It's like Jimi Hendrix doing adverts for WHSmiths.*

* My dad's latest metaphor (simile?) for highly unlikely events. I think "Kurt Cobain speaking for the National Health Service" is better.

I was woken up at the back-end of 12 o'clock this morning because I had to suffer a bi-annual check-up at the dentists. It all went well, though as I was walking out I mentioned to my mum that my teeth must have recovered from the knock my face got in Tenerife.

Five seconds later I was back in the chair getting a damn x-ray, only to find that I'd cracked the root of my tooth (one of the back teeth. They have deep roots so you can imagine how hard I must have landed when I fell down the stairs in order to fracture that). Then the dentist started questioning how extensive the damage was on impact and I mentioned that I have no feeling in the left side of my face now. So now I'm paraleptic or paraplegic or something. I can't remember the exact term but it means that my face is partially paralysed, possibly with a cheekbone fracture thrown in with a certain case of extensive nerve damage.

Joy.

When it first happened I blamed Eric Northman from True Blood because that was all I could remember after I had a seizure but now I just like the idea of Alexander Skarsgård owing me a favour.

Om nom nom nom.

Is it me or does he look vaguely Kurt Cobain?

What is it about me and Kurt Cobain?

Why is he so awesome?

Anyway.

I've been referred to something like a maxio-facial-spatial-reconstructional clinic to get my face fixed or something. I spaced out when I saw someone with a pork pie walk past.

Eff to mince pies. Even if I have definitely been the one eating all the pies every this year, at least 70% of all pies have been pork-related. I had the most intense pork pie on my break at work today. It was the balls. It opened up a whole new world of happiness, starshine and rainbows for me.

So my dad picked up me and my spaggy face up from work and after perhaps a minute of listening to Christmas carols he decided that fission sounded better, and then went onto say that the guy on the radio used to be the greatest revolutionary socialist speaker in the UK and was now talking about train times in Derby. Like Jimi Hendrix doing adverts for WHSmiths. That's the great thing about my dad. He looks like The Crow and comes out with even more random witty crap than me.

His awesomeness does not end there. I'm feeling oddly purposeful now because I'm listening to this band called Anti-Product who are performing at The Duchess in a couple of weeks and I'm helping to do the lights again. My dad's got me a funky little set-up that involves seeing live bands all the time.

I am in flavour country right now.