Go Dotty for Lottie!

It's a little over a month away until my new chicklit novel 'Lottie's Luck' is launched on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback at Lulu.  So I'd like to give you  little taster by offering you the blurb and Chapter One for your comments and thoughts.

Grab yourself a drink, get comfortable and meet Lottie ...

THE BLURB

I’m Lottie Truman

and this is my story.

My life was simply tickety-boo

until a neighbour’s prediction

seemed to coincide with

my luck running out.

Join me on the path

I needed to take to get me

to where I am now.

But don’t judge me.

Because sometimes you have to

make a few diversions to allow fate

to push you in the right direction

* * * * 

 

Lottie's Luck

I want to tell you a little story.  Some of it may frustrate the hell out of you and could even have you screaming in protest at the pages (or at me) but I’d like you to be more than just a reader - think of yourself as a friend and non-judgmental confidante, living through this tale with me, and I think you’ll see why everything had to happen the way it did.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

CHAPTER ONE

  

The day that things really began to change started with me winning another sixty quid on the lottery.  I opened my ‘Rainy Day’ book and noted the figure down.  Almost five hundred pounds in the past year - not bad for someone who only did a couple of lines a month.

Mum and Dad did the lottery religiously, using the same selection every week - birthdays, anniversaries, old door numbers.  The same numbers with the same dream in mind - to finally get that cruise they’d dreamed of all their married lives - and yet they barely ever won a tenner.

If my luck carried on, I was hoping I’d be able to treat them for their pearl wedding anniversary the following year and that would make me really happy.

You see there’s something you should know about me as we start on this journey.  People were always telling me how lucky I was and I could only agree.  Born to the best parents in the world, an older brother who I only wanted to kill occasionally, a best friend who I knew would never let me down, my own thriving business (more on that later) and a boyfriend who made Brad Pitt look like Gollum - I felt I was truly blessed.

But it wasn’t just those things that made me feel fortunate.  Whatever I turned my hand to seemed to turn to gold.  Dad reckons when I was about two, I scribbled on his racing pages on the day of the Grand National and, sensing it was an omen, he had a little wager on the horse I’d marked with a snot green crayon.

It came in at forty to one and he made a nice little profit.  It soon became the family joke to get me to predict the winner each year but I’d only ever give a hint if I got a really strong lucky feeling.

And things continued in the same vein.  Family holidays would see me winning the jackpot at bingo or first prize in a raffle.  School contests always saw my name on the winner’s certificate and any magazine competitions I chose to enter would see a prize of some sort plopping through our letterbox.

You may think I’m exaggerating but have a look at a snapshot of some of my escalating wins to date and then you can decide for yourself:

£5 book token in year three at primary school - best project on dogs.

A year’s supply of Nestlé chocolate - aged ten.  Shared with brother Simon and my best friend Amy.  Almost put us off chocolate for life.

Make up set and brushes - aged fifteen from a crap teen mag.  Gave to Amy as preening has never really been my thing.

A week’s holiday in Portugal for two - just as I’d finished college.  Took Amy with me.

A pair of Christian Louboutin shoes worth £500 - also gave those to Amy as I don’t do heels.

A brand, spanking new Ford Transit van complete with insurance, MOT and service for three years.

Pretty lucky, huh?  But that last prize was the one that finally liberated me from my dull working life and gave me the opportunity to begin living my dream - or so I thought.  As it turned out, it did so much more than that.

I’d been working as a receptionist in a vet’s surgery for five years and, although I enjoyed my job, my goal was to start up my own dog walking venture.  I had a business plan, a logo, all the information I needed about insurance and pages of ideas to get the word out there.  But without decent transport, ‘Watering Lamp Posts’ would never get off the ground.

Mum suggested I started off small and just walk a few dogs, using my battered old Mini to get to and from clients’ houses, but Dad and boyfriend Nathan disagreed.

