The dentist puts the fear of god into me.

At the grand old age of 21 I despise with every fibre of my being going to the dentist. That is something children should dread, but being middle aged not so much.

I dislike the whole experience even though they are trying to do something to help me. When you walk in the receptionists are lovely but the waiting room zaps all life in an instant. Nothing changes, is updated or progresses - it’s always the same shades of blue and beige. The display screens show passive aggressive adverts for films which would be considered current six plus years ago.

The decor and the morbid blue aqua chairs are enough to make you walk the moment you set foot in the establishment. I’m sympathetic not every BUPA practice has access to a personal stylist and home furnishing expert, but it’s just quite intense. I’m being picky I am aware but there is much disdain for the dentist on my part. The logo also freaks me out; who associates teeth and smiles with insta g messaging, the World Wide Web and apples. The graphic designer had a field day on clip art, who needs professional programmes.

The previous one I had insinuated I was a horrible child for eating sugar; sadly he died so I had to move practice. His establishment was far worse, operating out a standard 1950s terrace house most dentists presume to be an ideal choice to set up shop. The dated pine clad desk is perfect to converse with patients, a conservatory with toys from the 2000s doubles up as a waiting room whilst you receive a filling in what would have been a small child’s bedroom. An obvious destination for the perfect practice.

Apologies for the unsolicited rant, I will be seeking therapy to heal the wounds of my deep affliction with dentists decor. I don’t have to go back for another year so that helps heal the pain.