There are a few things of which I am genuinely phobic - clowns, razors (including Stanley knives, razor blades, shaving razors and straight-razors) and birds (the flying kind - the other kind I am perfectly at ease with
).
With razors, I can't help but think of the potential damage carelessness can cause - it's actually going through my mind right now - I can't watch my wife shave her legs with a lady bic - she's so nonchalant about it, scraping away in all directions without even thining about it - it honestly turns my stomach just thinking about it.
That scene in Airplane fills me with dread.
As a small child, walking through St George's Square with my Dad, a pigeon flew right at my head and collided with my face, flapping and clawing. Since then, I've been known to automatically duck, or try to jump out of the way when birds are flying near me, although in reality, they are about 20 feet away.
The movie The Birds is fine though - I do, however identify with Tippi Hedren.
Clowns - this is the real biggie.
I don't know where it came from, I don't think I'd ever even seen one in the flesh until I was about 17. I just can't look at them, I've had genuine panic attacks just looking at pictures of them.
But, it's not all clowns - Krusty, for instance, is fine - even Pennywise! even John Wayne Gacy doesn't inspire me to panic. I've even seen the Archaos circus, and did a series of prints and paintings of one of the performers for Higher Art in school. Clowns that are deliberately supposed to be scary or unsettling don't do it.
The more benign, or funny the clown-face is, the creepier it seems.
I was out for a meal one Sunday with my family, and in the middle of a conversation, my wife (who was sitting across from me) stopped dead and told me to look straight at her, "do not turn around".
So, of course, I go to turn around - "DON'T" she says. It's one of
them.
At that very instant, I could feel a cold sweat start to form on my forehead. I started to get lightheaded - I hadn't even seen the thing - just the knowledge that there was one in the room was enough. There was a family sitting at the table behind us, and they had a kid - it was the kid's birthday, and they had arranged a clown.
I knew right then what had to happen - I had to kill the clown.
I started to get really angry, and could feel my fists balling up - if this thing came near me, it was over - I had lost control and couldn't stop myself - some sort of fight-or-flight instinct had taken over. I was becoming more frightened of the malice that I held for this poor guy scraping a living entertaining whiny brats, having to smile through all the tantrums, the berating, the general shit of having to entertain children - having to put on this suit and make-up and make an arse of himself every day.
All these things I knew - but if he came close to me, I was going to let fly and I had no way to stop myself - I was going to kill this fucker - if in fact, I didn't pass out first due to the fact I was hyperventillating badly and was getting more and more lightheaded by the second.
My wife helped me up and led me to the bathroom to splash water on my face - I took my inhaler (I'm asthmatic), and over several minutes, calmed down enough to regain my bearings and go back to my dinner.
my wife went out first to plan a route back to our table that meant I could avoid seeing the thing.
But he was already gone. I sat down, ate my dinner and enjoyed the rest of the night.
Although secretly, as I lay my head down to go to sleep that night, I knew he was till out there, and could get me at any time.