The picture on the left is - somewhat ironically - what was my left front "tooth."
I say left front "tooth," but I actually mean left front crown, and I've had a few left front crowns over the years.
It's a long and relatively dull story as to why, but I had both my front teeth crowned in my early teens and have since had to have them replaced several times along the way.
For example, I've managed to swallow three whilst eating.
On another occasion, I managed to blow one out during a school Sports Day 100 metre race. The dignity which I tried to exude in victory was a little undermined when, after shaking hands with my defeated opponents, I had to begin the journey slowly back up my lane to find my tooth which still lay on the track.
And, in the early hours of the morning of Friday 10 April 1998, whilst having coffee and cake with the Ulster Unionist negotiating team at Stormont in the final countdown to the signing of the Good Friday Agreement, my front left tooth fell out and landed on a saucer in the middle of our table. Everyone stopped as it bounced what seemed like an endless number of times before coming to a rest. All I could do was offer a gap-toothed grin before attempting to shove it back in and change the conversation back to guns and prisoner releases.
A giant bar of Dairy Milk was to blame for my latest little mishap. I was watching the Ashes on TV on Sunday, got a little bored, found some chocolate in the fridge and bit down just a little too excitedly.
I'm due for a "sit and wait" appointment in Leeds at 10.20 so hopefully I'll be as good as new by around 11.
Until next time, that is.