Last night some good friends of mine begged me to avoid the political arena in this week’s column and I couldn’t agree more. With Election Day now come and gone, I decided it would be best to let it lie – we’ll see how things turn out in the weeks, months and years to come – and turn to something a little less serious.

Of all my fears – more terrifying than nuclear war, alien invasion, climate change or yes, even politicians – the one thing which reduces me to a quivering pile of jelly is the dentist.

I suppose I’m exaggerating a bit, but if I were phobic, I would definitely be considered a dentophobiac.

Even as a young child I was convinced that modern dentistry originally evolved from the barbaric dungeon torture chambers of the Middle Ages. I mean think about it, they do use a lot of the same tools – picks, pliers, screws, drills, hammers, needles and whatnot. Just the high-pitched whine of a dentist’s drill and I’m ready to run for the hills.