Adrian started our story…
I was in Israel. I met a girl. She seemed nice.
I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t. I’m shy.
I wrote her an 8 page letter. In the dark. I have no idea what I said. I was 18.
I knew her for 2 days. 8 years later she gets my email address from the friend I was staying with when I met her.
She mails me. She tells me she found my letter. She tells me she realises she was in love with me…
No, not an irrational fear of a certain model of crap car, but slang for drinkytime.
The inimitable Doctor Pockless is trying to keep his fear of the lesser spotted belfry bat at bay with small, but regular doses of medicine in a pint glass, while Vaughan‘s tastes are simple and he just wants a tea, shaking not stirred.
Pete and Karen are actually at the Reading festival, so thankfully I don’t have to deal with my claustrophobic agoraphobia (being tightly enclosed by people while in an open-air arena) in order to serve their requested warm diluted Guinness in a plastic glass and warm Hungarian wine. I’m sure the festival beer tent will do that just fine.
Lori is more problematic, as she lives in Manchester and has a fear of Chavs. In order to help her with this, she wants a Bacardi Breezer, God help us all. However, the straw she’s requested is in the prerequisite Burberry check. That should help the phobia no end, and will also teach her to say please in the same sentence as the drinks request. What can I say? I’m rudophobic.
The still-hiating Dave is after a pint of Bishops Finger, which always used to be something the nuns worried about intensely. And on the subject of nuns, the linkless Annie will never get on with Pogo, but hopefully the large vodka tonic will help her on her way with the pogonophobic terror of beards. Thank heaves she’s not a circus freak – that would be really ironic.
I’m not going to add any ice into Mr. D.‘s Smirnoff Blue – in fact all I’m going to add into it is another one. Now that’s a proper measure of vodka.
Winging their requests in from afar, Adrian sounds like a really needs a cold shower, but instead I’ll provide him a sex on the beach, although with the girls he’s looking at, it’ll probably come with added crabs. S. is in a holiday mood too, avoiding the spiders (and I won’t mention the cockroaches that are probably round the pool instead) with a pair of huge jugs *cough* – of Sangria, of course. What else did you think I meant?
Continuing in an Adrianesque theme of sleaze, Pix wants a huge bucket. Although, considering the “pint of everything” request (<Adrian>surely that’s a bukkake moment?</Adrian>) I can imagine that she may just need the bucket after all.
Dragon is a bit confused, and is afraid of a fortnight ago. In order to catch up, he needs the fourteen pints of Stella (<Adrian>that sounds like Bukkake again</Adrian>) but he needs the fitness training too, so he can carry the buggers. D‘s demophobia has kept him quiet this week, but the whiskey sour should help loosen his tongue.
And finally, Ade is wanting whatever’s left. That might be a problem after Pix’s binge-drinking expertise.
Karen’s away, and because I still haven’t learned to fear sending random emails late on a Thursday afternoon, I’ve been lumbered volunteered to be the barman today.
Drinks orders can be placed in the comments box below, and your theme today is (logically) Phobias.
Personally, I’m terrified of sobriety, so the pint of 75:25 ratio Black Russian is mine…
I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of days, about what do I actually fear? I’m not really any closer to a valid conclusion, but there are a few things on the list.
Number One still has to be Moths. Fluttery hairy little bastards. I don’t mind butterflys, it’s just their night-dwelling brethren I have a phobia about. No idea why – of course, if I had a reason, it’d be a semi-rational fear, rather than a phobia. But yes, moths are there on the list.
Nothing else even comes close, really. The lack of inspiration for writing is always a worry/fear, and currently there’s also the irrational fear of really screwing up something that I don’t want to screw up.
But all the same, it’s Moths that’re the winner.
Men in thongs.
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 . . .
of serious but reasonable concern:
mediocrity. complacence, stagnance, inertia. mental or physical pain beyond my control, the cessation of which is undeterminable.
irrational, evoking unreasonable responses:
snakes. this phobia developed, for no apparent reason, 3 years ago. initially it was so bad that if i was flipping through a magazine and chanced upon a photo of a snake, i’d fling it away. hot potatoes don’t get dropped that fast.
now my reaction to them is not quite so ridiculous. i can watch them on tv, but not for an extended period of time (by which i mean anything more than 20 seconds). i can walk through the reptile enclosure in the zoo at a reasonable pace but not without battling with a major case of the heebie-jeebies in the process.
and i will never touch one. never never never.
I know I’ve mentioned the spider thing before, but I arrived in the office this morning after a day off yesterday, to be told that there is an eight-legged monster somewhere in the kitchen.
WHERE???