Find your happy place

A slightly philosophical tale involving floss. Yes, really.

Time for my half-yearly check-up at the dentist last Monday, and this time I’m in with the oral hygienist first.

I started young with dental treatments. You could say I have a sweet tooth, but it would be more accurate to say that I had sweet teeth which is now mostly metal.

This dental palace, like many places, has music piped through the various rooms and mine like to tune in to BBC Radio 2. It happened to be Bruce Springsteen’s 70th birthday the weekend before, and Zoe Ball was playing some of his songs, including Fire, which was recorded by the Pointer Sisters.

I do like a bit of Pointer Sisters, me.

After I came up for a gargle I started singing along. It’s a great song after all, and less embarrassing than when I sing along to Slow Hand.

“Ah, you’ve found your happy place!” said Kerry, returning the chair to the reclined position and grabbing various implements to curtail my singing.


Later last week I was having tea with a chum, talking future holiday plans as I’d quite like to go back to Brussels next year, it being 20 years since I first went there. As usual, she admonished me for living in the past.

Now: this is not strictly true. Yes, I like the past, studying history and suchlike. But I also like planning for the future. I have such dreams…

It’s the actual present that I have trouble with. I look forward to its arrival but then can’t wait for it to leave.

But music always reminds me of good times, even when it’s sad music. It never reminds me of sad times, because all of my sad times are in the present, at least that’s what it feels like. And I’m not that keen on most of today’s music – although I’m sure I’ll like it more in the future, when it becomes the past.

Yes, my head hurt a little as well after that last sentence.

I don’t see a problem with living on the past. The music was great and the beer was cheap. If that’s my happy place… well, I could do worse. Where’s yours?