Top 20 London Dentist Jokes

Top 20 London Dentist Jokes That’ll Make You Smile (At Private Rates)

London has two dental realities operating simultaneously in the same city. In one, a kindly NHS dentist sees you every eighteen months in a waiting room that smells of the 1990s and charges you £25.80 for a check-up. In the other, a private practice in Chelsea with a reception desk made of a single piece of white stone charges you £95 for the same check-up and throws in a complimentary mouthwash. Both will look at your teeth. Only one will make you feel like your teeth are a lifestyle choice. Here are twenty jokes from the chair.

1. The NHS Dentist Waiting List

Finding an NHS dentist in London who is accepting new patients is a quest of genuine heroism. You ring the first surgery. Not accepting. The second. Not accepting. The third has a waiting list. The waiting list is two years. In two years, the waiting list will still be two years, because the waiting list has achieved a kind of steady state that is technically a list but functionally a horizon. You go private. You always go private in the end. The NHS dentist finds this as frustrating as you do.

2. The Check-Up That Wasn’t

You go for a routine check-up. The dentist looks at your teeth for four minutes. She says everything looks fine but she’d like to do an X-ray. The X-ray reveals something. The something requires a filling. The filling requires a second appointment. The second appointment reveals something adjacent to the filling. You came in for a check-up. You are now on a dental journey with no visible end and a treatment plan that has its own spreadsheet. The check-up cost £95. The spreadsheet is still growing.

3. “Just a Little Pressure”

“Just a little pressure” is the most optimistic phrase in the English language, deployed at the precise moment before something that is not a little pressure. It is said with the serene confidence of someone who is not experiencing the pressure. You are experiencing the pressure. The pressure is considerable. You make a sound. The dentist says “nearly there.” Nearly there lasts another forty seconds. You are there. The dentist moves on to the next thing. There is a next thing.

4. The Hygienist

The hygienist is not the dentist. The hygienist is the person who tells you that you are not flossing correctly, have never flossed correctly, and that the consequences of not flossing correctly will be enumerated now, in detail, while you are unable to respond because her hands are in your mouth. She will then clean your teeth with a tool that sounds like a small pneumatic drill and makes your gums feel as though they have been through something. Your teeth will be extraordinary afterwards. You will floss for two weeks and then gradually stop. She knows this. She has always known this.

5. The Private Practice Reception

The private dental practice in Harley Street has a reception area that more closely resembles a boutique hotel than a medical facility. There is a fish tank. There is music that is ambient without being identifiable. There are magazines that were published this decade. The receptionist asks if you’d like a water — still or sparkling. You choose sparkling. You drink the sparkling water. You feel better about paying £95 for a check-up. The sparkling water has done its work. The marble reception has done its work. You open your mouth and everything is the same as any other dentist. The marble was the difference. The marble cost you £70 of that £95.

6. The Cosmetic Consultation

You mentioned, in passing, that you’d thought about whitening your teeth. The dentist has produced a brochure. The brochure covers: whitening (£450), veneers (£850 per tooth), Invisalign (£3,500), and a full smile makeover that begins at £12,000 and goes in a direction the brochure tactfully describes as “bespoke.” You asked about whitening. You are now looking at a brochure for a new face. You say you’ll think about it. The brochure goes home with you. You think about it for three weeks. You buy whitening strips from a chemist for £18. They work adequately. You do not mention the brochure again.

7. The Mouth Guard

You grind your teeth at night. The dentist has diagnosed this from the wear on your molars. You need a mouth guard. The mouth guard is custom-fitted, made from impressions of your teeth, and costs £350. You take it home. You wear it twice. It makes you feel like a boxer preparing for a bout. You sleep badly. You stop wearing it. Your teeth continue their nightly negotiations with each other. You return in a year. The dentist notes additional wear. You order another mouth guard. You wear it twice. The cycle continues. The dentist notes this pattern with the calm of someone who has seen it before.

8. The X-Ray Apron

The dental nurse places a lead apron on your chest before the X-ray. It weighs approximately the same as a small child and covers your torso with the thoroughness of someone who has read extensively about radiation. You feel protected. You feel also that the apron’s weight is slightly theatrical for a dental X-ray, which is not the sort of radiation that requires this level of preparation. The apron stays on regardless. The apron is reassuring. The apron makes you feel that the practice is thorough. You pay for thorough. Thorough costs £95.

