Don’t get me started on supermarkets! But tonight I’d left it a bit late to get something for dinner, and the Tesco round the corner is, of course, open until yon time. And so I’m standing in a very slow moving checkout queue, when the dreaded Mr Shitey McWhitey, (aka a panic attack) says ‘hello’. I was overheating, got my hat a and scarf off, sweat’s pouring from me, legs going wobbly… I’m eyeing the door, feeling very claustrophobic. Horrible, horrible… But it passed, thank God.
Why do supermarkets seem to feature in these things? Not just mine, loadsa folks.
I was thinking I’d outmanoeuvred that fecker, McWhitey, but clearly he’s still in the building, if not the room. I’ve to make panic-attack related herbs a priority next spring.
It’s good to have Tony Soprano as a role model for panic-attack suffering forty-something blokes. If a hard case like him gets them, we can all come out of the closet. Yes, I know he’s only a TV character, but all the same…