Follow by Email

Thursday, 23 May 2013

God, it's COLD

May 23rd, and it's so cold still I've had the heating on ......  

Anyway: have found a new NHS dentist, just a few miles away from me (Mr Brian D Hamilton, BDS); had my teeth scaled and polished, and a new filling; and some 20 years of dental phobia have been put to flight, because there was no heavy drilling; there was just the one injection, which scarcely hurt at all because it was skilfully administered; and while I have to have further treatment, it has been scheduled at 3 monthly intervals throughout the year.   So I don't have to lie there for half an hour at a time while major reconstruction work is conducted.  

All to the good - and I've been lucky: because the only other dentist offered to me on the NHS was around 13 miles away, and difficult to get to from here (as most places are).  

And in the meantime, the pocket watch I was given on my 21st birthday, some 41 years ago, has been repaired by the splendid Mr Burrage of Ryte Time Watch Repairs, and should arrive back here at the Batcave tomorrow.  While pocket watches are not the splendid things they were before the wrist-watch was introduced, they still have a certain something which the wrist-watch (could I but bear to wear one) lacks: t'is true that I should like a Waltham, or an Elgin, or a Hamilton - encased in rolled gold.  But these are beyond my means: as it is, I have some Russian watches, a German one, and a Swiss Jean Pierre - the youngest of which is around 10 years, the oldest nearer 50 - now, if you were all to go out (don't delay, do it now) and buy a pocket watch, imagine the surge in popularity they would enjoy.  Off you go, then.

Oh, and if anyone would like to give me a Waltham, or Elgin, or Hamilton (or Pathek Phillipe; or Tissot) don't hesitate!  I must have a birthday coming up sooner or later.   So much better with a nice chain, by the way - rolled gold, perhaps; or rose gold ..... Don't stint.  Just not a wristwatch - I hate things that lurk about my wrists as much as I despise ankle-socks; socks must be LONG: knee length; gents underwear must eschew anything hinting of the boxer, or short (one has to think of support, you see, and unsightly bulges - so that you DON'T see), and trousers should ideally fit way above the hip bone (which is just hideously uncomfortable, especially if the hips are beginning to give trouble) in the region of what was once the natural waist: somewhere just below the nipples, for preference.  

Young men may ignore all this: but believe me, lissom youth - your time will come: comfort will one day be your watch-word.   And, if you do not repulse the loathsomely trendy tailor and reject the "slim-fit" suit or shirt, if you do not demand a cut which ensures that there is not a ridiculous flash of shirt between the bottom of your waistcoat the the band of your trousers NOW, you will find that, when you come to the age of seniority and experience and require these things, there will be no one capable of making them.   Oh, and put a TIE on, for God's sake.  

One just loathes a sloven.    Aged watch shown below.  


No comments:

Post a Comment