthmmmmth, ffttthhh (Translation: huh? Is he attempting to distract me from the large knife contraption in his hand with Daily Mail politics? I try to point out that David Blunkett seemed to manage, until his multiple affairs, of course. Although, I feel my point is undermined slightly by my inability to speak thanks to the plethora of metal instruments playing percussion in my mouth.)

Him: There all done now (holding up my bloodied tooth). Precious, do we have any lollies?

This time, thankfully, there are no extractions. Merely a short nip round my mouth with the dental dyson and a rub on my arm and I am free to saddle up the bike and return from whence I came.

This is pleasing, for my new non-earning status leaves little spare cash for expensive dental treatment. I have decided to prioritise and the teeth, having had a short reign at the top, have now been demoted to the bottom of my list of things on which to spend money. Happily, as well as being cash poor now, I am also more tooth poor, so hopefully those teeth remaining will behave. Otherwise I shall be toothless as well as jobless and ginger, a heady combination probably to be avoided.