Dad said it wouldn’t look very professional and I was better off waiting, saving and doing it properly when the time was right.

Nathan merely turned up his nose and said he didn’t see the point of me starting up a business if we were eventually going to get married and have kids.

‘You’ll only end up ditching it and becoming a housewife - stick at the vets.  No point slogging your guts out just to fold as quickly as you started.’

Yes, Nat had very definite ideas about our future and, on good days, I could envisage myself at home with 2.4 kids, doing the school run and preparing dinner parties for his important clients.  But on the bad days … well, let’s just say I got a little bit panicky.  I loved him, so I was sure it would all work out for the best, but I knew I still needed to have a crack at my dream or I’d always live with regrets.

So when I entered the competition to win the van, I sent up a little prayer and even drafted my resignation to the surgery to help visualise the reality.  Positive thinking always worked well for me and this occasion was to prove no different.

But the words which made me realise that my dream might actually come true, also warned me that it may not finish in quite the way I’d expected.

‘I see a tin box, fur and a diamond … these things will change your life in more ways than you could ever begin to imagine.’

It was a miserable Friday afternoon and I’d popped next door to our elderly neighbour, Venetia, to tell her about my latest lottery win.  Now I loved Venetia, and I still do, but she’s seen by some - well, most - as barking.  She fascinated me from when I was an impressionable child of five and she first moved in.  With her swirly, velvet skirts and huge jewels, I could look at her for hours and listen for even longer.

I’d lost count of the amount of times Mum or Dad told me off when I was little.

‘Lottie will you stop staring at Venetia?  It’s rude.’

‘Lottie, come home right now and stop bothering Venetia.  She doesn’t want you hassling her all the time.’

But she didn’t see me as a nuisance.  She loved me too and our bond grew over the years.  Whenever I needed advice or guidance, I’d hop over the side fence and slip through her back door.  Sometimes she’d just sit and chat to me but as I got older she began to do readings - tarot cards, tea leaves or the crystal ball - and she was always spot on.

And that particular Friday, without either of us realising it at the time, she hit the jackpot.

‘If you take on this gift of the tin box, you must be prepared to accept changes out of your control.  Life will seem tough for a while but all will end well.’

Now, I didn’t like the sound of that one bit and I told her so.

‘What d’you mean, tough?  I need to know more, Ven.’

‘Oh, shush Lottie.  That’s all I can tell you at the moment - the mood has gone.  Now go and pour me a Baileys and Guinness and let’s talk about Big Brother - I can’t believe what that couple got up to in the jacuzzi last night!’

Venetia seemed to live on her trademark foul cocktail concoction and Mum and Dad knew to have plenty in stock when she came in for a chat.  We’d known her for twenty one years and she’d never missed a birthday or Christmas party, supping in the corner on her unique tipple - life just wouldn’t seem right without her sharing our festivities.  When she’d first moved in, I was convinced she was already about a hundred, but I’d got to the point where I didn’t see her as having an age at all - she was just a dear, if slightly wacky, friend.

‘Ven, you’ve scared me!  I don’t want bad things to happen to me - they never do.  Why should they start now?’

It’s true to say that, aside from being lucky, I also seemed to be protected - almost as if a guardian angel was shielding its wings like a cloak around me.  Again, I hear you say, ‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous!  You’re deluded!’

OK - then try these for size.  They’re the more minor examples of my good fortune but still a fairly valid testament that bad stuff simply passes me by.  I’m Teflon coated - it slips off me and dissolves into thin air.

When the whole of Year Six went down with chickenpox, I didn’t.  But, even better, I was told to have the week off school - no point going in if no other kids were there.  I spent the whole week playing in the back garden.

The massive puddle that the Number 23 bus hit and then soaked all of my friends as we were heading off to my 15^th birthday party totally missed me.

The food poisoning which struck all my friends after that same birthday party also passed me by.

