Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales
Chris visits a hypnotherapist, with some startling results…
Iwas recently hypnotised, at the request of my wife. This wasn’t part of some clandestine plot by Lorraine, whereby a shady figure in a black cloak and top hat crept up on me in a dark alley, waved his hands across my eyes, told me I was feeling very sleepy, and made me forget where I live (though if it had been, you couldn’t really blame her).
No, the reason for my hypnotism was my irrational attitude towards neighbours … specifically to neighbours who play loud music.
Luckily, our current neighbours don’t do this, but with our move to the Isle of Wight on the cards, Lorraine has become quite keen on me overcoming my psychosis in case we acquire an ever so slightly noisier neighbour.
I don’t use the word “psychosis” lightly here. My behaviour stems from my early 20s, when I spent eight years in a slightly rubbish flat with soundproofing that offered, despite its name, no proofing against sound.
Consequently, other people’s music came from my left side, my right side, above and below. My way of dealing with it was mainly wrapping a pillow round my head. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I think I went slightly insane.
A quarter of a century later, it’s still such an agitation that I get irrationally mad even when I’m on a cat-sitting visit and neighbours play their music just about loud enough for me to hear if I stop breathing and press my ear to the wall.
Luckily, I’ve never gone as far as to complain to somebody else’s neighbours, but it’s not nice for any cat to be fed by Stressed Eric.
So, quite a phobia then – but could hypnotism cure it? I’ve always been a hypnosceptic, but I lay doubtfully on my would-be hypnotist Catherine’s couch. Then I walked down some long steps into a pool of sparkling azure water, walked along the bottom of the pool for a little while, found a shimmering door, which I stepped through into even more beautiful, warm, relaxing water, settled down on a floating bed of giant bubbles and watched the dolphins and pretty fish swimming all around me, one of whom suggested I come back to this place whenever I liked, simply by rubbing my thumb and forefinger together. So, no, hypnotism doesn’t work at all…
After Catherine finally managed to coax me back into reality, she happily announced that she’d never seen anyone more susceptible than me. Why does that not surprise me?
I have little memory of Lorraine picking me up a while later, but on the way home we stopped off at Tesco, where Lorraine tells me I rubbed my fingers together and stood smiling at a can of beans for five minutes.
Also, when she’d initially collected me, I was clutching half a dozen books I’d purchased from Oxfam, none of which I had any interest in whatsoever. I’ve since donated them to Oxfam.
What dark workings are these, Catherine?
One of the pretty fish said I could come back when I liked