Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Friday, August 08, 2008
I’ve spent the last two weeks in a charming cornish farmhouse, miles from anywhere deep in the countryside.
It was a truly rustic building with sloping, creaky floors and doors that were anything but rectangular. Also, being 6 foot meant I’d developed a hunched back and sore head from avoiding all the low ceilings. Not to worry though, I was on holiday and wanted to do nothing – literally.
The bed was cosy, but you know how it is sleeping in a strange environment – it’s never the same as your actual bed and it led to waking up more that I normally do in the course of a usual night. Often in those times of waking I’d hear a few bangs from somewhere within the house. Nothing sinister, probably the dog stirring or someone else banging their head on the toilet door.
I didn’t think much of it until well into the second week when we discovered, and read the visitor book. All fairly normal apart from one entry:
"Lovely holiday though I do feel sorry for my friends staying in room 3. On the Thursday night they awoke to find a blurry figure of a man with a pitchfork opening their wardrobe. He disappeared but not before opening and closing the main door too. This happened again on the Friday – both times at around 3am."
And yes, guess who was sleeping in room 3 this time. So that night I went to bed and low and behold had a less well-settled night. Of course it was utter nonsense, one paragraph in a visitor book but it played at the back of my mind. We hadn’t seen any evidence of a haunting, though there was the occasional banging which could have been anything.
Nothing happened in the remaining nights but it goes to show that suggestion is a powerful thing.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Oh but that building contains memories, those memories are its soul.
Memories of playing in the funhouse aged 8. Memories of riding the dodgems with a hangover after a friends wedding. Memories of running around it like a loon trying to find clues on a charity Jailbreak.
When I saw the news the other week I was devestated for Weston. The effect the destruction of the pier will have on the town is huge - it's the heart and soul of the community.
RIP Grand Pier, I just hope that your future isn't as glum as that of Brighton's East Pier.