9. The “Have You Been Flossing?” Question

The dentist asks if you’ve been flossing. You have been flossing. You flossed specifically in preparation for this appointment, having not flossed since your last appointment eighteen months ago. You say yes. The dentist looks at your gums. The gums tell the truth. The gums have not been flossing. The dentist says “the gums look a little inflamed.” You say you’ve had a busy few months. The dentist nods. She has been doing this for sixteen years. She has heard about the busy months. She recommends daily flossing. You leave. You buy floss. You floss for eleven days. The floss is then stored in the bathroom cabinet alongside the previous floss, which was stored alongside the floss before that.

10. The Emergency Appointment

Your tooth has decided, on a Saturday at 6pm, that now is the time for an emergency. You ring your dentist. The out-of-hours number goes to a service that tells you to ring NHS 111. NHS 111 tells you to ring a dental helpline. The dental helpline tells you the nearest emergency dental service is in a postcode you’ve never visited. You take three ibuprofen and google “tooth pain home remedy.” The internet suggests clove oil. You do not have clove oil. You have olive oil. You try the olive oil. It does not help. You spend Sunday in a state of negotiation with your own face. Monday morning, you ring the dentist at 8:01am. They fit you in. It is a cracked filling. It was always going to be a cracked filling.

11. The Children’s Dentist

The children’s dentist has painted the ceiling with clouds and hidden animals in the mural on the wall. There is a sticker reward system for good behaviour. The dentist explains everything to the child with warmth and precision and the kind of patience that suggests she genuinely enjoys this, which she does, because she chose paediatric dentistry specifically. The child is briefly brave, then moderately afraid, then unexpectedly fine, then collecting their sticker with the satisfaction of a professional completing a difficult task. You, the parent, are more stressed than the child was. The sticker is not offered to you. You feel this is unjust.

12. The Tooth Whitening Conversation

Tooth whitening is legal only when performed by a dental professional. This is why the strips from the chemist contain a lower concentration of the active ingredient than the professional treatment and therefore work less dramatically and more slowly. The professional treatment works faster and costs £450. You have done the maths. You have bought the strips. Your teeth are whiter than they were. They are not as white as the dentist’s teeth, which are the colour of something that has never encountered coffee, which is impossible unless the dentist has an arrangement with their own whitening system, which they almost certainly do, at cost price. Their teeth are the advertisement. The advertisement is working.

13. The Dental Phobia

Approximately one in four British adults has significant dental anxiety. London dentists have responded to this with: calming interiors, sedation options, noise-cancelling headphones, Netflix on the ceiling, and dentists who narrate every action before performing it in a tone of such deliberate calm that it itself becomes slightly alarming, like being talked through a turbulent flight by a pilot who is being too calm about turbulence. The phobia is real. The response is thoughtful. The ceiling Netflix is specifically episodes of The Great British Bake Off, which is the correct choice. Nobody has ever felt threatening feelings about Paul Hollywood.

14. The Invoice Itemisation

The private dental invoice is itemised with the thoroughness of a legal document. Consultation: £95. X-ray (periapical): £35. X-ray (bitewing): £35. Composite filling (one surface): £145. Polishing: £25. Fluoride treatment: £20. Total: £355. Each item is a real thing that happened. Each item is charged individually because this is private dentistry and the items are real. You look at the invoice. You pay the invoice. You leave with teeth that are, objectively, in better condition than when you arrived. The invoice was the price of the teeth. The teeth are the one thing you actually need. You pay it. You make an appointment for six months’ time. You will not floss before it. Everyone knows this.

15. The Dental Plan

The practice offers a dental plan: £18.50 per month, which covers two check-ups, two hygienist appointments, and emergency cover. This is, mathematically, significantly better value than paying individually. You have not signed up for the plan. You have been meaning to sign up for the plan since 2022. The plan is a better deal. You continue to pay individually. You continue to mean to sign up for the plan. The plan remains available. The plan is patient. The plan will wait.

