Only dentist’s chair can stall the march of time

Country Living with Francis Farragher

The other morning while sitting on the dentist’s chair – a position of real fear for any male with even the strongest of resolve – the conversation turned to the passing of the Summer and how time now seems to be sprinting along, rather than casually meandering through the days and weeks.

To this day as I reflect back through the decades the only period of my life when time really seemed to go slow was in the five years or so, I spent behind those spartan wooden desks at Tuam CBS, where every minute seemed to be an hour; every hour seemed to be a day; every day was like a week and each school term stretched to over a year.

In hindsight, there are always bad decisions made and a small bunch of us who opted out of art classes to take on mechanical drawing, lived to regret that option . . . even to this day. Our tutor, for want of a better word, wasn’t exactly the nicest piece of humanity on the planet but to have him for a double class with only five of us in the room, meant that time seemed to go on forever.

Here, there was no freewheeling of the clock, as with each passing second there was always the strong possibility of the skin under one of your ears being pulled as a seamstress would stretch elastic, before the palm of his hand would make a perfectly flush contact with your cheek bone.

‘Paw marks’ on what should have been white sheets with angles, right angles and circles popping up everywhere, were an early indication that I was never going to be cut out for the engineering profession and how we hoped and prayed that time would move on just that little bit quicker and we’d be told to tidy up our sheets and keep them for the next day.

Anyway, the other day, on the dentist’s chair as we had our usual pre-pain conversation, the observation was made to be that the feeling time was passing so quickly had to mean that we were ‘enjoying ourselves’ – a strange kind of thought to filter into the caverns of the brain as I faced into 30 minutes of inner-mouth scrutiny.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.