“Too early for you?” I asked M as I sat in the waiting room ahead of my first-thing-Saturday-morning appointment thinking of the enormity of the moment: The big reveal. When finally, after five and a half months my braces (the top ones at least) would be removed.

He grinned.  A smile almost as bright as his new fluorescent turquoise scrubs. “What’s with the new  outfit M?”  “I know! Welcome to Hawaii!!  He told me his attire had been acquired for him by his brother-in-law in the States.  “I asked him to get me the orange ones – you know in keeping with the colours of the practice, but he came back with these.”

“Come on through S.”  I followed him to the by now familiar dentist’s room and lay down in my chair.  M’s assistant, Carmen bustled about looking for tools and other paraphernalia.

“Okay, I’m just going to numb you up first for the filling, then we’ll get to the braces.”

“Fine” I said closing my eyes.

A minute later: “My shin splints are really bad today, M, could I go and fill my hot water bottle and put it on my leg while I lie here.”

“Sure, no problem. Use the fountain in reception – it has hot water too.”

An embarrassing few moments later I walked back into the room, burst water bottle in hand.  “You’re kidding me!” M exclaimed.

“Sorry!  I just filled it up and it exploded all over the waiting room floor – I’ve cleaned it up though.”  “You need to take that back to the manufacturer – where’s it made?”

Carmen scrutinised a stamp at the bottom. “It says ‘India’ Mr M.”

We giggled. “I notice you limping, M.  What did you do?”

“We had some people over for a party recently.”

“Were you wearing that suit?” I interrupted.

“No!  But I did try to do the splits and hurt my leg while doing it.”

“Aren’t you a bit old to be doing that M?” I asked.

“None taken” he replied lowering me down in the chair again and filling my mouth with all the contraptions that come with having a huge filling and your braces removed.

An hour and a half later with a helpful running commentary from M and the odd gentle ribbing I couldn’t reply to, I looked in the mirror.

There they were:  My teeth. Straight.

I was at a schmancy hospital about to see someone about my – self diagnosed – shin splints.

Three smiling nurses greeted me at reception. “You have an appointment with Mr B?”  “Yes.” “Please sit over there and we’ll come and get you when he’s ready.”

I had no sooner placed my bum on the seat when one of the nurses called me: “Miss P, could you come and see the doctor now please.”

I was led into a spacious bright consulting room where Mr B sat quietly behind a large desk.  Introductions were made.  As I started to relate the story of my aching bones there was a knock at the door. A nurse appeared carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, croissant with various accoutrements and biscuits.  “There you are Mr B. Will there be anything else?”

“No” he replied smiling and looking at me: “Would you, um, would you like something?”  “Oh!  I’d love a coffee” I said.  How fabulous!”  “A croissant as well?”  “Sure, why not!”

I went into raptures:  “It’s so five star here! Do you get this every morning?  What’s for lunch? May I take a picture?  I write a blog…”

Mr B looked startled and handed me a menu. “It is good. Of course we have to pay for it. It’s not exactly free. When they built the main hospital across the road the planning permission was for a luxury hotel but it didn’t end up as that.”

He decided to send me for some X-rays.  “Just come up to me afterwards, I should have the results by the time you’re back from the basement.”

Astonishing! I thought as I made my way down in the lift.

A nurse greeted me, providing me with a very stylish backless wrap, dressing gown and white towelling slippers.

“Is that the six-month smile?” she asked, grinning as she opened the door to the X-ray room.  “You mean my braces?  Well, actually it’s supposed to be four months but I think I’m almost there.  Have you had them?” “Yes” she replied flashing her flawless Kate Middletonesque teeth at me.

Even my bones looked gorgeous back up in Mr B’s room on his perfect screen.  So smooth, so white, so straight.  Was there anything here that wasn’t amazing?

His prognosis was received and I got up to go.  He looked at the tray.  “Take the croissant with you if you like?”

