Just about everything scares me: I hate wasps, spiders, heights and the dark. Even at the age of 23 I still check underneath my bed and in my wardrobe in case a ghost faced killer decides to stab me in my sleep. Unfortunately, my irrational fears have been heightened as of late: going from living in a town over-populated with charity shops and the elderly to living in the city can be a tricky transition.
As a wild twenty-something with a thriving social life I decided to turn down the thousands of offers from potential suitors wanting to wine and dine me in favour of the sofa and a double G&T. In fact I was in the middle of an intense session stalking pictures of Emma Watson on Tumblr when I hear a noise: creaking and banging. My immediate thought was something along the lines of: “Oh god, I’m going to die before I find out whether Alicia chooses Will.” After internally-combusting for at least 10 minutes and checking the peep hole for a gang armed with knives ready to strike I realised that I would have absolutely no idea how to get myself out of a life-threatening situation if one were to occur.
I can barely chop an onion or pour a glass of wine without shaking so chances are if I was in The Hunger Games I’d immediately die by tripping over my own feet and cracking my head open on a rock. I may be the girl who hides under the covers after hearing a door slam but at least I’m not the type investigate a strange noise and asks: “who’s there?” If anyone would like to join me I’m going to the Winchester for a nice cold pint and waiting for all of this to blow over.