Melissa Kite: I can turn a picnic into a panic attack

You know you’re in bad shape when you need to make a list before you go to the GP. Admittedly, the list was on a Post-it note but it was in alphabetical order. Coincidentally, it also worked its way from the top of me, starting with my mouth Abscess, through the Eczema on my hands and then further south to something which landed me with the dilemma of not being able to decide whether to list it by its scientific name, which would begin with H, or in the vernacular, which would be P.

In any case, every section of my anatomy from my face to my feet was afflicted with something gruesome. While I am usually the first to admit that the only thread in my varied illnesses is hypochondria, all the conditions on my Post-it list did have a valid common denominator.

My long-suffering GP surveyed me with her customary look of disgust. Lip curled, like she was looking at a piece of out-of-date bacon, she said, ‘You need to find a way to deal with stress.’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ I said. But this is easier said than done. I manufacture stress. It’s my main output. It’s a natural by-product I have been proudly producing for nearly 42 years. If I had my name above a shop door or on a van my slogan would say ‘Kite Ltd. Trusted purveyors of stress since 1972’.

Give me a picnic in the sunshine and I will turn it, via a process as efficient as photosynthesis, into gut-wrenching anxiety. So when I actually collide with a situation that is genuinely stressful I implode.

To wit: the second-hand car dealership that sold me the Volvo has been shut down. By the police.

Days after I went in to complain that my warranty booklet had no policy documents inside, half a dozen squad cars descended on the place and arrested all ten of the salesmen.