Doggie handling

People are regularly bitten by dogs, and this often sets off a lifelong fear of dog bites. Luckily I've never been bitten by a dog so I'm not afraid of them. Partly that's because I have some idea of what causes a dog to bite.

In January a dog walker was mauled to death in Surrey. It's not clear why they got out of control, but she was walking eight dogs and I guess if one of them got a bit agitated the others might have got equally agitated and turned on her.

The number of injuries from dog bites is rising. Between 1998 and 2018, hospital admissions for dog-related injuries doubled in England, with about 8,000 people now admitted each year.

I'm not afraid of being bitten because I know that bites are usually a response to fear and so I take care not to approach a dog that looks a bit nervous or alarmed and I certainly wouldn't try to stroke or fondle it. I was reading today that a wagging tale doesn't necessarily mean a dog is happy to be approached, it only signifies some strong emotion - it could be enjoyment but it could equally be anxiety or fear.

I often stroke dogs that are tied outside a shop because they're usually glad of the attention they're not getting from the owner. I always feel sorry for them because they look a bit bewildered, wondering if and when their owner is going to reclaim them.

We had two Scottish terriers when I was a child, and they never bit anyone, even though the first one was neurotic enough to abruptly sink its teeth into someone. Jenny and I have never had a pet dog or cat because it would demand too much attention - not to mention visits to the vet and holiday arrangements.

Dogs, like humans, need careful handling.

On the spectrum

It seems to me the pandemic has produced a wide spectrum of attitudes from blasé nonchal-ance on the one hand to paranoid fear on the other, with reasonable caution somewhere in between.

On the one hand there are those who think the whole pandemic is wildly exaggerated, with frenzied scare-mongering from politicians, health experts, trade unions and journalists about the number of deaths, the possibility of infection and the stupidity of those who shun even the most basic precautions.

They happily mix with jam-packed gatherings of hundreds of people, and scoff at any suggestion they're helping to spread the virus to all and sundry.

On the other hand there are those who're terrified of being infected and believe just a few seconds' exposure to someone else could see them in hospital fighting for their lives. They take every possible precaution and rage at anyone who isn't. They won't even leave the house except for a very good reason.

Photos of mass gatherings fill them with horror and they wonder why such irresponsible activities aren't being instantly closed down.

I'd say I'm somewhere in the middle. Yes, I feel more vulnerable than I used to, but I think the chance of being infected is greatly exaggerated (I haven't had the virus although it's been around for eight months or so, and I know very few people who've had it). Nevertheless it makes sense to follow all the recommended measures like wearing a mask and distancing. Why ignore all the precautions and expose myself to risk for the sake of some egocentric obsession with "personal freedom"?

One thing's for sure. The "new normal" of anti-virus measures everywhere we go will be the reality for quite a while. The free-and-easy gadding-about of 2019 is but a distant memory.

Out in the open

It's the era of openness, of transparency, of people telling it like it is, of all those little personal quirks and oddities being broadcast to the world. People coming out as gay, as anorexic, as self-harming, as having mental health issues.

All those things people used to keep to themselves out of embarrassment, shame, fear of being abnormal, fear of being misunderstood, all those things a tangle of inhibitions stopped us revealing, are now being voiced more freely.

You can't open a newspaper or turn on the TV without someone being astonishingly frank about some psychological weirdness they've been struggling with for years, and all the ways in which it's drastically affected their life.

I think it's a very healthy trend. There were many things I kept quiet about as a child because I was afraid of other people's reactions. But now I try to be as open as I can and less in thrall to those unnecessary inhibitions.

On the whole I'm happy to discuss my numerous neuroses - my anxieties, my fears, my lack of confidence, my doubts about my intelligence, my social shyness, my inarticulacy, my odd sleep patterns, my peculiar dreams. There are only one or two things I'm silent about, so as not to embarrass other people.

It's an unusual trait in my family. My mum was always obsessively secretive, confining herself to small talk and steering away from anything too personal or revealing. My brother in law and sister are much the same. Happily my niece is a lot more open, probably because she's 36 and part of a generally more communicative generation.

