Most of the people reading this will know that I have several irrational fears, which have baffled and amused us all for many years. I tried listing them the other night and was shocked to find how many silly things turn me into a giggling, hyperventilating wreck. Here is the list as it stands, although I'm sure there are a couple more lurking at the back of my subconscience:
1. Rhubarb (when I moved into my new house in Norfolk, there was rhubarb growing in the front garden and I had to get Dad to come and remove it before I'd use the front door. I'm not sure what it is I hate about it most - its colour, texture or the way it makes your jaws hurt sometimes when you eat it.)
2. Newborn babies with squidgy heads. But this begs the question: does this count as an irrational fear? I don't think so.
3. Going up into lofts. When I run out of ladder rungs to hold on to, I freeze and then giggle, sometimes for anything up to 2 hours if there's no-one around to come and entice me back down.
4. People sharpening knives. Again, probably not an irrational fear, given my childhood when Dad was constantly chopping off limbs.
5. Floors I consider unstable. This includes the thick frosted glass that is often used in museums etc these days. And loft floors, which causes an additional element of fear when I need something out of the attic.
6. Clowns and mime artists. Enough said.
7. Young children staring at me. You know when they are at that age when they can walk but not talk and they just STARE. Eeek.
8. People making pincer actions with their fingers near my face.
Anyway, that's enough for now. At least I don't have a problem walking past lamp-posts on cold days, unlike two people I could mention.
Soooooo, this weekend, James, my self-appointed life coach, decided it was time to start working on my irrational fears and crossing them off the list one by one. As I needed baking tins from my loft, we decided the loft one was best conquered first. So with James at the bottom of the ladder yelling encouragement (words to the effect of "get up there, you daft cow") I managed to get up there with the minimal amount of giggling and only froze for a few seconds. I think it may have been the threat that if I didn't do it by my own willpower I would be chased up there with a stick of rhubarb. I then had to go up and down the ladder two more times before I was considered cured. And cured I am. Only I'm now worried that the next phobia to be tackled will be the rhubarb one. I'm almost afraid to open my bedroom door this morning in case there's a pile of rhubarb outside. I wouldn't put it past him, you know...