16. The Student Dental School

The dental school at King’s College London offers treatment by supervised students at significantly reduced rates. The treatment takes three times as long as a regular appointment because the student must explain each step to their supervisor, who then confirms the step, after which the student performs the step with a precision that reflects both training and the particular focus of someone being graded on their precision. The filling takes ninety minutes. It is an outstanding filling. It will outlast you. You pay £35. You tell nobody because they’ll all want to go and there won’t be enough students.

17. The Implant Conversation

You need an implant. The dentist explains the process: a titanium post is inserted into the jawbone, which requires a surgical appointment, a healing period of three to six months, a second appointment to fit the abutment, and a third appointment to fit the crown. Total cost: £2,800 to £3,500. Alternatively, a bridge: £1,200. Alternatively, a partial denture: £400. You ask which she recommends. She recommends the implant because it’s the best long-term solution. You nod. You go home. You look up dental tourism in Hungary. You book the implant in Budapest for £900. The implant is excellent. You tell the dentist it was done privately. You do not specify where privately.

18. The Waiting Room Magazine

The waiting room has magazines. In the NHS waiting room, the magazines are from 2021 and someone has completed the crossword in two of them, incorrectly. In the private waiting room, the magazines are from this month, arranged on a low table with the precise fanning of a display that is refreshed weekly. You do not read either magazine. You look at your phone. The magazine was never for reading. The magazine is set dressing. The set dressing in the private practice costs considerably more per square foot than the NHS set dressing and serves the same function of being ignored by someone looking at their phone.

19. The Six-Month Reminder

The practice sends you a text six months after your last appointment reminding you to book. This is sent automatically by a system that has been set up specifically to remind you to book before you forget to book for another eighteen months. The system knows you. The system knows that without the text, you will not book until something hurts. Something will hurt eventually. The text is cheaper than the emergency appointment. The practice has done the maths. You receive the text. You mean to book. You book three weeks after receiving the text, after a second text, which is slightly more pointed in tone. You are booked. The system has worked. The system always works.

20. The Parting Advice

The dentist, at the end of every appointment, says: brush twice a day for two minutes, floss daily, reduce sugar intake, and come back in six months. This advice has not changed since the invention of the modern toothbrush. It is correct. It is not followed by most of the people it is given to, including people who know it is correct and intend to follow it and begin following it and then gradually stop following it until the next appointment, at which point the advice is given again. The dentist gives the advice. The patient receives the advice. The cycle of oral health continues. It is, dentally speaking, the human condition.

Open Wide

London’s dentists are keeping the nation’s teeth in better shape than the nation deserves, given the nation’s relationship with tea, biscuits, and the Friday night after-work drink that becomes several. They do this with patience, skill, and the resigned good humour of professionals who spend their days very close to people’s faces in circumstances that are stressful for everyone except the dentist, for whom this is Tuesday. Book your appointment. Floss. You won’t floss. Book your appointment.

England faces a significant NHS dental access crisis, with millions of adults unable to register with an NHS dentist. NHS England reported in 2023 that over 12 million adults had been unable to access NHS dental treatment in the previous two years, driven by a shortage of dentists willing to take NHS contracts, which many practices have abandoned in favour of private practice due to chronically low NHS contract values. The government’s dental recovery plan, announced in 2024, offered additional funding and incentives to increase NHS capacity, with limited early impact. London has a higher concentration of private dental practices than most UK regions, with Harley Street and its surrounding area hosting one of the world’s largest concentrations of private dental and medical specialists. The average cost of a private dental check-up in London ranges from £60 to £120, compared to the NHS Band 1 charge of £26.80.

Auf Wiedersehen, amigo!

Junglepussy

I am a Lagos-born poet and satirical journalist navigating West London’s contradictions. I survived lions at six, taught English by Irish nuns, now wielding words as weapons against absurdity. Illegal in London but undeniable. I write often for https://bohiney.com/author/junglepussy/.

As a young child, I was mostly influenced by the television show Moesha, starring singer and actress Brandy. Growing up, I would see Brandy on Moesha and see her keeping in her cornrows and her braids, but still flourish in her art and music, looking fly. I loved Moesha as a child, but now I take away something more special from it. Just because you’re a black girl, it doesn’t mean you need to only care about hair and makeup. Brandy cared about books, culture and where she was going — you can do both.