As a kid I was taught that men should "keep a stiff upper lip", not show anyone we were upset or afraid or couldn't cope. We were supposed to bottle up our emotions and put on "a brave front". Thank goodness that absurd attitude is gradually fading away.

Feel the fear

You know what they say. Feel the fear and do it anyway. Well, I've done that often enough.  My whole life has been a story of overcoming my natural timidity and saying, fuck it, I really want to do this and I'm going to do it.

I fear all sorts of silly things. Other people's reactions. Simple tasks that turn into never-ending nightmares. Any kind of DIY. Looking like an idiot. Setting off some appalling catastrophe. Getting in too deep. Saying the wrong thing. Letting people down.

But over the years I've learnt to put all these absurd fears to one side, take a deep breath and plunge in anyway. I know from experience that most of the fears will turn out to be unfounded and everything will work out fine. So I brace myself, leap off the cliff-edge, and guess what. Nothing dreadful happens.

I don't look like an idiot. Nobody laughs at me. There's no appalling catastrophe. The world doesn't end. Life goes on.

To look at me, you probably wouldn't suspect I'm awash with secret fears. I've had lots of practice at seeming confident and on top of things. My face doesn't give much away. I'm adept at feigning world-weary nonchalance. As most of us are after years of having to deal with things that frighten the life out of us.

But it's not the done thing to reveal your private fears. Maybe to your closest friends after a drink or two. But not in public, not to just anyone. And certainly not in the workplace. There you're expected to be poised and ready for anything. So we keep our fears and our faked bravado to ourselves.

But hey, what's all the fuss about? Haven't you heard? You have nothing to fear but fear itself. Problem solved!

Emotional gremlins

Wouldn't we all be very different if we could free ourselves from anxiety and fear? If we could go through life with endless confidence and optimism rather than all those doubts and insecurities that get in our way?

Virtually everyone is hampered by anxiety and fear to some degree, however skilled we might be at seeming cool, calm and collected. We all have those moments when we just want to flee some situation that stirs up the emotional gremlins.

I'm no stranger to anxiety and fear, but at least they take a fairly mild form and don't interfere too much with my daily life. It's unusual to feel so overwhelmed that I simply make my excuses and run for it.

I know people whose anxiety and fear is so intense they can be totally hobbled by it. People who have panic attacks that last for days on end and stop them doing anything but lie in bed in a helpless heap. People whose chronic anxiety means everything has to be double-checked, triple-checked, quadruple-checked before they're sure they haven't done anything horribly wrong.

Luckily I've never known those extremes. But there are things I would hate to do because I'm sure the anxiety would consume me. Like giving a lecture, or acting, or chairing a public meeting, or talking to a mega-celebrity. In fact anything where I'm visibly "onstage" and being scrutinised by large numbers of people.

And wherever I go, I'm always aware of a little frisson of fear, a slight apprehension about other people, though I know perfectly well they're probably harmless. Then there are specific fears, like a fear of the dark, or hospitals, or confined spaces, or old age. How wonderful it would be if I could just breeze through life, go with the flow, take everything as it comes, all with unshakable poise.

Which is as likely as turning into a mermaid.

Future perfect

Could I really be afraid of the future? I decided to take the problem to my esteemed therapist Dr Melissa Flinch, at her luxurious consulting rooms in leafy South Belfast.

She offered me a herbal tea and an oatmeal cookie as I reclined in the well-padded armchair among a dense thicket of overgrown pot plants.

Nick: I'm afraid that I'm afraid of the future.

Melissa: Don't be silly. You can't be afraid of something so unbounded, so intangible. It's like being afraid of the weather, or speech, or a blank sheet of paper. You can only be afraid of something specific. Like spiders. Or flying.

Nick: But I'm afraid I'll be overtaken by some awful disaster in five years' time.

Melissa: Then you're just afraid of disaster. That's natural enough. But you're not afraid of some wonderful pleasure in five years' time, are you?

Nick: No, of course not.

Melissa: In fact, you must think pleasure is a lot more likely than catastrophe?

Nick: I suppose so.

