My local dentist is the cousin of one of my best mates out here. When we first arrived in France I should have taken the hint that whilst Christian uses him (family loyalty) Chantal and the kids go to a different dentist in Jarnac.
My guy is 6'4" tall, built like a tank with fingers the size - and dexterity - of bananas. When I first visited his rural practice I entered the building with trepidation but was flabbergasted when entering the lions den to find it kitted out like the flight deck of the USS Entrerprise. You have to hand it to the French when it comes to healthcare their equipment truly is state of the art.
Anyway, back to the butcher, errr dentist.
I went in because one of my teeth had snapped in half, he pulled it out and cleaned it up (you're a big guy Graham, no need for an anaesthetic....co-incidentally the exact same words he used when I went in for root canal treatment. I'm not joking).
He then fitted a temporary crown by jamming the aforementioned bunch of bananas as far in as possible and pressing down with all his weight.
Sadly, whilst extracting his fingers and equipment there was a big crack followed by a low pitched groan of "Oh Merde". Not quite what you want to hear when you're sat alone and helpless in the dentists chair.
Still, we got it sorted in the end and even managed a cheerful conversation about the France v England 6 nations match being played the next day.
His parting shot was a mighty pat on the back that would have stopped even Sebastien Chabal in his tracks and the announcement that my appointment in quinze jours might not be quite as comfortable.
Laurence Olivier in Marathon Man...move aside you're nothing compared to this guy.
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