When there was a cock up with our GCSE English papers, I was the only one who got the right paper in our year.  I got an A* and every one else had to retake.

Granny has never knitted me a hideous Christmas sweater but chooses to give me gift vouchers instead.  My brother Simon, on the other hand, has spent every festive season sporting an itchy jumper which has either been two sizes too big or too small, with reindeer, Santa or snowmen emblazoned on the front.

Oh yes, I’ve been blessed.  So hearing Venetia say that things might be rocky for a while didn’t seem possible.  I needed some answers.

Curling on her plum chaise longue, she tucked her legs under her scarlet skirt and lit a brightly coloured cigarette, batting away the smoke along with my fears.  ‘I didn’t say bad things would happen, did I?  Just things over which you’ll have no control - it will be a journey that will set you on the right path.  That’s all I can say.’

And the very next day I received the letter to say that I’d won the van.  My entry had been picked from thousands of other hopefuls and I was to go and collect my prize the following week.

‘Aha!  The tin box!’ Venetia had said with a glint in her eye when I went in to announce my good news.  ‘This will be the beginning.  I knew it!’

I was too excited to dwell on her words so I handed in my notice and began to put my plans into action - much to Nat’s disapproval.

‘Lottie, I’m just not convinced this is the right move for you.  I mean it’s not exactly the ideal job for an accountant’s wife, is it?  Please say you’ll reconsider.’

But my mind was made up and no amount of begging or cajoling from Nat would make any difference.  I was at the start of my adventure and nothing or nobody was going to stop me.

The sign writers did a great job of my ‘Watering Lamp Posts’ logo and picture on the side of my van and when Venetia came out to admire it she pointed to a cute, fluffy puppy alongside the writing and said, ‘Aha!  The fur!  All is becoming clear.’

I have to say, as much as I love Ven, at that point she was beginning to piss me off and freak me out in equal measures so I threw myself into my work and tried to ignore her predictions.

And things seemed to go well for me.  My ‘tin box and fur’ were doing me no harm and business began to boom fairly early on.  I had fifteen clients within the first month and, thanks to word of mouth about my top quality service, that soon doubled.  I was finally living my dream and once more I felt truly blessed.  I’m not one to take things for granted, you see.

After I’d been up and running for around six months and not been knocked over by a bus or struck with Beriberi, Venetia’s psychic reading soon began to fade into the depths of time and I’d all but forgotten her warnings.  Life was good, I’d got my ideal job at last and was spending my days doing what I enjoyed the most - being out in the fresh air, walking dogs and chatting with other dog walkers.

Then came the diamond …

* * * *

 Hope you enjoyed that morsel - remember the date for you diary is June 19th.  Do YOU want to know what happens to Lottie?  Comments here, on Twitter and Facebook will be gratefully received.

A Blogless Blog

Sorry but I don't have time to blog this week ...

In fact I just don't have time FULL STOP.
I'd like to reach the end of my tether but it keeps moving the goalposts.
So I'll just keep recharging my batteries and, in the words of my lovely dad, say 'Keep going you fool!'

Because I have no choice ...

Sending Mr Misfit Skywards

Last week I was offered the opportunity to take a helicopter flight over London. Yep!  Me!  Mrs Cowardy-Custard-Misfit.  It couldn't have been a day clothes shopping with a blank cheque or a night at The Ritz, could it?  No, it would have to be something which had me laughing hysterically and saying in my best Miranda voice, 'Thanks to you very much, please, thank you. No!'

Suffice it to say, I'm not great 'up in the air' - I practically have to stop myself from kissing the ground when landing and, for me, flying is merely the terrifying act of getting from A to B.  NOT something I would consider merely for pleasure.

So I managed to wrangle the flight for my hubbie instead and, I have to say, now he's done it and shown me the pictures and video, I'm just a tad jealous.  I actually think I might have enjoyed it.

Anyway, he survived to tell the story so today I'm welcoming Mr Misfit to the blog to tell us about his adventure.

