It wasn't a good moment. I was railing against a number of things that had annoyed me. When I say "rail", I mean, curse, imprecate, damn and calumniate, not to mention waving of the arms.
You don't want to know the cause of my rage, but it was, mostly, a combination of failed garbage disposal, successful dog poo and agonising leg cramp. Anyway, I was waxing exceeding wrath. Believe me, my wrath had rarely been waxier.
And then I thought (out loud): "My god, I am going mad!" No, it wasn't a good moment, because of the implication that I was no longer in control. I would end up like those old boys you see in parks muttering to themselves, drooling spittle on to their cardigans, fiddling with twigs, bumping into things, forgetting to do up their buttons, well, you get the picture.
And then I had an even worse thought:
people would look at me and not notice any difference.
I need to get out of the Fens while there's still time.