RoyII

Phobias are indeed strange things - their origins can prove to be equally as baffling to the sufferer as to the casual observer, and in some extreme cases, the effects of them can be completely debilitating. The only phobia I ever remember having occurred years ago, when I was a small child. Back then, a visit to the dentist was a one way trip to terror, mainly due to these:

I just hated the drill - the sound it made, the sensation as it broke into your teeth, the very look of it was enough to send chills up my spine. For years I was unable to watch the film ‘Marathon Man' because of that one very disturbing scene.

As I got older, these irrational child hood fears became easier to deal with, but a lingering distrust of dentists still remained. Towards the end of my first term at university, I got a gum infection due to a decaying back molar- the left side of my face had ballooned. I made an appointment, and found myself in the surgery of a very cheery Aussie dentist, who after taking one look in my diseased gob made the following diagnosis:

"It's got to come out, mate."

As I was expecting some advanced, sophisticated dental technique to be used, I was not that bothered, and it was only when he produced a weapons grade, industrial sized pair of pliers that worry very rapidly set in.

"Don't worry, mate, you won't feel a thing!"

Thankfully his assurances were correct. The anaesthetic that was applied numbed the area around the tooth completely, but there was still a slight problem. My molar was not budging - it was happy where it was!

"It's certainly a stubborn little bugger"

I was certainly in no position to disagree with his medical opinion - in fact, giving any sort of reply was just not an option - my head was wedged firmly against the bosom of an admittedly very pretty dental assistant, whilst my jaw was being held in the vice like grip of the pliers. The level of brute force was increased gradually. Even though nothing was being felt through the tooth, the issue of how long my neck would withstand the level of punishment was causing concern. He was just stopping short of putting his foot on my head and putting a tow rope around the pliers. Eventually, out and out aggression won the day - the molar shattered, and the dentist was able to pull out the remnants a lot more easily. A couple of stitches later and it was all over.

"How much will it cost?"  I asked, sensing that my already meagre student income was to be diminished a whole lot more.  His reply was brief and to the point.

"Loads."

He wasn't lying either.

»7:56 PM    »4 comments (2 )     »Send entry    

Posted by: Roy2    in: My entries

Modified on March 21, 2008 at 8:18 PM

It certainly does if you believe the glossy TV advertisements, as drinking cider is now officially cool - there is scarcely an Ad break that goes by that does not portray groups of trendily clad twenty something's, who give all the appearances of having a really great time, even though their lifestyles seems to consist almost entirely of quaffing bottles of the afore mentioned apple based drink.

On the surface, these ads are no different from the advertising campaigns used to promote any other products, but what I find interesting about the promotions for cider is how much the perception of cider drinking has changed so quickly. Not so long ago, the storey was very different - cider was considered to be a very down market drink, whose main preserve was unsophisticated, gauche, anorak clad individuals, who would typically pass their time train spotting, and whose idea of social interaction was going into town to buy a replacement part for their thermos flasks. When it was advertised on the telly, the plot vehicles used were dull, stereo typical countryside features that made a few lame attempts at humour.

Speaking personally, any experience of drinking of cider stemmed from my student days, and was done out of necessity. The end of term was usually a difficult time for me, as the rate at which my meagre funds declined began accelerating rapidly, and on the odd occasion when I could make it down to the University bar, the only thing I could afford to drink was an absolutely revolting brand of cider, which was the only one they stocked. The only positive thing you could say about it was that it was better than meths.

Looking at the way it is currently portrayed, I can't help but marvel at what a good job the Marketing men have done for the image of cider, as it is now very much a mainstream drink. Even though in my case, cider will always evoke memories of poverty and destitution, turning around what is essentially a rather uninspiring glorified fizzy drink is proof positive of the power of style over substance.

»9:30 PM    »7 comments (0 )     »Send entry    

Posted by: Roy2    in: My entries