Countdown

Blair arrives in less than a week and I still don't have my teeth sorted.

I visited my dentist – Dr Pepper (shut up!) – today and he took a mould of my upper mouth.
Thanks to the combined effects of radiotherapy (no saliva) and surgery (no room), a full set of dentures is pretty much out of the question.

So I'm getting a stop-gap upper plate and slowly resigning myself to the fact that I will never rip into a steak like every true-blue Aussie should.

If only I was sturdier, then at least I could pretend I had my teeth knocked out in a tackle of some sort...