Tales of the unexpected | 15 May 2010

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. There are lots of people out there like me and they’re the reason Liverpudlian Joe Power is able to earn a living. Power sees dead people and for a small consideration of £40 (for a private consultation) or a tenner a head for one of his hotel events will communicate their messages from beyond the grave to their loved ones.

Being dead is great, apparently. Not one of the dearly departed consulted by Power has ever been heard to scream, ‘Aiiiieeee! They’re spooling my entrails on a wheel, while tiny devils jab my eyeballs with pitchforks of fiery acid!’ or ‘I am soooo lonely and saaaad.