The Shared Diary of a Novice Paranormal Investigator, aged 52 and Three Quar

When you believe in things you don’t understand, then you suffer.

(Stevie Wonder)

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamed of in your philosophy.


Ri fol ri fol tol de riddle dee.


The Spirit Fans Strike Again

An hour of grim entertainment, an hour of hanging around, then a short time in which it looked as if something interesting might happen.  It was club night again, but a different club this time.

After delving into its website, I had hoped that this club would be more businesslike.  It seemed to be an older, well-established organisation, and I had read a report of an interesting experiment, in which they had tried to imprint an emotion in a location.  They had gathered together and focussed negative thoughts in one place; then sent another group of people in, to see if the atmosphere affected them.  Fascinating.  Some thought was going in to that club’s activities.

This time, I was pleased to have company.  Eldest Child, between jobs, was once more resident with us, and more than willing to enjoy a diversion.  Even better, she drove.  Few of life’s pleasures can even come close to being driven around by our children.  When they play chauffeur and then go to the bar and bring wine, one’s heart swells with true joys of motherhood.

Entering the club, we were warmly welcomed.  This team appeared to have an efficient radar and communications system: they spotted stray novices and rounded us up immediately.  We were gently shepherded to a table and introduced to our neighbours.  To our left, we had a wonderful pensioner who entertained himself by heckling the presenters.  We shared a table with two students desperate for a crumb of excitement.  From time to time, a team member floated by to check we had not spontaneously combusted.   

This evening was truly dire.  We played a kind of bingo.  Unmoved by the prospect of visitors from beyond the veil, EC was terrified she would win a game and be fussed over in public.  She was right, she did.  Perhaps she is psychic. 

After a few ages of geology had passed, we were subjected to a buffet.   No matter how I felt about the meeting, evidence from the website suggested that members attending investigations got up to quality stuff.  I wanted to join in.  EC and I used the buffet break to make contact with the Bookings Lady, who kindly left off complaining about her divorce just long enough to help us to book ourselves in for some action.  We booked an autumn weekend, so as not to interfere with the coming sitting in wet tents season.

The evening concluded with more fingers on the flaming glass, supervised by a medium, who warned me that an unkind spirit was hovering around because I was ill and therefore the weak link in the chain.  I reassured her I was not at all ill, and she seemed quite disappointed.  I guess the large glass of shiraz provided by EC had interfered with my vibrations (whatever they are); I normally face the paranormals sober.  At any rate, this evening marked a turning point for me; I really do not have to subject myself to the tedium of any more club nights.  I have done my last quiz, rejected my last buffet and I am not even going to think about the bingo.

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