Long in the tooth

The news that I have been dreading for a few decades was released last week: Niall is retiring at the end of the month. 
I say a few decades because he has more or less always looked the same (to me anyway) since my mouth crossed his path for the first time back in July 1993 (the day after I got my front tooth kicked out outside a chipper in Drogheda at 1.30am)
He is 68 now. And he looked 50 when he was 36. And he looked 51 when he was 46. And he looked 52 when he was 56. And he now looks barely 53. 
He is a bit of a magician. Not just in the looking-exactly-the-same-all-his-life department. 
Niall can pop a molar out of your head effortlessly and almost totally painlessly. 
I have always appreciated his good humour and no nonsense approach to dentistry. I will miss him dearly. I think he will miss me too. 
He gave me a hug before I walked out of his lair for the last time. 
We both had a bit of dust in our eyes (micro particles of the filling he had just drilled no doubt...)