The closest I’ve come to seeing a ghost was a few months ago when we went to stay in a haunted house.
The closest I’ve come to seeing a ghost was a few months ago when we went to stay in a haunted house. We had a deeply uncomfortable night during which it was cold and hard to sleep, and in the small hours my wife was awoken by a mysterious pressure on her chest, almost as if she was suffocating, and which may have been the tortured spirit of whoever it was who had died horribly there or which might have been the heavy quilt. Dunno. Couldn’t say. I’m itching to have a 100 per cent, cast-iron ‘Yes I saw a ghost and it was definitely a ghost’ experience, but this wasn’t it. Otherwise, this intro would have been more exciting.
Why do I so want to see a ghost? Well a) obviously so that I can write about it and tell people about it at dinner and b) because the longer I live under the extended Blair/Brown/Cameron nightmare the more reluctant I am to accept that this life is all there is.
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