Mysterious Ways

Last night's jaunt to the Spiritualist meeting got off to a less than promising start with Bro trying to wriggle out of it, complaining of mild bronchitis and a grazed knee. The windy bugger! As I had utilised that particular canard myself on several occasions it cut no ice and off we trundled.

I did try to console him with a stop off at the Chinese chippie for a generous haul of nosh to sustain us during Fright Night and that seemed to settle his nerves a bit. We had to play up in order to get served quickly ("or your ceramic cat will never wave its paw again") and even then we were late and had to scuttle into a dimmed auditorium.

An amply proportioned lady had already taken to the stage and for a horrible moment I suspected we had goofed again and were gatecrashing a session of Weight Watchers. However, once she started addressing unseen entities and a cake stand began moving of its own volition I guessed we were in the right place.

Strewth, she really was a porker, but as I'd heard how some of the fraudulent characters attracted to this lark were in the habit of secreting cheesecloth phantoms in their unmentionables I thought she might be carrying excess baggage. I could see the headlines: "Visiting Celebrity Unmasks Wicked False Ghoulie Scam".

Bro was clearly distressed by the proceedings and was dipping his battered sausage in the Special Satay Chow Mein and trying to insert it up his nose. There was an occasional stifled whimper and I am sure I smelled wee. Talk about letting the side down!

At this point a door opened behind Meaty Matron and a ghastly little man entered, announcing himself to be "Harry Price". He seemed solid enough not to be mistaken for an intruder goblin and I began to wonder what the heck was taking place. It was then that a rather emotional gentleman leaped up from his seat in the stalls and cried "Yanto, where are your bloody dentures?"

It transpired that we were in the midst of rehearsals for the St Austell Players' production of "A Pain in the Rectory", a comedy based on the sensational tosh whipped up about Borley, the so-called "Most Haunted House in England".

Seizing the opportunity for self-publicity and to cover my embarrassment, I immediately offered my services in the cause of the performing arts. As a result, a part is being hastily written in for me. They are even prepared to construct a special hydraulic device under the stage's trap door so I will be able to manifest myself in compliance with health and safety regulations!

Funny thing is, as I was rummaging about in the harmonium for my "Ambrose and the Beanstalk" press cuttings, I found the missing ignition keys. They had been in the gauntlet compartment all the time! Truly, strange forces are at work ...