101

Orwell’s novel about a future that might just never have happened has given birth to numerous phases now integrated into the lexicon. This being the 101st edition of David Marston Writes it seemed like an apt time to consider the most terrible room deep within the Ministry of Love.

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a list of all my pet peeves a la the possibly popular (or possibly not even still in existence) light-hearted BBC show of the same name. I mean, that would be a far too exhaustive task to undertake for a single column, after all in the past week I’ve felt irate at:

People who bellow into mobile phones on packed commuter trains recounting their recent sexual exploits; People who refuse to use the overhead rails on the previously mentioned packed commuter trains thus blocking the corridors and preventing the optimum number of commuters getting home at a reasonable hour (“But it’s dangerous,” he whined like a six year old girl); The chief executive of Ryan Air – that man makes me want to buy a rifle; Overpriced tea in university cafes – you do know that it is predominately hot water, don’t you?; The bastards who crashed into my car and ran away; Inexplicably successful and popular appallingly bad writers; Banks; Utility companies. All of them; The next person who suggests that I write a children’s book (“It’d be so easy and they sell stacks. You could draw the pictures too.” No, I couldn’t, even if I had the remotest ounce of interest, anything I try to draw looks like a line illustration of a cube being broadcast live from Mars and the reception’s gone a bit wonky.); The Daily Mail; The Daily Mail; And, again, the Daily Mail. (I once, actually, had the pleasure of wiping my bum on a copy of the Daily Mail. I must remember to tell you about it some time); News items that are really adverts for other TV shows; The fact that I occasionally really fancying a pint of cider; Microsoft; Any form of public seating on trains, planes, buses, in theatres that don’t have sufficient leg room and leaves me with cramp inside of eight minutes. (Come on, I’m not that tall.); My broken bladder; My own lack of focus; The fact that seem to either get irritated by inanimate things and equally people who should be forcibly made inanimate far too easily.

No, we’re not going to do that, because that’s not is kept in Room 101. No, instead Room 101 contains our greatest fears. Big Brother knows so much about the inhabitants of Orwell’s novel that even the deepest, nastiest, most disturbing fear is known in advance of them being incarcerated.

It isn’t about what you hate, but what you’re afraid of.

I’ve been researching phobias and fears recently for a piece I’m writing. It seems to be possible to be afraid of pretty much anything and to give it a label.

How easy would it be (and yes, I am writing the first draft of this at ten o’clock on Tuesday night, so indeedy, a blog that’s essentially two lists is a cop out, but it’s one that I’m going to take) for the ministers of 1984 to ensure compliance if they only had to subject those who veered from the party line to some of the following:

Ophidiophobia – fear of snakes: pretty straightforward, I definitely suffer from this one myself. Vile, vile creatures.

Claustrophobia – fear of enclosed spaces. Again pretty standard, but then I discovered:

Telephonaphobia – yup, fear of telephones, manifesting itself either as refusing to use one, or being frightened when one rings, apparently it comes either from a fear of claustrophobic telephone boxes or an expectation of bad news.

Peniaphobia – the fear of poverty.

Eremikophobia – the fear of sand. Sand! Who’s frightened of sand?

Tachnophobia – the fear of speed, of moving a high velocity without any control over it.

Motorphobia – the fear of cars (or possibly or mechanised vehicles), I swear I’m not making this up.

Sociophobia – the fear of social rejection.

Autophoba – the fear of being alone, of being lonely – or even, it can be used to mean, a fear of oneself. Being terrified of yourself. Now, that’s really going to make life in general difficult.

Aerophobia – no, not the fear of planes or airports (what I was actually looking for), but the fear of swallowing air. So the fear of living, basically.

Atomosphobia – the fear of atomic explosion. I think we’re all on side with this one.

Geniophobia – the fear of, wait for it, chins! Yes, people are afraid of other people’s (and possibly their own) chin.

Kakorrhaphiophobia – the fear of defeat, fairly standard, but what a great word. Look at it. It’s like a barrage of teeth snapping just written down. Almost as good as...

Athazagoraphobia – the fear of being ignored.

What I really wanted, but couldn’t find any existence of is a fear of liars or of lying. Which in itself is odd. I would have thought being afraid of people telling you untruths, of having to put your faith in information that was just invented on a whim by someone with a malevolent sense of humour would be quite a common phobia.

Unless the internet’s lying to me, of course.