I’ve been staring at the latest Uborka theme all week, thinking that I really ought to write something about it. Indeed, if I were to forget my natural unassuming modesty, I could almost imagine that some people might have been waiting to hear about what I’m afraid of – and I’m thinking here of those of you who have become far too skilled at reading between the lines on my site, and therefore assume that I must be afraid of lots of things.
Well, you’re right. I am afraid of lots of things.
But then again, I’m not.
Spiders? No, not really. If I find a spider crawling around excitedly in the bath, I fish it out carefully, open the window and release it back into the wild. Heights? Not especially. I simply remember not to look down too frequently. The dark? Not at all – I spend much of my time in the dark out of choice, in fact.
Um, oh, I don’t know, what are the other common things that people are generally afraid of? Think them through for yourself and then get back to me – but to be honest, you’ll only end up disappointed as I reassure you that I’m afraid of virtually none of them.
And now you’re thinking that I’m awfully brave, aren’t you?
Wrong again.
So without further ado, let me finally reveal exactly why I’ve been quiet – almost suspiciously quiet – on the subject of my fears. The reason is as follows . . .

None of my fears are tangible.
There, I’ve said it.
Breathe in. Breathe out again. The tip of the iceberg is coming into view. Like all icebergs, however, all the vicious peaks, crags and points that can quickly rip a jagged metallic gash in the hull of the ship lie just below the surface of those eerily calm waters.
I was going to use this ‘hidden’ continuation screen to tantalise you with just a couple of my deepest, darkest fears (after all, I am a blogger and therefore, as much as I like to try and deny it, also a natural exhibitionist). But I can’t even do that. I began reeling through the various fears in my permanently confused head, and although a few of them are universal, many of them are extremely personal to me. They probably wouldn’t even mean anything to anyone else. So what’s the point in going all Oprah on you and purging my soul?
And besides, I can talk about those delightful subjects with that nice woman I see for an hour once every week or so. That’s what she’s there for. And I’m not even sure that she would approve of me revealing such ‘issues’ (oh, how I hate that word) to a small corner of the internet. She would probably tell me that I’m ‘not ready to take that step’ yet. And she’d be right. She’s invariably right.
So, er, where were we?
Oh yes, I remember. Fears. I have lots of them, yes. Oodles of them. Verily, my cup of fears runneth over. But I can’t even adequately explain them to myself (or that nice woman) yet. So I’ll be damned if I’m going to tell you.
Spiders, though, aren’t a problem. Just give me a call if you want any removed from your bathroom. If I’m feeling particularly nasty, then I’m especially good at despatching them to Spider Heaven (or Spider Hell) using the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner. At least I can make myself useful.