Haunting M'Lady.

It occurred to me while walking along Mill Lane and thinking about ghosts tonight that I might one day walk along there as a ghost myself. I’ll be singing the first verse of Raglan Road, no doubt, and somebody will hear me and there will be a piece in the local paper entitled The Singing Ghost of Roston. T’will be me!

And then I thought I might stand – invisible – in one of the fields, calling

‘Saaaraah, Saaaraah, I’m cold Saaaraah. Let me in-a your window, please. It’s cold out here. Let me in.'*

That made me giggle. No worries, Sal. I’m sure that when I’m dead I’ll have so many questions for so many people that I will have neither the time nor the inclination to faff about haunting anybody. I’ll be too busy driving the angels up the wall.

* With apologies more to Kate Bush than Emily Bronte.