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An underground dentist operating from a garden shed in Redruth was discovered completely by accident after police stopped the owner of a moped for not wearing a helmet. Officers became suspicious when they noticed a length of string tied to the back of a motorcycle belonging to Darren Kemp, 48. When asked what he was doing with the string, Darren reportedly said he was “towing something from the garden.” Police followed the line from Darren's Honda Melody moped, through his garden and into a shed, where they found a nervous-looking man reclined in an old sun lounger with the other end of the string tied around one of his teeth. Darren allegedly planned to extract the troublesome tooth using the moped, although officers arrived before he had a chance to put the method to the test. Inside the shed, officers found a headtorch, a pint glass full of toothbrushes and a bottle of cheap vodka with “anaesthetic” written on it. Darren, who described himself as a “freelance tooth technician”, defended the operation, claiming people had been coming to him because they were struggling to find a dentist. “You can't get a dentist,” he said. “Someone came in here the other day and said they'd been on a waiting list for five years. I said I can do it Tuesday.” Neighbours say they had recently become suspicious after noticing a stream of people going into the shed holding their jaws and coming out smiling and “a bit tipsy”. Darren has agreed to dismantle his makeshift operation and says he is now looking for an online course in the hope he can get a certificate and reopen the shed as a legitimate business.

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@Marcel, are you getting royalties for these? https://www.facebook.com/share/r/18WV12BgMj/

Between keeping my 5/8 of an acre property from catching fire...& diagnosing my GMC's fuel problem....I'm still searching & deciding on a LH throttle for the Eskute. It'll happen soon. Just paid House insurance & property taxes aren't far behind. Increasingly challenging to keep up with on SSD.... I will get there.

You should get the shock serviced.

What’s happening with the Eskute?

Yes ...that would definitely be the prudent way to go...reading your reply....and will now have it fixed when they call... Has for the shock absorber...I guess they didn't find anything warranted a replacement...

Have it done now, you never know if they'll find something else while the bike is there, last thing you want is to have spring arriving and then have the bike in the dealership for a month. Fixing all that and keeping the same 60.000km shocks untouched seems weird to me, though.

So the fix has been approved, definitely not regretting the extended warranty purchase , wich wasn't cheap at the time of purchase...2 weeks for the parts to come in... Gonna check if possibly if I could delay the fix date appointment until spring maybe....gonna be parked for winter by then...

APARTMENT for RENT... So a businessman met a beautiful girl and agreed to spend the night with her for £500. They did their thing, and before he left, he told her that he did not have any cash with him, but he would have his Secretary write a cheque and mail it to her, calling the payment 'RENT FOR APARTMENT.' On the way to the office, he regretted what he had done, realising that the whole event had not been worth the price. So he had his secretary send a cheque for £250 and enclose the following typed note: 'Dear Madam: Enclosed find a cheque for £250 for rent of your apartment .. I am not sending the amount agreed upon because when I rented the place, I was under the Impression that: #1 - it had never been occupied; #2 - there was plenty of heat; and #3 - it was small enough to make me feel cozy and at home. However, I found out that: #1 - it had been previously occupied, #2 - there wasn't any heat, and #3 - it was entirely too large.' Upon receipt of the note, the girl immediately returned the cheque for £250 with the following note: 'Dear Sir: #1 - I cannot understand how you could expect a Beautiful apartment to remain unoccupied indefinitely. #2 - As for the heat, there is plenty of it, if you Know how to turn it on. #3 - Regarding the space, the apartment is indeed of Regular size, but if you don't have enough furniture to fill it, please do not blame the management. So, Please send the rent in full or we will be forced to contact your present landlady!

Well who ever wins, the picture will be…

Time to vote for Your BOTM. To quote Pedro "It's Bad Form to vote for your own bike" but other than that have at it Votes Closes 23:59 September 30th Octobers BOTM Photos up from the 22nd Votes starts 28th. @Saul Honda CB750 Hornet @Cupid Stunt Honda CBF 1000 @Pedro BMW 1200 GSA @boboneleg Suzuki DR650 @Marcel KTM 950 Adventure

I hear ya there mate....no precip for the next week w/ temps in the 60's & 70'sF....