Now, I know you love flying (and that you were dumb enough to do a bungee-jump) but was there any small part of you that was apprehensive about this ride? 
Do you mean apart from the fact my flight came just weeks after a chopper crashed after hitting a crane jib nearby?  As you know, I love new experiences, and in particular those that get my adreneline going, but my business background in contingency planning means that I always assess the risk first to give me comfort.  When I did the bungee jump, I made sure there were secondary fallbacks like another rope and D-links.  But where's the 'Plan B' with a single engined aircraft?  Happily I learned that a helicopter can glide (gyro?) in if it conks out. 

How would you convince a nervous passenger (me!) that there's nothing to worry about and do you think I would actually have enjoyed it? 
To quote from the blog I wrote about my experience, it feels quite natural to take off and land in something that is essentially a familiar car cabin environment that flies.  Despite not being scared of heights, I once had a bit of vertigo looking down from the London Eye but felt none of this in the chopper - it somehow seems to cradle you by being suspended under the power source rather than being thrust forward in a giant metal cylinder!  It feels really safe and not at all scary, so I think you would have loved it. 

Were you made to feel safe and secure - what precautions were taken? 
All the bases were covered.  The welcoming team talked us through seatbelts and lifejackets (we flew over the Thames), just as you'd expect on a plane, and the whole operation was professional and integrated with the control tower and heliport crew outside.  The chopper could even land on water. 

How long was your flight and what route did you take? 
We were in the air for about 20 minutes, taking off from Battersea and heading East over all the major landmarks as far as Greenwich/Canary wharf and then back West to Putney/Wetlands before looping back to base.  There's also a service from Redhill, Surrey. 

Are you given a running commentary by the pilot? 
As far as the other incoming air traffic broadcasts would allow - but you wouldn't want to override those!  We were all rigged up to a 5-way comms system via headphones and mikes.  In some ways it might have been preferrable if there'd been some sort of automated commentary as they have in galleries, but it's encouraging to know you can speak to the pilot if you want or need to.

What was the best part of this experience? 
Well, apart from getting up close and personal with the higher tourist attractions like The Shard and the London Eye, being able to smugly look down on the people there and thinking "I can see further than you can!"  I also got a real feel for London's layout and was amazed that places were as close together as they are from the air - it usually takes an age to get even a few miles to anywhere on the ground. 

Would you recommend to others.  If so, why? 
Hell, yeah!  It just gives you a whole different take on what you see from a fixed panoramic structure on the ground, no matter how high it is. 

Was the pilot good-looking?  Sorry, had to ask that - I do love a man in uniform! 
Well, you've been spoiled by marrying me, so everything's relative really.  I'm not used to looking at men in that way, but he did look pretty dapper in his crisp starched white shirt with epaulettes and his Aviators slung nonchalantly by one arm in his breast pocket.

Thank you Mr Misfit for joining me here on the blog today.  For any readers who may be interested in taking their own flight, here's the link to Mr M's blog and further details are listed below.  Just maybe I'll reconsider and take to the skies myself one day - I rather like the sound of that pilot! 

THE LONDON HELICOPTER
Twitter - @thelondonheli
Website

Flights from: Batersea and Redhill
Cost - Battersea £199 per seat.  Redhill £129 per seat

How to Lose Readers and Alienate People

Bonus blog this week as I need to get something off my chest ...

Last night, after editing, I was idly looking through my Twitter feed reading peoples' thoughts on Britain's Got Talent or The Voice (boy, does England need some summer so that we can all get our TV bums outside!) and I came across a conversation between a reader and one of my (now ex!) favourite traditionally published authors.

The author (who shall remain nameless) told the reader that (and I have to be very careful with my words here or it's easy for readers to search Twitter and find out who she is) she wasn't a fan of the less expensively priced books available on Kindle.  Well, laaa - dee - da!

