FROM 2-11. Falmouth-Lisbon

Trivia and other stuff.

A stay of execution.

What I had confidently expected to be a routine extraction by the Gnasher Trasher turned out to be anything but.The amazingly competent Dr Bruno decided a rearguard action to save the tooth was worth a try and she blasted her way down into the murky and massively infected depths of my jaw with a variety of tools that would look good in a mining camp and allowed me to smell the resultant goo. Not nice. But she reckons that it should be ok – another visit on Wednesday to huck out some more grot and put in another dressing and then a new root canal job on Saturday. All going well by that stage, I'll get to keep the tooth. As I think we would have been stuck here at least until Wednesday anyway, it's not too big a delay and worth the chance.

But no sixpence under the pillow. And it hurts! She gave me some rhinocerous sized painkiller pills that I'm reluctant to try this early in the piece in case it gets really really bad – and anyway, they mght interfere with other medicinal compounds. I think that this evening we might consider broaching Pete Goss' very generously donated bottle of the mighty Talisker for a small celebratory and anaesthetic tot.

So we'll be here for another week. Not the worst place in the world to be marooned.

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