Exactly why I drink coffee at home most of the time....it's a helluva lot easier to go to the pub for just beer!

I tell you what, buying a fucking coffee has become unnecessarily complicated. There was a time when you walked into a café and asked for a coffee. That was it. "Coffee please." Somebody put coffee in a cup, you gave them some money, and everybody got on with their fucking day. Not anymore. Now you walk into somewhere like Costa and ordering a coffee feels like you're filling out a mortgage application. "What would you like?" Coffee. "Americano, latte, cappuccino, flat white, cortado, mocha, macchiato, espresso, double espresso, iced latte, iced Americano, frappe?" Fucking hell. I don't know. The brown one that wakes me up. Then comes the size. Small, medium, large, regular, tall, grande, massive, fucking oil drum. I'll have a large. Excellent. Surely we're finished. Oh no. "What milk would you like?" Milk. "Whole, semi skimmed, skimmed, oat, almond, coconut, soya?" Cow. Just whatever normally comes out of a fucking cow. Then they start offering you syrups. Vanilla, caramel, hazelnut, salted caramel, gingerbread, cinnamon, chocolate, white chocolate, pumpkin spice, sugar free vanilla, sugar free caramel. No. I wanted a coffee. I didn't come in to design a fucking Yankee Candle. But we're still nowhere near finished. Would I like an extra shot? Decaf? Half caf? An extra hot one? Skinny? Whipped cream? Cold foam? Chocolate sprinkles? Cinnamon dust? Caramel drizzle? Chocolate drizzle? Ice? Crushed ice? Less ice? More ice? At this point I'm expecting them to ask whether I'd like fucking underfloor heating installed. And there's always somebody in front of you who knows this system intimately. "Can I have a large iced skinny oat milk caramel latte, half sweet, extra hot, two pumps of vanilla, one pump of hazelnut, no foam, extra shot, light ice, whipped cream, caramel drizzle?" Fucking hell, Barbara. You're not ordering a drink. You're giving the launch sequence for a fucking nuclear submarine. Meanwhile I'm standing behind her thinking, "Coffee. Milk. Two sugars. Please let me go home." Then comes the price. "That'll be five pounds eighty please." FIVE POUNDS EIGHTY? For a fucking coffee? For that money I want to keep the mug. In fact, I want shares in the fucking building. And because you've already stood there answering twenty seven questions about milk and syrup, you just tap your card like you've developed Stockholm syndrome. Then they finally hand it over. And I've ordered the biggest fucking size they've got because, naturally, I'm thinking bigger cup means more coffee. Silly me. The cup's the size of a fucking paint tin, but about fourteen percent of it appears to be coffee. The rest is milk, foam, whipped cream, syrup, ice, chocolate dust, caramel drizzle and whatever other fucking building materials they've used to construct it. You've basically ordered a coffee and they've built a fucking extension on top of it. If you've gone for one of the cold ones it's even worse. You pick up this enormous plastic cup thinking you've got enough caffeine to see you through until Thursday, then realise three quarters of the bastard is ice. Six quid for twelve ice cubes, a splash of milk and a frightened little espresso hiding at the bottom. Take the ice out and your "large" coffee would fit in a fucking egg cup. And then there's the whipped cream. Fucking mountains of it. You've got to eat your way through half of the Alps before you even reach the beverage you actually ordered. By the time you finally locate the coffee, you've consumed eight hundred calories and you've got cream on your nose. At that point it's not a drink anymore. It's a fucking dessert with a caffeine problem. And somehow we've all just accepted this. We've gone from putting the kettle on and spooning Nescafé into a mug to standing in a queue while somebody called Tyler asks what fucking personality we'd like our milk to have. I don't need my coffee to be an experience. I don't need it handcrafted. I don't need it drizzled. I don't need it dusted. I don't need it topped with something that looks like insulation foam. I just want it hot, strong and capable of making me slightly less likely to tell everyone to fuck off before nine o'clock in the morning. It's coffee. Put it in a cup. Give it to me. And stop making me take a fucking GCSE before I'm allowed to drink it.

Yes.....you...lol.

Damn Right!....NO FEELIN' LIKE 2-WHEELIN'

Good call Pedro....totally miss that...thanks.

You lost me when you claimed people got wisdom from you.