In the course of a querulous conversation, one of the Old Man's front crowns just fell out. (Teeth - not tiaras.) The legacy, I suppose, of operational pipes and paraphernalia!
He seems to think that he can get to the dentist to have it fixed.
Never mind that he currently manages one wobbly circuit round the back garden a day.
And that the dentist's surgery is up several flights of stairs.
Six weeks before he can drive.
And four weeks before he can ride on a bus.
So he's gonna get this tooth stuck back in his mouth when?
OK. Never mind what sort of food he has to have. Let's just puree it, and squirt it into his mouth with a garden syringe.
But he did look pleased with himself.
Smiling at me with a gap-tooth grin that was worthy of a "Mad Magazine" cover.