D-Day again yesterday. The twice-annual visit to the dentist. Amazingly he gave my teeth a clean bill of health. Said they looked fine, and obviously I was doing okay with my brushing and flossing. I didn’t feel inclined to tell him I’m only flossing when I remember to do so — which is pretty much once a fortnight or so, plus two or three times in the week just before a checkup.

Took the kids along too. Amusingly they both wanted to go first in the chair, but once Jeremy won had that argument, he suddenly didn’t seem so keen, and needed reassuring that all the scary-looking equipment the dentist had used to clean my teeth to their newly gleaming white state wasn’t going to be used on him. He seemed satisfied when told the dentist would count his teeth for him (24), but followed this with a tantrum when he discovered his dentist showbag didn’t contain a kid-sized toothbrush or toothpaste. Grrr. Isaac was cool with the whole thing, but didn’t get away scot-free: he’s going to need a small filling in one of his baby teeth.

Oh well. By the time I was his age, I had a heap of fillings. I seem to remember by the age of 10 I had 10 fillings, which at the time was almost cool due to the whole synchronicity of it, but it seems ludicrous now. In retrospect I think my dentist at the time was rather over-eager to put them in, probably thinking of his next Mercedes more than the best of care for my teeth. They must have cost my mum a pretty penny, though give the guy credit on the quality of his work — they’ve stood the test of time.

Went into the gent’s at work. Standing at the urinal just about to get on with it when there’s a knock. “Hello?” Female voice. Must be a cleaner — one of several middle-aged women in dusty blue uniforms, generally seen spending an inordinate amount of time polishing the brass fittings in the building’s foyer. She’s checking if it’s safe to come in.

“Yeah”, I call back, trying to indicate that no, it’d be great if she waits a minute.

The door opens anyway. My hands are down near my zip, but nothing’s out, nothing’s open, so I turn around to see who it is. I don’t know what she thought she saw, but the colour drained away from her face. “Oh! Sorry! Sorry!” She backs out, and calls from behind the door. “Sorry sir! Sorry!”

Satisfied she’s not coming in, I get on with it, then go out, passing her in the corridor. I tell her there’s nobody else in there. She says sorry again and thank you. I chuckle and keep walking.

• Flashback: incident on a train in Scotland

Zoomed down the freeway to Kathy & Gary’s housewarming on Saturday afternoon. A very nice house, impressively huge, reminiscent of a Viking hall perhaps. That is, a big central living/dining/cooking/study area, high ceiling and a lot of wood involved. Maybe they’ll invite all their friends back there for a spirited sing around the fire after going out in the long boats and pillaging a village somewhere. Most importantly, they seem very happy with it, which is terrific. It’s inspired me to once again look around at houses in my preferred neck of the woods.

After that we zoomed back into zone 1, caught a train into the city to head in to the Comedy Festival. Strolling up Swanston Street, observed many Comedy Festivalling crowds around the Town Hall area, none of whom seemed very concerned at the presence of a Dalek, apparently not involved with interplanetary invasion, as it wasn’t shouting about being a superior being or exterminating people. (Yeah, wish I’d had my camera.)

Saw Rod Quantock deliver a very funny and very left wing show, with his views of the war on terrorism, fridge magnets, the government and Andrew Bolt. One bloke in the audience appeared to have come along unprepared for this onslaught. Maybe he thought he was just coming along to see the Guy Who Used To Be In Those Annoying Captain Snooze Ads.

Then we ate at Waiters. For the last time, I do believe. I should have known after The Great Chicken Parmiagana Fiasco of 2003 that the place that was once a classic has gone woefully downhill. This time round all appeared well at the time (apart from the inordinate amount of time taken to collar a waitress to order dessert), but lovely companion’s late night reaction to the marinara does not bode well, I fear.

Footy tipping… 7 out of 8. Not too shabby for the first round. Would have been a perfect 8 out of 8, but I was foolish enough to be loyal to my own team and tip Geelong.

