It’s going to be ok.

In turbulent times such as these, it is very easy to get caught up in the hysterical media headlines, and rather despondent about the lack of leadership our country continues to suffer.

It can be overwhelming, particularly to people like myself, who possesses a vivid and dramatic brain which likes to default to the panic setting. After spending many hours on Dr. Susan’s Talking Couch, I am getting better at examining the evidence before coming to the conclusion that I am unlikely to die do to silly, catastrophic thoughts.

But none of that logic applied last night.

The night I thought I was going to die.

The house was dark. Mr Woog had retired to bed as his usual pensioner hour while Horatio was on a date. Jack, who is moderately deaf, had his AirPods in and I was as happy as a dog with two dicks on the couch watching recorded episodes of Law and Order SVU.

We are such fun at parties.

Benson and Stabler had just finished off slaying a “perp” when my little dog Isobel Barbara started growling at the couch. The couch that I was laying on. I pressed pause.

I heard something.

A small but most alarming hissing sound.

I had previous experience with a similar situation, and so my logical brain leapt into overdrive. The fucking snake was back.

Do you know when you are little and if you put your feet on the ground near your bed, or your arm dangles down the side, the boogie man would grab you and take you somewhere very unpleasant before eating you? That was me at 9pm last night, but replace bed with couch.

However, I did have my phone with me so I called Mr. Woog in the other room. Due to his nightly red wine and scotch chaser, he was non compus mentus. I couldn’t call Horatio as he wouldn’t answer so I started Whispering Jack. (See what I did there…)

Of course he couldn’t hear me.

I heard the hiss again. FUCK. I thought about calling Mrs. Goodman, who is South African and is not frightened of anything, but thought it may have been pushing the friendship, although having said that she is well experienced in my talent of the over-react.




Then Jack saunted past with his ear buds in. I frantically motioned to him.

whisperes “there is a snake under the couch……”

Approximately forty five minutes later, with the assistance of charade like manoeuvres and a whiteboard, Jack cottoned onto the fact that there was a snake under the couch. He was a very brave lad as he checked under the couch with a torch. Meanwhile, a small dribble of unrine left my person.

Then he stuck his hand under the couch and pulled out Dusty Springfield the Kitten and I breathed out a sigh of pure relief.

Did you know kittens and snakes make the same noise when confronted?

Well, know you do.

Stay calm folks. It is all going to be ok.