a petite young thing comes through a door towards me, she is speaking fluent, sex driven french to some ugly french bitch. She stops and smiles at me,says, "hi, Ian, come through". And leads me to her boudoir. Or, to her chamber of horror. This calm young lady is surrounded by tools of the worst type. Spikes and drills, buzzing things and forcing things.
She straps me to the chair, I wish, then proceeds to drill into my head. Once she's done this she takes a tiny file the size of a pin and slides it into the exposed root of my once happy tooth. She saws it back and forward, slicing through nerves and enamel, remember here that enamel is hard, fucking hard, so this thing is sharp, and very pointy, and very very painful.
She stops the change file size and pull me back off the ceiling, muttering soothing words of comfort. And we begin again, bigger file, bigger hole more screaming and spurting blood. It's starting to look like Alien 4.
A measley hour later she's finished. "It will be quite tender for a week or so," she understates, helping me hobbling from the room stopping only to alieviate my credit card of a substantial amount.
Then it's back to work where mr enimabag jones is beside himself with disbelief that i can still be in pain... hmmm..... hanging is too good for some people.