C Beck

One may accuse me of simply touring my park for stuff to review. One may be right, but if that’s a problem, might I point out that even Karl Baedeker had to start somewhere, and, perhaps slightly out of context, Hannibal Lector explains that one learns to covet what one sees everyday. Yeah, I know — weird opening paragraph. Moving swiftly on…
This is my local dentist’s practice, and as such, I have no objection to paying a bit for convenience — I am a sadly sedentary man. It is not, after all, an NHS practice (apart from for children as their dental care is NHS funded in Wales as health is a devolved issue). In my years of loyal service and even more fervent evasion of the dental hygienist (she likes to poke you in the gums for not flossing), I have had exactly zero causes to complain. Dr Clarke even managed to get an irritating wisdom tooth out (top right) without so much as halting my plans for world domina — I mean casual internet browsing, yes. He’s always full of exciting trivia, remembers key facts from my life and that of my wife, and even recalled the North African connection briefly touched upon in passing a few years back whilst sorting a malocclusion formed by me chomping my teeth together whilst I slept. Plus, he likes my dog (or at least pretends to) and that is reassuring. The fact that he is continually referring me to the dental hygienist (my objections notwithstanding) is not particularly troublesome, other than it means paying twice — once for the routine checkup and once for the awful pain of pointy inter-​dental brushes and the nasty taste of that purple mouthwash. Prices vary according to treatment, but I paid £22 in June 2010 for the privilege of a quick World Cup update and the pronouncement that we’ll keep an eye on my enamel erosion.
In conclusion, I would recommend them highly for no nonsense, professional dentistry, even if their Mountain Biking magazines are sadly out of date.