I like to think of myself as a calm, together kinda woman - years of being a journalist (I like to tell myself) hardened me to the little phobias and fears afflicting the everyday person.
I loved heights (soaring over Noosa in a motorised hang-glider taking photos while being held aboard by only a seatbelt worried me none), had faced down crims (being threatened outside a courthouse by a convicted felon as I took his photo barely raised my heart-rate), and adored each and every adrenaline-charged job my sadistic editor could think of to send me on. Fire-walking, mad-cat lady encounters, hideous long-winded political interviews... I even managed to hide my fear of snakes, after encountering a massive albino python while interviewing Steve Irwin at Australia Zoo.
But there was one thing that no-one knew about. A thing guaranteed to send me cowering into the nearest corner, a quivering, quailing mess. And I am going to share that one thing with you here, today, just to get it off my chest. Maybe even somehow come to terms with it. Maybe. Cause I have kids now, and I cannot pass along to them my ridiculous, wussy, lily-livered fear.
(Deep breath) so here it is. I saw one here at Granite Glen just the other day. And I freaked....
Aaaaaarrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I'll get back to you when I can breath again...
BB