This could be a case of 'tweeting before thinking' but it's just wrong on so many levels.  Let me give you my thoughts and see if you agree:

*Does this mean that we should judge the quality of a book by its price tag?  A ten pound book is immediately a 5* review because it must be top-notch?  Or a book that has the umbrella of a big publishing house over it is guaranteed to be a massive success?  [cough cough]  Pippa Middleton?  Oops!

* Indies have to keep their books reasonably priced or no one would take a chance on them.  Personally, I think upwards of £7 for a Kindle book is just rude but if you're being dictated to by your publisher I also see that you have no choice.  See, I respect you - please treat me in the same way.

*  I think this author should stop and think, 'There but for the grace of God ...'  Ok, so you hit the big time, bagged an agent and publisher but please don't put down those who have decided to take another route - for whatever reason.

*  Indies do everything themselves - editing, proof reading, book cover design, promoting - they don't have the luxury (or added cost) of people working on their behalf.  So my 'cheap books' mean that, with the amount of hours hubbie and I put in, I'm probably on slave labour wage.  Dear said Author, you managed to slag that off with one fleeting statement.

* I have to wonder if our stable of 'big chicklit writers' - ie: the ones who were signed in the early days (pre eBooks) when business was booming and it was a new genre- would have had the grit and determination to follow their dream on the Indie path if they hadn't had their lucky break.  It's not for the lazy or easily disheartened - would they have had the staying power?  Or would they have thought 'That wouldn't make me a real writer' ?

I don't want this blog to sound like sour grapes - I'm happy as an Indie writer and I earn just about enough to keep the roof over my head - but I was deeply offended by this writer's comment.  So much so, she has now lost a very loyal reader - why should I line her pockets when she has no respect for what I'm doing?

And, at the end of the day, are we not all doing the same thing?  Living our dream, creating characters and plots our readers love and earning a crust.

It just happens that your crust is bigger than mine!

She's Ba-a-a-ck ... !

So the dreaded 'dry socket' managed to take up roughly two weeks of my life.  Trust me, you never want to experience the unrelenting pain that comes with this condition - at one point I was convinced I was going mad and it wasn't until I read of others' experiences that I realised this wasn't unusual.  The anecdotes ranged from thoughts of self harming, O/D-ing on pain killers and bashing heads against walls.  Yep, it's really that bad.  And before any haters come back with 'Well serves you right, you smoke, so you deserved it!', I had already considered this but then age is a factor, as is sex (not the jiggy variety) - women are more prone - and also those on the contraceptive pill.  Being a female smoker with dodgy old gums was enough for me to fall prey.

I have to say those two weeks were possibly the most boring of my life - between trips to the dentist to have my socket dressed (son's comment - ''Ooooh, does it look faaabulous now?!'), counting the hours until the next dose of pain-killers and rinsing with copious amounts of mouthwash or salt water, all I did was watch crappy TV and heat up my wheat bag to whack on my throbbing cheek.  Now let me tell you, dear reader, I'm not good at doing nothing - I hate it with a passion and my inertia, combined with the paracetamol/ibuprofen, meant that a mini-depression set in.  The Misfit, when she's miserable, is a cow to be around and I thank my hubbie, son, mum and cats for their patience.

One thing that did cheer me up and bring a huge smile to my face came from a desperate need to escape re-runs of 'George & Mildred' and vomit inducing episodes of 'The Real Housewives of Atlanta' - see I told you I was bad.  Feeling quite sick with the rubbish TV I'd been drip-feeding on, I grabbed a DVD and settled with a cuppa.  If you haven't seen this film - do it now! 

Oh, how I loved it!  Beautifully filmed, 30's glamour, romance, humour and just yummy from start to finish.  I felt like I'd devoured a box of chocolates, swigged at a bottle of Bollinger and emerged from a frothy, scented bubble bath by the time it had finished.  I'm going to read the book next as it has some great reviews.

