The Pipe Dream Diaries (3) Ophidiophobia...

 

Snakes, folks.

Yes, those big ol’ fat, rat’s tails with teeth.

Not for me, serpent lovers… my apologies.

 

A shade over ten years’ ago, when I originally wrote this blog, me... and a couple of friends (one now sadly passed) visited ‘Phobophobia’ on Tooley Street (great name) in the heart of London Bridge. We all had a raucous time in a terror-walkthrough that distilled our deepest fears in a touchy-feely, real-time setting. Because I’d previously attended (and my pals hadn’t), the ‘zombie’ staff locked me away in a dungeon. I had no choice, but to listen to my friend’s screaming to a chainsaw serenade from afar (while standing next to a very life-like corpse). Ah, joyous times.

But it wasn’t quite over. As soon as you left the horror installation, and entered the shop, THEY were there waiting… with their snakes… coiled around their shoulders.

I guess this is very similar to a psychological therapy technique known as Flooding. By being exposed to a sudden tsunami of overwhelming fears, in an instant, and then – in a protracted, form of bombardment – your fears are reset. This is the intended outcome.

Controversial. The juries out. Does it even work? (I have my opinions.)

I don’t suffer with ophidiophobia, I just don’t like snakes that much. In truth, I’d happily hold a metre long yellow Boa, and any slinky version of a non-venomous kind, but that’s my limit. (Even the corn snake, that was “planted” on me, took an unhealthy, and decidedly intimidating interest in my beard.)

 

This occasion happened about three months after I released the first Shelly Clover novel. It was one of the warmest Halloween’s on record in the UK. 23+ degrees. (Hence, inspiration for the climate in Shelly Clover in the Theatre Mind Macabre.) It was a lovely evening – a true treasure of a memory - set close to the River Thames. After the walk-through, we stopped over at the16thC pub opposite. It was a great evening with good ol’ south-east London friends.

Glad I did it. Certainly, an absolute fab memory, looking back. Snakes though… never my thing.

 

The Pipe Dream Diaries (2) The Ninety-Ninth Birthday.

 

 

My post on the 23^rd Feb. 2015, with image included, is of Gran on her 99^th birthday…

Seriously, who even lives that long (and looks that great, right)? And she was truly great; I mean it. Words cannot begin to describe the impact this wonderful woman had on my life.

And of course it is “had” in the past tense (otherwise she would have been 109 this past February).

My Gran’s life and demeanour were characterized by her default settings towards compassion, kindness, and acceptance. She was non-judgemental, peaceful, and her serenity was clear to all, and an ever present. It never deviated, nor did it faulter. She granted me emotional asylum to allay all my fears, in a quaint home, replete with spirally patterned carpets and delicately flowered wallpaper. Here, I experienced an uninterrupted flow of joy; bubbles of hope were a constant. I quickly learned that as our car hit the end of our driveway – a right turn meant boredom – but a left turn was a Ninety percent chance of heading to hers! I’d always ask if I could stay over, and she always said, ‘Yes’! It was a done deal, and I was always so excited. It was better than most other forms of anticipation, because it felt richer and realer.

Staying with my her, was like a haven. I can’t quite describe it, but it was – in the fullest sense.

On occasions, someone might ask you what your childhood was like, and there will be an endless range of replies. Mine: quite good. To elaborate, the combination of my imaginary life, and Gran, are key to this self-verdict. If we forget the dark clouds, and recall happy events/faces to make that retrospective judgement, then my happiness is filled with the face of the woman you see in the thumbnail. I think I only ever saw her flustered once. I caused this. I didn’t like it one bit, and I never did again (because there was no way) I’d ever want to do anything that disrupted the equilibrium of a beautiful soul.

 

Gran reached 100. She passed away peacefully a year-and-a-half after this photo was taken.

 

I have dedicated The Children at the River’s End to her, because I felt so much inspiration writing this novel, and – who better to dedicate a novel to – than an inspirational human who impacted me greatly. One plus one, really does equal two, here.

I hope you too had a lovely Gran. I’m so glad I got to experience one the absolute best in my life.

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