IN THE VERY recent past, I found myself in a situation where I felt it was necessary to action some box breathing.

This is a breathwork method designed to calm the nervous system in the midst of high-stress situations. I was sitting in my car, on an otherwise fine morning, my gaze fixed on the singing robin perched on top of a fence across the way, and my heart was beating like the clappers.

I dragged air into my compressed chest cavity for the count of four. Held it for one, two, three, four, then released it slowly for four. On repeat. The robin flew away. I continued to box breathe.

I had not been rear-ended. Nor had I received bad news. I happened to be, against all of my natural instincts, in a messy three-lane ramshackle idea of a queuing system at a local garage before my NCT retest.

The entire place was giving emergency room. But instead of doctors milling about in scrubs, the yard was filled with roaming mechanics wearing high-visibility workwear. Instead of stethoscopes looped around necks, headsets were worn under beanie caps. And rather than medical clipboard charts, there were operatives triaging poorly cars using handheld diagnostic tools.

I would have given anything to have been in a real doctor’s surgery waiting for my own MOT. Anywhere else, rather than there. 

With no discernible way of identifying where the queue began, I fretted that I had taken another customer’s place in the lineup. Some of the cars were occupied, their drivers casually scrolling on their phones, whilst others leaned lightly against the front of their vehicle, looking distracted.

In my rearview mirror,........

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