The trouble with finding that you've lost two weeks is having to ease yourself back in to routine and finding the discipline to start work again - I don't have a boss cracking the whip over me (sadly), so I need to do all I can to self motivate.  And life is busy at the moment, with no time for 'slipping back in' - it's all systems go in the Misfit house as we try to get 'Lottie's Luck' ready for its June publication date.  Our 'joint edit' is now under way - and we all know what that means!  Poor hubbie suffers, I scream a lot and we eventually limp our way to the finish.  I think, this time, I need to be extra nice (and less shouty/sulky) as he's put up with enough from me over the last few weeks.  Well, I'll try anyway.  Watch this space ...

I also have a birthday dinner to arrange for long-suffering hubbie, a house to organise for our Aussie niece and husband's visit next month and a book launch to plan.  Aside from that, I need to train my vocal chords for all the shouting I'll no doubt have to do at teenage son to revise as he approaches his A2 exams.  Oh, and I need to take my mum shopping for summer clothes, organise her bedding plants in tubs, decide what to wear to my son's leavers' cocktail party and make sure he's up to date with his final graphic design project.  Work-wise I need to finish the second half of this year's Christmas novella and begin to sketch ideas for my next novel - and, if that isn't enough, my other books won't promote themselves.

What was that I said about being miserable when I have nothing to do?  Well, with this lot, I'm now feeling happy - if a little panicky - so I'm off to do what I do best.  Make a coffee and write a list!

Lost Tooth, Gained Wisdom

Well, what a week!

The ear infection that was ... wasn't.  The pain was eventually diagnosed as a nasty, TWISTED and manky wisdom tooth.

So these past few days have been a real learning curve for me in very many ways.  Wanna know what I've learnt?  Some of it I already knew, but some has been reinforced.

*  I have the best husband, son and mum in the world.  Nuff said.

*  I can do anything if I put my mind to it.  Years ago I was told by a dentist that the only way I'd be able to have wisdom teeth removed would be under general anaesthetic.  Not true.  The wonderful young man I saw at North End Road NHS Surgery was the most efficient, chairside-friendly dentist I have ever met in my life.  From start to finish, the way he dealt with me was 5* and I shall be leaving a review on any sites that I can when I get his full name (for now he is just simply 'Mr Wonderful').  Thankfully I just need to return for a scale and polish and to collect my dreaded 'night shield' to protect my gums but 'hats off' to this fantastic practice and I'll always return for future treatments.

*  My coping mechanism is to go into 'shutdown'.  Possibly annoying for those around but it works for me!  I did the same in labour - no swearing or cursing from me, just TOTAL silence and a glazed stare.  Hubbie told me that 'Mr Wonderful' looked me directly in the eye at one point during my dental treatment and said very calmly, 'Connect with me.  Focus on me.'  I don't remember, but it must have worked - five minutes later he had a massive tooth in his hands.

*  I now know why babies pull their ears when teething.  Good grief, what a confusing and travelling pain.  Mums, listen to me, it's true! 

*  I should not surf the web prior to any medical procedure.  So far I have 'died from an infected abscess, had a dry socket which has left me in agony for weeks, bled to death in my bed and also needed to be stitched up due to clots and anaemia'  Will I learn?  No! 

*  I escalate from mini-setback to major drama in under 30 seconds.  Being faced with 'The Amityville Horror' in the bathroom this morning instantly (in my mind) saw me in hospital and on life support (yes, I really work that quickly!)  Lovely hubbie, after saying, 'Shit!  That's a lot of blood!' then calmly dealt with me, and then the fantastic staff at the surgery put my mind at rest.  Why do I do that to myself?

*  I am a pitifully, stupid addict.  I know it's not advisable to smoke after an extraction and I managed to last for six hours without having a cigarette but that was as far as it went.  I have cut  RIGHT DOWN and I rinse with salt water or mouthwash after each one but I am a pathetic specimen.  SO pathetic, I may now be addicted to salt water and mouthwash!  If I get 'dry socket' I deserve no sympathy - you heard it here first.

