As I sat in the dentist’s chair yesterday morning, suffering through my six-monthly check-up, it suddenly struck me that the only two things that fill me with dread are dentists and nail-biting sport contests. 

Nothing can make the palms weep and the heart gallop like the final over of a tight cricket match, or the last two minutes of a rugby game where your team is trapped in their 22 defending a two-point lead. 

Except for a dentist prodding in your mouth while delivering ambiguous grunts that could range in meaning from signifying his amazement at discovering the world’s worst-ever cavity, to expressing his excitement thinking about the beef-and-onion sandwich he’s going to eat for lunch. It doesn’t really matter — each murmur fills you with terror. ..