So I went down the Winchester fert pub quiz last night. In amongst the whisky shots (don’t ask) I helped us snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and then hung about afterwards debating turkey and stuffing flavoured Lays (Walkers) crisps with Best Mate of Bestest Mate.
Dragged myself home, got to bed about 1, got up at 7am. Went to the bank for 9am (ATM was being refilled) and then waited patiently at the crossing to get to the next block with my dentist’s surgery on.
Green man lit up.
I crossed the road.
Got about six feet from the dentist’s door.
The entire dental procedure flashed before my eyes.
All the while I’m starting to sweat and I can feel myself shaking, actually physically shaking.
So I turned around and walked two blocks home again. When I was absolutely sure you couldn’t hear the fear in my voice I called up and apologised for missing my appointment and made a new one for Wednesday.
It’s got to be done, I know that. But I just couldn’t put my hand on the door. Couldn’t do it.
‘Couldn’t’ is a big word. Never realised till now. I had no control over it, and that’s what scares me. I didn’t want to leave cos it’s just delaying the inevitable. But I just balked at the threshold, turned tail and ran.
Coward shaking and sweating like I’ve just run a two-minute mile. Carrying a forty pound army rucksack.