It’s not you, it’s me.
When I was a child, I wasn’t allowed to watch Doctor Who. At the first sound of the ‘dum di dum, dum di dum, woo-hoo’, my mother would dash into the sitting room with a turbo-charged turn of speed, turn the television off, and announce it was time for tea.
I’m glad she did so, because I was (and remain) a sensitive sort of fellow, with an aversion to anything unsettling.
One wintry Sunday afternoon, when I was about three years old, the light was fading, the fire was flickering, and one of the two available television channels was showing a movie called ‘The River Flows East’. I remember a scene where a man was trapped in a cellar as the water was rising; he couldn’t escape. It struck terror into my soul, such that I can recall the moment vividly, over fifty years later. Yes, I’m a sensitive sort of fellow.