*  The support from close friends, Twitterers and readers has been phenomenal.  From people I've known for years to people I've met a few times and those I plan to meet in the future, I've felt very loved and cared for by texts, emails and Twitter DM's.  One lady in particular, who also saw me through my last bout of sciatica, deserves a special mention.  Drum roll, please ... Ms Mireille Eustace!  If you're in or around Glasgow, go and see this lovely complimentary therapist at Napiers - I can guarantee you won't regret it.  Mireille has been there for me through this whole ordeal and advised me and calmed me down.  Her next visit to London is one I am REALLY looking forward to and my door, dining table and bed are waiting for her.  (Oooh, that sounded wrong but I just mean she's always welcome to shake a feather boa with me.)

* Dealing with something is far better than worrying about it.  What a total waste of energy.  My husband is the King of this philosophy and the more I live with him, the more I see that he's right.  Being married to me means he has a lot to put up with (!) and I love him more with each passing day for his sense of calm and logic.  I bagged a good one there!

* If your house is a tip and you've got friends with teens coming to stay, it doesn't matter.  A hearty meal, a lovely table, some daft games and a singalong will be all we need - time/distance (and a messy house!) mean nothing to some friendships.

*  Life without pain is wonderful!

So that was my week - hope you all had a good one and hoping mine continues to improve.

    

Ranting! Tread carefully ... (and see update at the bottom)

A short and not so sweet blog this week.

I have the hump.

I've now been in pain for ten days with a misdiagnosed ear-infection.  It went a week untreated, thanks to the STUPID nurse I saw.  The antibiotic/steroid drops I've since been given by the local minor injuries clinic do not appear to be working and I'm now grinding my teeth in pain throughout the night.

So … I now have toothache.  But what came first, the chicken or the egg?  The earache or the toothache?  Do you know what?  I'm now so spaced out on drugs, I have no idea.  Waking up at six am every morning with raging pain which goes from head to ear to mouth to jaw to neck tends to leave you slightly confused - and a little cranky.

Bu not half as cranky as you find yourself after spending the best part of a day looking for a good, reliable NHS dentist in your area.  Forget it!  Just forget it.  I'm destined to die in pain from a burst abscess or the likes - see I told you overdosing on painkillers and lack of sleep leave you confused.

Well why not just go private, I hear you say?  Yes, in the ‘good old days’ I would have done.  Those were the days when hubbie was working and we could afford such frivolities as dental hygiene.   Third world country?  The UK?

But now, every penny from every book goes to keeping our roof over our heads.  No holidays, no luxuries, no designer handbags.  And, at this rate, no bloody teeth!

I’m cross.  Yes, this is a RANTY blog.  I am STILL, four hours later, waiting for my PRIVATE dentist to call me back and see if I now qualify as an NHS patient.  It’s now 7.15pm - I don’t hold out much hope.

How sad that I find myself thinking that if we have a little lottery win, I could use it to sort out a possible toothache. Still no cruises or holidays (difficult without a passport) or posh handbags (charity shops have some corkers) - just piece of mind and a pain free night.

End of rant.  As you were.  And a word of advice - never mess with a woman with ear/toothache.

UPDATE -  4th April.  Roehampton Dental Care did not reply.  It took  FOUR chasing calls (FROM ME!) to be told that they 'cannot take any more NHS patients as they have reached their quota'.  WHY could their receptionist not have told me that in the first place??!!  I've worked in a dentist - it doesn't take too much working out!

In the meantime, I am in  incredible pain, possibly with an abscess or infection and nowhere for me to be seen as I don't have the funds.  We are now becoming more like The States.  The soonest appointment I can get is for Tuesday (in a crappy surgery) or the end of April (if I survive).

Not happy and still no further towards a resolve as we approach the weekend .