Carving Chunks Out of Your Psyche

I've just realised it.

Why I've always been afraid of doors which open by themselves, blank televisions, corners, darkness and corridors.


1978.

I could hear a drilling, a powerful electric noise, I ran towards it, pushing the door, or was the door already open, towards the television, a long way away, which was closed, and the noise carried on, I screamed and screamed and no-one picked me up or did they and the noise carried on.


It was "Brill the drill", our next door neighbour in Sutton drilling the hell out of the wall.

Or maybe I am wrong and it is not a memory but a projection, and the door is not opened by me but by someone else, and the corner is powerful and another tv-type screen is blank and someone screams but it's not me but I am there, sort of. The television is very, very important. But it is off. The door opens, by its own accord, or by someone, and there it is, there's the picture.

It's not a memory but a warning, or a prediction.

And people wonder why I find the US version of "The Ring" the most frightening film ever.


Someone drilled a hole into my head without ever knowing me.


And the picture?

I don't want to put you off your tea.