Tag Archives: phobia

Misery Loves Company

It’s that time of year again, temperatures rise a couple of degrees for just a weekend and all of a sudden we’re in the bloody Bahamas. Every time Spring rolls around I tell myself that I’ll try not to behave like Wednesday Addams on crack but unfortunately the sudden spike in sunny weather has once again left me feeling like an anxiety-ridden, social pariah.

It all began with the wasp stinging incident of 1995, the day I lost my dignity and ability to act normally in social situations involving beer gardens, barbecues or ice-cream: the day Pollyanna replaced herself with Blair Waldorf’s less-nice sister. I can be sat having lunch, enjoying a large G&T with my friends until a wasp lands on my large order of fries and my palms start to sweat, my entire body is ridden with fear and I’m out of the door faster than Usain Bolt.

It’s probably for the best anyway: why would I want to be sat at the local park, surrounded by screaming children and half-price sausage rolls when I can be at home alone complaining? I miss Christmas, bobble hats, mulled wine and the sheer misery of everyone else in the UK.


Trials and tribulations part 1 of 100

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.