Melissa: Well then, you're just a sunny optimist with occasional fits of pessimism. You allow for the very realistic possibility that you can't have pleasure 100 per cent of the time. Sometimes things go wrong. Sometimes they go very wrong. That's life, baby.

Nick: I guess you're right.

Melissa: Of course really you're just afraid of yourself. You're afraid of your inability to cope with any disaster that comes along. You're afraid of your own inadequacy, your own helplessness, your own confusion.

Nick: I'd never thought of it like that.

Melissa: Well, that's what I'm here for. I've seen a thousand tortured souls like yours. I know what's going on in your murky unconscious. I can unravel the tangled strands, lead you out of the psychic morass, restore clarity of thought.

Nick: What would I do without you?

Melissa: I shudder to think. That'll be £100 plus VAT. Mastercard as usual?

Nick: Cheap at the price.

I skipped happily down the front steps, the heavy burden lifted from my shoulders. All at once a rosy future beckoned.
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A new British survey says almost one person in five has consulted a counsellor or psychotherapist. Some 95% of those polled believe it is a good idea to seek counselling or psychotherapy for a problem before it gets out of hand, while 88% thought people might be happier as a result of doing so. Some 88% believe counselling and psychotherapy should be available to all on the NHS. This is a huge change in attitudes from six years ago.

Keeping up appearances

We all like to think that we tell it like it is, that we show ourselves as we really are. But the truth is that we spend an awful lot of time "keeping up appearances".

All too often we want to hide the fact that we're feeling embarrassed, or terrified, or guilty, or envious. We want to cover up that colossal mistake, that mounting debt, that weird obsession.

There are things we just can't bring ourselves to divulge, for fear of other people's reactions. So we keep shtum and pretend everything's normal and plain-sailing, nothing untoward could possibly be happening.

Many's the time I've hidden my fright over a work interview, a social event, an expensive repair job, or some situation where I feel hopelessly out of my depth. I conjure up what I assume is a calm, competent exterior, one that says "I'm totally in control, I can handle this effortlessly" and hope the inner terror is safely out of view.

I conceal those dodgy activities that others might find reprehensible or mystifying. Why reveal that wasted £500, that fetish for high heels or those deranged emails if they're only going to ruin someone's good opinion of me? I'll sweep them hastily under the carpet and leave my warmly appealing persona intact.

It's hard to explain why I so often feel the urge to keep up appearances when I know very well that most people will probably be sympathetic. After all, they may be just as terrified and gaffe-prone as me, so how censorious can they be?

Unfortunately there are always some who despite their own fallibilities still take a delight in crowing over other people's. They're the ones I'm nervous about. If there's any prospect of crowing, I'd rather play safe.

Much as I'd love to be totally open, I can't quite manage it. The fact is, some parts of me just aren't flattering enough.

Behind the gates

I don't see the attraction of a so-called gated community. Why would anyone want to live behind high-security walls and barriers where just getting in and out is like being at Fort Knox? What are they so afraid of?

There's a huge block of apartments going up just a few streets away, which are being sold on the basis that the security measures are so elaborate you need never worry about crime.

But the local streets are perfectly safe anyway. The chances of anyone nicking anything are practically zero. You could leave the telly in the middle of the road and it would still be there three hours later.

It's sad that some people have such an exaggerated fear of crime they're convinced their homes will be stripped bare unless they're protected by every security device known to man.

I'd hate living like that. I want to just walk in and out of my house without a fuss. I wouldn't want to run a gauntlet of security guards, padlocks and access codes every time I popped out for a newspaper or a pound of tomatoes. It may be necessary for a gawped-at celebrity, but is your average homeowner really that vulnerable?

How easily fear turns into raging paranoia. And how cleverly the idea of gated communities trades on it.
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Work shock: Once again I'm a victim of the mania for job restructuring. It looks as if I might soon be out of work and back on the jobhunting treadmill. Watch this space....
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Blog shock: Good grief, I'm on the shortlist for Best Newcomer in the Irish Blog Awards. Some mistake surely? The bribe must have been far too generous....