Before I married Heather, I made a promise to her that I would go to the dentist as soon as I could – regardless of which country we were in. So, last week I went to the dentist.

Dentists in America are very similar to those in the UK – except that they aren’t free, and you don’t have to wait 6 years to see one. I had not been to the dentist for 5 years, so I was expecting the worst.

I visited Heather’s family dentist in Quincy, CA. I had x-rays taken, and taken to sit on "The Chair". Overall, the experience was quite pleasant. I was given a National Geographic to read, and told that I had no cavities – which was nice. The whole experience lasted no longer than 10 minutes. However, I was not entirely finished.

Although all dentists in America are Drs, they don’t do as much as those in England do. For example, a dentist will never clean your teeth – they have hygienists that for them. It was one of those hygienists that I visited a couple of days ago.

My experience of having my teeth cleaned by a dental expert in the past has involved a whizzy machine that has obliterated anything that got in its way, leaving me with the experience of having just fallen over on the beach. Over here, the experience is quite different.

My teeth cleaning experience over here involved anaesthetic, a lot of prodding, the use of a lemon zester, and the rather alarming piece of information that "it hasn’t been done right unless you are bleeding". In one hour they only covered the top row of teeth, which has left me with a nice segregated smile.

Next week I have the bottom row done, and she’s going to check to see if I am brushing the top row correctly. As a result, most of my spare time this week has been spent brushing my teeth.

Many moons ago I was learning about volcanos at school. I learnt that the great explosion of Krakatoa caused a cloud so dense and large that it blocked out the sun in places hundreds of miles away. At the time I probably dismissed it as an exageration from the teacher, and that in reality a few people just coughed a bit and a few roads were closed while they swept up the mess.

I am currently in Quincy, California – a small town that is home to my in-laws, an annual music festival, and, at this precise moment, a lot of smoke.

I’m not sure how much news has spread to England about the fires in California, so I will give a brief summary: There are fires in California. Lots of them. Thousands of them. Most have been started by lightning, and the dry weather and abundance of forest has not helped matters. The firefighters are doing a lot to try and put them out – one fire service alone has laid over 750 miles of hose. However, these fires are big. The largest fire, ironically named the “cold” fire, is located just south of Quincy.

This particular fire is churning a lot of smoke. The smoke has completely engulfed Quincy to the extent that it is difficult to see the end of one’s garden, and where every citizen is being given the rare opportunity to experience what it is like to be on a 20-a-day smoking habit. The smoke also blocks out the sun so that it constantly feels as though it is dusk – it is a very strange feeling, like being jet-lagged without the travel.

The smoke has also reached Reno, but not in as dramatic a way as over here. The news in both states has said that the smoke should clear up soon – but they have been saying that for the past four weeks.

So, until it does clear up, I think there are going to be a number families in Northern California who get very good at Yahtzee, reading the paper, and tracking the movement of fire.