I don't believe in ghosts.
Nor ghouls.
Nor any kind of ectoplasmic manifestations.
But I am going to a Hallowe'en party tonight.
And here I am in, I have to say, rather safe yet dramatic garb.
The séance will be held at Henry's draughty castle where table-tapping will be in a struggle with the dark forces of popular music. But youngsters must have their fun too.
I will, no doubt, during the evening, take a peek into the cats' room where I hope to find the two witches familiars in good health. I loathe seeing creatures of any form in distress. A held out hand will be offered as comfort.
Henry's living room is ribbed with beams untimely ripped from a lonely spinster's cottage who joined the heavenly choir many generations ago. And as I drink a toast to the old lady of this parish I will imagine her tutting in the corner...
