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**Russell Norris spent decades hiding behind closed doors, in toilet cubicles and at the bottom of a bottle. This is a frank, wry memoir of social anxiety, blushing and the long road to being seen.** Norris is outside a meeting room again, listening for voices. The people inside are colleagues he knows. He has seconds to choose: walk in, or slip away. Behind the door waits what he calls the glare of a giant magnifying glass. The heat climbs his neck, his face turns crimson, and no amount of willpower can stop it. This is not ordinary shyness. It is a phobia that reaches job interviews, restaurant bookings, handshakes and phone calls. Norris traces it back to the beginning. A nursery bathroom is invaded by older children. A boy parades in tears at an Easter bonnet competition, wearing a crown made from a cereal box. A starter's pistol cracks across a marble-floored swimming baths. A piano teacher with half a frozen face watches his clammy fingers. Each moment teaches the same lesson: don't be the odd one out. The teenage years bring new hiding places. He sits for an hour in a school toilet cubicle. He walks suburban backstreets while his parents are at work. He takes refuge in the hush of the town library. University adds a bottle of cheap vermouth drunk in a library study booth before every seminar. It also brings a disastrous first night in halls, a solo study tour of Italy that ends with a mugging in Naples, and a slide into depression that Norris describes with unflinching honesty. Adult life brings open-plan offices and a dangerous toolkit of coping tricks. He decants cognac into a plastic bottle for the coach ride to his girlfriend's. He drinks absinthe at 7am to survive a colleague's holiday chat. He stays up all night so exhaustion will dull his nerves. He takes beta blockers for a driving test and an interview, sweats through the handshakes, and tries a chemical antiperspirant that scalds his palms. One colleague's prank HR meeting turns his face to a patchwork of crimson. His manager's cheerful email, praising him for not going red once, shows how little she understood what that morning had cost him. Norris also explains the mechanics. He covers the sympathetic nervous system and the loop in which fearing a blush makes one more likely. He draws on Darwin, Thomas Hardy's mocked Joseph Poorgrass, and the three stages of every social ordeal: stage fright before, peak panic during, dysphoria after. He is blunt about the advice that failed him. Deep breaths and concealer made him look like a badly painted waxwork doll. The book makes no claim to a miracle cure. Avoidance, Norris argues, is the illness of missed opportunities, and he counts what it took from him: the school prefect role he dodged, the graduation photographs he's missing from, the friendships he let lapse. He also finds a blessing inside the curse. A man who couldn't talk in a room learned to say it all on the page, and he became a writer. If you have ever lingered outside a door, rehearsed a sentence a dozen times, or felt your face give you away, you will recognise yourself here. If you haven't, this memoir will show you what that day looks like from the inside. It is raw, funny and very human. Audiobook produced by Lex and narrated by a synthesised voice.

Red Face

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