I always keep an eye out for a good truck. I’ve got a limited knowledge of them but I knew when I rounded the corner Park bound that The Field themed lorry facing me had a story.

Shades of glossy green with pictures from that movie all over it and the words: ‘This is my field’ on the side, this bounteous lorry – was it an arctic? – laying patiently waiting unloading steel for the massive building site behind it.

A man sat at the wheel, dust cloth in hand continuously polishing the already gleaming surface, framed in the windscreen, topped and tailed by huge spotlights that indicated star quality.

A few photos later, I wandered over.  “Hi there” I said to the neon orange wearing driver.  “This vehicle is something else!  Where does it come from?  What’s the story?”

He filled me in: “There’s a couple of them – the other one’s ‘Johnny Cash.’ It’s a Scania. You can go on Facebook and read all about them.  They’re owned by an Irish man from Tipperary who moved here a couple of years ago to work with Midland Steel.”

I told him I had a family member in the business and noted down what this uniquely decorated beast was: A Daf.  Will would be proud of me I thought.

Sorin, from Romania gave me the lowdown.  “We’re all over the internet, we do the truck shows – you know the ones I mean?”  I sort of did.  “I’ve been with the company for seven years now – it’s hard work, especially the multi-drops and unloading the pallets…but the boss, he’s alright.”

I know a fair bit about the truck business and I’ve heard about the hours, the clocking on and off, the nights spent sleeping in the cab, the horrendous early starts wreaking havoc with your body clock and family life.  And, of course the driving – up and down the length and breadth of the British Isles with last minute requests from ‘the boss’ to get somewhere at a moment’s notice.  It’s always seemed like a tough world to me and one that can be not entirely fair.

Seven years seemed like pretty good going.

He started the engine, ready to move off.  I waved and walked on, past a crane dangling what looked like a picture frame high above me in the blue sky. My brothers’ saying popped into my head: “Without trucks, baby, you got nothin.’”

I lay back in the dentist’s chair.  “I’ve got a bad cough, M, not sure I can handle a filling today”.

“I definitely won’t do it if that’s the case” he replied.

I thanked God silently.

“Hmmmm, they’re coming on well your teeth” he said.  “I’m just going to turn that front left one around a bit more today.  As for the bottom, well they’re like mine – you obviously had one taken out when you were younger – so now they’re uneven.  There’s a limit to how much we can do with it.”

His comment took me back to Ireland in the 70’s.  I still remember our dentist, Cosgrove, as we called him, telling my mother I needed braces.  Home that night, sitting by the fire my Dad said on being told “You don’t need braces. Rubbish! Just tell him to take that back tooth out and they’ll all align just fine.”

We all thought dentists were charlatans – especially Mr C – and being the thrifty Protestants we were braces just weren’t an option.

“Still living the dream?” I asked M, mouth open so the words came out somewhat garbled.

“No, but I will be when I win the Euromillions tonight. It’s €53m!”

“No way!” I exclaimed.  “I’d better do it.”

“Get your ticket at the Co-op across the road!”

“Are they going to be done by my birthday, M?”  I asked referring to my teeth/braces.

“Oh yes, definitely the bottom ones will be” he replied.

M has a way of making the most disappointing news sound unbelievably positive.  All I could think about now was having to smile with my mouth closed on the big day to avoid a one brace upstairs, none downstairs look.

He gave me some elastics that looked suspiciously like loom bands to wear at night and showed me how to attach them.

On leaving, I picked up my jacket.  “What’s the first thing you’d do if you won, M?”

“I’d take all my family and my in laws’ family on a big fat holiday. Necker Island probably – Richard Branson’s place. I’d finish your braces though – don’t worry!  In fact I’d finish with all my clients and then I’d be, like, ‘Byeee!!’”

“Text me if you win!” I said as I walked out, headed towards the Co-op, keen to be part of the ‘If you’re not in, you can’t win’ posse.