The other week I went and saw the doctor about the headaches I’d been getting. Turned out to be a similar diagnosis to a couple of years ago (probable inflammation of a muscle in my jaw), but during the examination he was prodding and poking various points around my head. At one point he stuck a finger in my ear and instructed me to open and close my mouth. Various bones in my head moved like cogs in a machine, and he found his finger stuck. In my ear.

It came unstuck when I closed my mouth again, and he remarked that it surprised him when it happened. Funny stuff.

A few hours later I was with lovely girlfriend, eating lunch al fresco, munching on an enormous (and delicious) foccacia at Gunter’s in Elsternwick. Two people came by and sat at the table next to us. I started to tell the ear story, and they got up and moved inside. Obviously this was too vulgar for their delicate sensibilities.

I dreamt that I woke in the night (not unusual recently), hearing noises in the house. Not just the usual possums ballroom dancing in the ceiling, but something louder, like people moving about the kitchen and the hallway, creaking on the floorboards. Initially I felt groggy and unable to move, but eventually woke up enough to go and confront them, holding a towel (!) for protection.

I burst into the kitchen, and found 4-5 blokes in dark suits and sunglasses in there. I gurgled something at them, attempting to shout at them to get out, which they did, running out through the back door. I ran back, grabbed my camera, turned it on and turned the flash off (so they wouldn’t see it go off) and took some pictures of the men as they ran out, which given it should have been nighttime and dark, and they were running, and the flash was turned off, came out remarkably clear, and I was feeling very damn pleased with myself that I could take the pics to the police.

At some point the running men all stopped and came back, convinced me that their intentions were good, that they hadn’t been trying to break in or burgle, merely to deliver a surprise package, which was in the kitchen. Sure enough I found it and opened it, and it turned out to be a big picture of me, getting shaved for a charity day (something like the World’s Greatest Shave or Bluey Day or one of those, though in real life I’ve never done it).

The Brits seem to have the monopoly on making good political thrillers for television. Think of the classics: Edge of Darkness, A Very British Coup, or House of Cards — the TV adaption of the latter was so successful it spawned more books and their subsequent TV adaptions, though alas the climactic final scenes of the last book, where Urquhart masterfully manoevres himself from disgraced politician into immortal statesman, alas, couldn’t be reproduced on the box.

Anyway, State of Play concluded last Sunday, and although I have to confess I missed the first episode, from what I saw it seemed to continue this grand tradition. A host of great characters (Foy especially), an excellent plot that explored the relationships between politicians, police (and darker forces) and the media, with a rather satisfying twist at the end. Great stuff.

I just finished reading Neal Stephenson’s The Diamond Age. Certainly the most rivetting book for me since Ender’s Game, this set up its world nicely, then along with the characters, developed things along the way. There were some very clever concepts which at first had me thinking “Hey, that’s a good idea, but how could they possibly do it?” but which after a few pages became convincing elements in this future world. Nell’s progress through life and her parallel progress through the Primer made was very interesting, and although it would have been nice to have more involvement and a firm conclusion for some of the minor characters, it was a great read, and I look forward to reading more of his work.

PS. The Optus cable has gone.

I have an oversupply of cream cheese.

I don’t mind cream cheese on occasions. A week or two ago I was wandering idly through the supermarket and picked up a tub. I’ve dabbed it onto a piece of toast or two. I might just get through it before it expires.

Yesterday at Parliament Station as I came through the ticket barrier, the promotional people were out in force, and they thrust into my hands not one but TWO tubs of… you guessed it: more cream cheese.

Looks like I may be eating cream cheese until the cows come home.

Found this on the pavement at Southbank yesterday.

With thanks to the geniuses who drew it, and the person who tipped me off (I’ve lost the e-mail, but you know who you are).

I couldn’t get the whole thing into one picture. They got the captions of the doctors a bit wrong, and no sign of the newly announced Christopher Eccleston, but ho boy, what a superb effort.