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If Julian would put down that spatula
And stop trying to pretend he's a cook
We'd all be set free
To eat KFC
Instead of some overcooked duck!
OK, relax! I'm not going to inflict a heap of limericks on you today, but the following is another series of true episodes
from my life, albeit rather unusual ones.
You see, I have a bit of a puzzle going at the moment. I noticed a gleam coming from my doona cover as I pulled back
the curtains after getting dressed this morning, and on investigation I found a shiny 10c coin on my bed. I know it didn't
fall out of a pocket, because I don't have clothes with pockets, something that I've complained about whenever some well meaning
cop advises people to keep their money, keys and cards in pockets rather than in a handbag in the event of a mugging.
There's no logical explanation for how the coin could have got there, as I don't take my handbag into the bedroom at night,
and I know it wasn't there when I made the bed yesterday morning. So how did it get there? The cats bring in leaves and
twigs, not to mention mice, cockroaches and lizards, but a 10c coin is beyond their abilities. Did it teleport itself, or
is there a more sinister explanation?
Which takes me back to about 3 months ago. I found an earring on the floor just outside my kitchen. It was one of mine,
a spare with no partner, and it had been in my jewellery box which is kept in my bedroom waiting for its partner to turn up.
No, I checked the box and it was NOT the lost one, but the one that had been kept in the bottom compartment of the box where
I keep my odds and sods. I have no idea how it got out of the box and onto the floor in another room.
As you know, there are only me and my cats here, and the place doesn't feel haunted, but something strange is going on.
I've put the coin on my desk in case it decides to levitate, teleport or transmogrify! Seriously though, this isn't a joke,
and though I'm not worried yet, I'm very puzzled. So, any theories yet, anybody?
It's not the first time strange things have happened to me. A couple of years ago a file full of my stories disappeared
into thin air, never to surface again. Over the years, two letters have separately disappeared from my filing cabinet, which
is so meticulously organised that I even know which folder they were in.
Before I even moved into this house from a Coolbellup flat, I had a couple of run-ins (or is that runs-in?) with a wardrobe,
which swallowed a silver necklace and a plastic bag full of my son's er... stash, as he likes to call it! I laughingly suggested
that maybe my wardrobe could be haunted, but now I wonder. Perhaps I do have a ghost, haunting, not a house, but me! Randall
and Hopkirk, eat your hearts out.
He's not very obtrusive, making rare random appearances, and always removing or leaving things whose whereabouts are beyond
any doubt, but it's beginning to put the wind up me. (Where the hell did that saying originate?)
Anyway, in honour of this week's homework, I have decided to christen him Julian. Why not? My eldest daughter Rose once
shared a flat with a ghost whom she named George, who mostly let himself in to use the toilet. She never saw him, but plainly
heard him open the front door (which physically stayed shut), walk through to the hallway, open the toilet door, do his business
then flush the toilet before making his way back out of the flat. Apparently he wasn't a very hygienic ghost, as she never
mentioned that she heard him washing his hands, though she did once hear him snoring from the spare bed.
OK, Julian, my toilet is out of bounds, and I'm giving you fair warning. Pack it in before I get in an expert to do an
exorcism on you. At least let me know what you've done with my possessions. Anyway, you may be having fun, but you're not
half as entertaining as Nearly Headless Nick from the world of Harry Potter!
© Sandy Parkinson May 2007. Word count 734
Chapter 2
As some of you are aware, I've been having a lot of trouble this past week or so with emails, being incommunicado for
days at a time. The young man from Tadaust told me that my inbox was full at the server's end, which is why I couldn't receive
any emails. He spoke of several very large emails having been sent from my account at Yahoo into my Tadaust address, which
blocked my inbox completely. He dumped them all for me, so my emails are now back in business, then said that it was extremely
unlikely that such large emails could have been sent via dial-up, so I have come to the conclusion that I have a hacker loose
in my Yahoo account. This has been driving me up the wall, and I've been very stressed out for days.
I'd appreciate a shoulder to cry on, but my cats hate being held, so I had to make do with a cup of coffee instead, plus
a chocolate croissant, a definite no-no, but I needed it like an alcoholic needs his next shot of whisky!
Now, I know you're going to think I've made this up, or am imagining things, but Julian's been at it again today. When
I left the house this morning to go shopping, I took my keys and sunglasses from the key rack inside my front door. When
I got home an hour or so later, I found a sprig of plastic holly (a Christmas decoration) balanced on the rack. It should
have been in the outside shed, packed away with the rest of the Christmas decorations. Now I KNOW I didn't put it there,
and neither did my cats, and I'd have noticed it immediately if it had been there before, as I would have had to move it out
of the way to get to my sunglasses.
There is absolutely no way possible it could have got up there, so I think it was maybe Julian's way of cheering me up,
a ghostly equivalent of a bunch of flowers. He accidentally did me another favour too, 'cos I hadn't had any ideas on what
to write for homework, due tomorrow, but now I'll add this to my previous article and read that out for the group.
Maybe I'm under the Spanish curse: May you live in interesting times! One thing's for sure, I'm never bored.
Sandy Parkinson, June 2007. New word count: 401. Total 1135.
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