“I think I have a phobia, but I don’t know what it’s called.” said Fat Jim as we sat in the pub awaiting the arrival of some other people.

“What of?” I asked, glancing longingly at the front door of the pub.

“Being stabbed.”

“That’s not a phobia you fuckwit. Phobias are irrational fears, you only have a phobia if you are scared of something for which there is no reasonable reason to be fearful. It’s perfectly normal to be scared of being stabbed to death, millions of years of evolution have made you that way. I’m scared of being stabbed to death.”

“So there’s no such thing as stabophobia?”

“No.”

“What if I was scared of being stabbed…by a spider. At the top of a tall building. Whilst surrounded by snakes.”

“Then that’s a perfectly normal phobia.”

“Thank God. I thought I was going mad for a minute.”

“Shut up and get the beers in.”

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