Chapter 24. Anxiety part 4. Cunards Queen Victoria - My Sister is born

Friday 28th November 2025. Sat in bed, laptop on top of duvet. My entire body aches; abs, glutes, lats, quads and calf's, as  I've made it to the gym  three out of four days and on my to-do list today. Each day I vary the exercises, yesterday the spinning bike, only 20 mins, but for the first time in months. No standing and max 88 rpm with load 8 max. Cycling over the summer had inflamed my bursitis -left side, same as hip replacement, it still aches - and paid for a cortisone injection six weeks ago. Meanwhile back to our anxiety story.

Just to remind you I am the anxious, shy Colin (yin) and Lambo (yang) is the Lad from Featherstone better known as bungalow -now’t up top- in his first year at Loughborough, where he has just failed his teaching practice.  I was very uneducated, my obsession with rugby consumed me. Back to Loughborough next week. 

For now, both Colin and Lambo’s  thoughts are centred on anxiety and how it has shaped  life from the age of eight. Here is their first anxiety attack and a really funny one for balance.

January 2009. Boarding Cunards Queen Victoria leaving Southampton for New York

Lambo’s then wife Kerry, drove him to the cruise ship terminal (they  had decided to take time apart) in Southampton and he decided (wrongly) the only way to write this story was to make it part of an adventure. So off we go, all alone, on a big scary ship, intent on starting this book.

Lambo placed his hand luggage on the security scanner. He  started to shake, more on the inside than the outside, he felt hot and flushed, heart rate up to 130, he was fit remember, and he felt dizzy. 'Fuck fuck fuck” he screams inside his head. He walks through the scanner, shoeless and beltless, just as his hand luggage turns left - oh dear wrong way - out of the scanner. He mutteres, 'shit shit shit', again to himself. His knees begin to shake. 

I’ve just remembered this happened once before in Brighton Marina circa 1990, on our boat, when customs came onboard and my lovable brother John (same and only one) bellowed across the dock ‘quick hide the stash customs are here’. Customs proceed (nothing to hide) to take the boat apart and I couldn’t stop shaking despite having nothing to fear. Meanwhile back to Queen Victoria customs check in.

A very stern looking lady asked Lambo to open his bag. He complies  She puts a bit of sticky paper inside the bag, then puls out and hands him a half full  gym water bottle – pulse had just gone to 200 but now eased to 160bpm.  – he smile towards her,  sweat is running down his armpits, his legs feel week, about to hyperventilate when he says, "so sorry about that luv" he unscrews the top - flippy bit no good in a crisis- and downs the lot. He screws the top back on, puts it back in his bag and says, "there you go luv all sorted". She almost smiles and pushes our  bag back to the passenger side. "have a good holiday" she replies to the Lambo's 'Have a nice day'

I collapse on the queen size (two 3ft singles zipped together) bed, starboard side, not POSH,  restricted balcony – bloody big lifeboat – view.  cabin, lie down on the bed and use my panic attack abdominal breathing technique to calm down.  My acupuncturist says rubbing the soles of your feet on the ground whilst sat also stimulates a reduction in anxiety.

Rest of our luggage has yet to arrive so Lambo – already downed the free bottle of shampoo- goes off to explore the ship. That means the gym, and at least two of the bars. I make a cup of decaf tea, eat the complimentary chocolates, and biscuits and think back to my first awareness of anxiety.

July 1959. 17 Alexander Road Featherstone

As I said my first anxiety light bulb moment was age 8.  We lived in a council house in Featherstone West Yorkshire.  A small mining town with a population of 15,000 famous for its Rugby team which had won many honours against the giants of the game.  My father was captain of the team.  This particular evening my dad was out.

I was watching telly with Mick and John, my two younger brothers, in bed asleep.  My mother, heavily pregnant was upstairs in her bedroom.

‘Colin’ she shouted ‘quick get the phone number from the mantelpiece, go next door (we didn't have a phone) and call the midwife.  I am going into labour’. 

Shit I am alive, I felt my heart beating in my chest for the first time ever, my knees felt weak and I couldn't breathe.  I ran, found a scrappy piece of paper and ran next door.  ‘Can I please use your phone my mum is having a baby’   I dialled the number only to get the answer 'Yorkshire Imperial Metals'; my dad’s factory.  'My mum’s having a baby' I screamed. 'Sorry son I can’t help your dads not at work' came back.  Why the neighbours did nothing at this point I do not know to this day.

Panic, back home, my brothers are anxious and mum shouting,  'please help I need the midwife'.  No other number.  The doctors, I know where it is.   I ran half a mile, banged on the door and yelled ‘help my mother is having a baby'. 

A woman came back with me, no car, we ran all the way back.  The woman said 'boil the kettle and wait outside the door'.  I remember thinking this must all be my fault and I’ve just though should 8 year old's really be boiling kettles?  At 10 pm that evening my sister Mandy was born and anxiety had firmly arrived in my life. Even now I can connect with the electric current that ran through my body that night.

Where was I? Oh yes, in my cabin onboard  Queen Victoria starboard side, restricted view balcony, Lambo downing at least four pints. Hey ho, he did stay very calm at a very tricky moment so can be forgiven.

Two weeks before sailing I had sat with sister Mandy  while she had chemotherapy following the spreading of her breast cancer. I telephoned her from the top of the Empire State Building (sleepless in Seatle makes me cry every time I watch it) and wanted to wish her the best. She died in 2011 and the story of my families implosion moved to a new level and still runs today. 

And the point I am making is:

If you are going to take half an ounce of weed away with you, it’s best not left in your hand luggage, no matter how well hidden.

Have a good weekend.

Colin