Irrational fears I have had

I hate fish. I mean, I really, really hate fish.
They scare me with their scaly skin and beady wee eyes and feathery fins and they are not my friends.
Now I know that as a child I choked on a fishbone which required a mercy dash to A&E - but I have no conscious memory of that event so I can't really blame it for my phobia. But still, fish freak me out.
There is nothing as guaranteed to make my stomach flip in an act of stomach churning bokingness as a wee sliver of fish skin on a fish supper from the chippy. Except of course one of those dirty big plates of Paella the husband insisted on eating in Spain. Why anyone needs actual shells in their dinner is beyond me.
So today, at work, you can imagine my horror at seeing a story and indeed picture in our system of a 15 stone (FIFTEEN FECKING STONE) halibut caught in Donegal this weekend.
I feel all swoony and weak and yet my eye is drawn to the picture like a moth to a flame.
There is a reason I have a phobia of the sea and refuse to go further than ankle deep into Donegal's fine coastal waters and that is it.
I may need a wee lie down.
(If enough people ask, by the way, I will publish the picture)