Peter Bromhead: Indebted to my periodontist

"I'm afraid there's only muesli for breakfast," cautioned the caregiver, knowing full well how wary I am of anything reeking of supposedly wholesome goodness.

Unfortunately, I don't share my family's enthusiasm for cereals that invariably end up as oral irritants, leaving me struggling to remove nuts and dried fruit bits stuck between my teeth.

"Why don't you clean your teeth after eating?" cry my children, as they mimic their father's tedious everyday advice.

"Even my periodontist would have difficulty retrieving some of this stuff," I grumble, reluctantly filling a bowl with something that looks like wood chipper refuse.

Trouble is, we're on holiday, some distance away from a retailer stocking alternatives.

I've also forgotten to include in my toilet kit a packet of the mini-brushes that my specialist suggests will assist in removing the occasional lodgment.

Bringing the periodontist into the conversation is a reminder that having managed to cruise into 2015 still breathing and standing, it's time to make another appointment with the gentleman responsible for keeping my teeth attached to my receding gums.

I've nicknamed my oral surgeon the "bloodless bone scraper", my affectionate way of describing the professional who digs into your gums beyond normal pain thresholds.

I'm surprised the CIA hasn't thought to simply hire a periodontist if it really wants to get information from suspect terrorists, instead of playing around with all that wishy-washy stuff involving waterboarding and rectal rehydration.

In truth, I'm indebted to my surgeon for keeping my teeth intact as I slip inevitably towards dotage. At least I'm still dining out on steak and chips, instead of being capable of consuming only mushy bread soaked in warm milk.

I am also grateful to live in a wondrous age where skilled surgeons not only keep my teeth intact for chewing T-bones, but thanks to recent eye surgery, leave me still capable of reading the small print on menus.

When I was able to see my charming young eye surgeon clearly for the first time following surgery and a new lens insertion - a remarkable procedure that gave me the eyesight of a 16-year old - I was immediately smitten both by her cool professionalism and the fact that she is also an accomplished violinist.

However, as an octogenarian, I may have left my run in the romance department a bit late, unless somebody knows another surgeon who can rejuvenate certain other intimate parts of my anatomy.