One Day in History

Today has been one of those slow days. I work from home, tutoring on undergraduate and postgraduate music courses for the Open University, amongst other things, and motivating myself sometimes takes a little while. After four days of excruciating toothache, culminating yesterday in root canal in one of my molars (one which had been filled only three months beforehand, by a dentist that I shall never be seeing again, although there will be some exchange of letters), I was feeling a little jaded. But, the pain had abated at last.

It made me think of other dental treatment and how it has, in theory come on, but how in reality so little has changed. For many of us, it is still a painful experience, although gone are the days of no anaesthetics... actually, that’s not true either. Last time I had a root canal done, the dentist discovered some remaining nerve on my second visit; much climbing of walls and no anaesthetic later, it was gone. Some years before that, neither I nor the dentist could stop laughing as he (a different one this time) tried to extract another molar and ended up with his knee in my chest in order to gain purchase, whilst I noted that things hadn’t come on much, after all.

Once motivated to do something, I marked MA papers, belatedly as a result of my recent dental trauma. I took a short break between each paper in order to drink tea, eat scones and read Monica Dickens’ One Pair of Hands by way of relaxation, and to clear my mind preparatory for the next marking onslaught. I didn’t bother to dress until quite late in the day – no point; it was only me and the paperwork.

My husband came home a little after five, and we mused on various aspects of energy efficiency for a while, and the fact that B&Q have now begun to see small, domestic wind turbines and solar panels for water heating. Two solar panels or a wind turbine comes at an extortionate cost of £1,500. My parents have recently moved to Bavaria, and it is much cheaper to be ‘green’ there.

This evening, I frittered away some time mooching around on the Internet between marking assignments, when the words 'If the Antichrist appeared, would you recognise him' drifted through to the conservatory in accusing tones. Of course, I had to stop to think about it. Will (s)he be wearing a red carnation? What about a distinctive old school tie? Or possibly a large sign saying 'I am the Antichrist'. No, not sure I'd notice. Anyway, a bit more of the programme wafted through once I was paying attention, and it decided that Nero was the Beast, which sort of took the edge off of any need to recognise him, so far as I could see...

Excuse flippancy. These programmes annoy me. A friend of mine was on Skype, so I sent him a message to ask him whether he would notice the Antichrist either; he thought that if he did, it would be best to pass him along to the Rector at his Church, as he could bore the pants off anyone (the Rector, not the Antichrist - well, assumedly not the Antichrist). Should I bump into Mr A. first, I shall naturally bear this in mind and shove him off up north for tea and crumpets.

I shan’t be going to bed until late, I think. Too little work means too long a day for me. Maybe tomorrow I will fare better.