The tooth got worse and worse. Clearly it was beyond paracetamol and ibuprofen, and I didn’t think I should drive at all, much less all the way to Somerset.
I tried to find a dentist, but I couldn’t find anywhere that would treat a non-patient. Apparently there is an emergency dentist in Telford, but they weren’t answering the phone, and when I took a taxi there I found I was in the wrong place. At the kind taxi driver’s suggestion, I gave up and went to A&E, who passed me onto a walk in centre who – HALLELUJAH! – prescribed anti-inflammatories and stronger painkillers.
I love the NHS.
Meanwhile my cousin and her husband came down from Whitchurch, collected me from the walk-in centre well outside town, and took me back to the hotel. My lovely son had finished packing up, had taken the suitcases down to reception and checked out. So we put the suitcases in the car and we went out to lunch. Once the painkillers kicked in, life became much nicer.
After lunch I drove down to Somerset. It was rather slow, because I needed a lot of breaks what with sleep deprivation and pain, but I got there. And I spent two glorious days enjoying the company and relaxing, and getting a full night’s sleep.