Granny Tells It As It Is – Ghost Walks

Listen to Granny because Granny always knows best!

Yesterday I got invited on a ‘ghost walk’ around town. For a moment I was gobsmacked sufficiently to be unable to refuse, but I recovered quickly enough so that when the heavily moustached female licked her biro and brightly enquired how many tickets she should put me down for I replied ‘none’ and closed the front door. But not before Gyp piddled on her Ugg boots.
Back in the sanctuary of our own fireside, I turned to Gyp and sighed.
“What in the name of freaking nonsense was all that about?”
He raised a ginger eyebrow but forbore comment – which is unsurprising as he is a dog, albeit one of dubious parentage – and returned his attention to an itchy spot to the left of his scrotum.
I found myself, not for the first time, questioning the grip on reality of many of my fellow humans.
The merry sound of ‘Born to Be Wild’ played off key broke into my reverie and I picked up the phone. Having ascertained it was my chum, Beryl, I answered the bloody thing.
“Have you,” she asked without the usual preamble of greeting, “yet been visited by a moustache wearing very ugly boots? I thought you might have because the left boot looked as if a dog had pissed on it.”
“I have,” I said guardedly. “The boot decoration may even have been Gyp’s contribution to the conversation.”
I spoke with more care than usual, as Beryl has been known to dabble in the murky waters of weej and amateur witchery – but I need not have worried.
“Ghost walk,” she snorted. “Tomorrow night. When the weatherman promises gales, heavy rain and a maximum temperature of seven degrees. In what alternative universe is that happening?”
“Not mine. Or yours by the sound of you. Even with the lure of the supernatural.”
She snorted out a laugh. “I would think the supernatural might have sense enough to stay indoors on a filthy night like it promises to be. And anyway I’m off the spiritual stuff. It’s becoming a bore. I’m thinking of joining the folk club. Why don’t we…”
The words ‘folk club’ and ‘we’ in the same sentence were enough to have me put an abrupt end to the phone call.
Me and Gyp turned off the bloody phone and went to the chip shop for supper.