"OIF got a bruce," I said to Carrie.

“Pardon?”

“A breece.”

“You what?”

“A BREECE. Fur ma teef.”

“Oh your brace – let’s have a look. Hey, it looks all right.”

It didn’t feel all right. It felt like a baby pianoforte had been attached to my top teeth.

Earlier that evening, brackets had been fixed and set for six months and a white wire now ran across the front of them.

I could feel it pulling. It was beginning to dawn on me that this was going to be a bit of a challenge.

“Look at fiss – I’m doomed.”

I handed Carrie a list which I had been given, after having my braces strapped on under the bright lights of the dentist’s lab.

It said: ‘Avoid the following foods’.

Anything that is harder than a pretzel. Crusts, nuts, bagels, chicken wings, popcorn, raw vegetables, whole fruit, sweets, toffee, and any other food that could dislodge your braces.

Spaghetti sauce, red wine, coffee, tea, strawberries, blueberries, curry, dark sodas, and red juices.

I got as far as ‘red wine’, and a little part of me died. When I read that I was also banned from coffee I wanted to cling on to my dentist’s legs and weep for him to take my mouth-based shackles away.

However, unless I wanted brown braces, those were the rules.

Carrie read the list and gave me a sympathetic look. She had bought us a bottle of red wine.

People talk about wishing they were a kid again, but going through braces, which I am doing ten years late, makes me glad I have left most teenage traumas behind.

Plus, as an adult you can drive, stay up late, live where you like, decide on lunch, and – even better – you don’t have to attempt to run the 800 metres wearing shiny elasticated shorts.

Carrie and I opted to go out for cocktails, to celebrate our survival into adulthood. Note to self: Margaritas don’t stain your braces.