I awoke this morning from afflicting dreams, knowing that today I would witness a miracle. Enduring some unpleasant spasms in my back, I rose from my bed and crept furtively downstairs, where I fancied I saw a spectre of sorts hovering by the sink. On closer inspection this turned out to be a curtain, but the damage was already done - I spent the rest of the morning in a state of vexation and afright, unable to rouse the confidence to stir.Watched Neighbours at 1.40pm, which cheered me somewhat. For dinner I ate some sage.
Just moments ago the curtain by the sink wavered and seemed imbued with life once more. "Speak phantom," I said, in a tone that I fancied sounded commanding. The phantom took on the weathered form of Bill Owen, who played Compo in Last of the Summer Wine before sadly dying in 2000. He told me that tomorrow my ankle would suffer, then the phantom dissipated.
I look to tomorrow with terror.
1 comment:
I think it is because it is monday. My ghosts only threaten me on monday. The rest of the days they just play texas hold'em.
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