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Terror in Bedale

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Terror in Bedale…

So last night we decided we would go swimming at the leisure centre in Bedale. We’d go for 8pm as it’s the last hour and the one where it’s adults only and no four-year-olds releasing bladdery-goodness into the water or splashing you in a REALLY FUNNY WAY!

Ahem. Where was I?

Oh yes. So we put all our gear into bags and piled into the car, Mrs M driving and I in the passenger seat, and we set off from the village towards Bedale. Bear in mind here we’re on small country lanes in the dark, ok?

I’m happily chatting away with my beloved, when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A quick roll upwards of the eyeball and sure enough, there’s a spider (spawn of Satan, evil creature, denizen of the pit, eight legged stuff of nightmare) crawling across the sun-blind above me.

Those of you not new here will know that I am arachnophobic on roughly the same scale that Mother Teresa was good and Paris Hilton is horrible. I am prone to EXTREME panic attacks when I encounter them. And here I am at 30 miles per hour, in the dark, strapped into a seat with one eight inches from me head, right above me and… it’s not even a small one. I wouldn’t say it could beat a grizzly bear in a straight fight, but this was no tiny thing either. I feel several heartbeats missed, and then my old ticker tries to catch up by doing the samba. I screamed ‘STOP THE CAR, STOP THE CAR, STOP THE CAR!’ repeatedly in a girly voice while flailing like a Thunderbird puppet with broken strings. As Mrs M pulled over in a panic, wondering what was happening, I reached for the door handle and pulled. NOTHING HAPPENED. No door opened. There was no click and I was still strapped in beneath a spider in a car that was not going to let me escape. I felt along beneath the window for the lock and IT WASN’T THERE! I don’t mind telling you that as I wrenched at the door handle, almost pulling it off, I almost cried, I almost peed, I almost died. In the end it turned out that in my panic, I’d locked the car while flailing at the handle. We’ve only had this car a few weeks. This was only the third time I’d been in it, and I didn’t realise that the lock was a little button on the handle.

I think you can imagine how that felt. Strapped in a seat beneath your worst fear, unable to get away and suddenly the whole car’s locked and the lock seems to have vanished! Oh boy. I’ve never been so close to a heart attack. Once Mrs M figured out what I’d done, I opened the door, unbuckled myself and ran out on to the verge. Because I couldn’t spend the night standing in a lane in the middle of nowhere, I had to get back in. Mrs M checked the passenger side thoroughly and found nothing. I climbed into the back seat and spent the rest of the journey rigid and with my gaze fixed on the roof in front of me, just waiting for it to come after me again. By this time I was seriously starting to wonder whether I’d imagined it.

So that’s the story of my near heart attack. Oh no… wait. That’s not it.

My near heart attack happened when we finished swimming, got dressed, left the leisure centre, got into the car and started it up. I looked up and…

The nightmare began all over again! There it was, gradually lowering itself down an evil slimy cord towards me. I may have screamed and I may have broken wind in my panic. I managed not to lock myself in this time and opened the door, unbuckled myself and ran for the safety of outside. While standing many feet from the car I watched Mrs M checking the passenger side again. Still nothing. I suggest we head to a street light so she can see clearer, as I climb into the rear seat once more.

We drive around the car park and find a space beneath the brightest light. There I once more climb out and watch from a distance. This time, Mrs M shouts ‘I can see it now.’ She makes a paper cone out of some documents she has in the car and uses a piece of card to knock SID THE SPAWN OF SATAN into the cone and throws it out the driver’s door. She explains she has got rid of it and calls me back. I climb in and heave a sigh of relief and we start up and head for blessed home.

So THERE’S the story of my near heart attack. But…. no. Hey wait…

I’m just smiling as SID THE SPAWN OF SATAN runs across the blind once more in front of my nose.

This time I’m hyperventilating, in danger of losing all lower muscle control, gibbering and screaming, shaking and sweating, crying and reaching for the door. Once more I eject and run. I stand, shaking and mumbling, many feet from the car.

Over and over, all I’m saying is:

“Sweet Jesus, f-ing hell, Holy crap… you can’t DO that to me!”

Mrs M is extremely apologetic. She genuinely thought she’d got rid of it, but it must have kept itself attached to the blind with its SATAN-WEB.

I may need to see a therapist before I can ever get in that car again.

THREE times in one night.

Holy crap I never thought swimming was that bad for you.

Anyway, now it’s time to get ready for the weekend and forget about Sid, who is hopefully running around lost and disorientated in Bedale Leisure Centre car park, but is more likely back in the passenger side of our car, hiding and waiting for me to get in again.

Moosey.

Urgh.

Written by SJAT

December 24, 2010 at 11:21 am

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