Mrs Black is Back

You remember the resident Much Malarkey Manor ghost? The deceased mother of the previous incumbent, who objects to any house alterations we do, because she hasn't got over the fact we now own this place and she doesn't?

Well, she's been very quiet of late, especially given Dave the Plumber has revamped the bathroom and it is now all shining and gleaming like a posh hotel-type bathroom.

Until yesterday. Yesterday we had to call out the electrician because the bathroom light suddenly stopped working. The electrician came out, changed it, it worked fine.

And then the bathroom door inexplicably LOCKED itself from the inside! We thought someone was inside the bathroom, until we counted ourselves and discovered that we were all outside the bathroom. Andy had to get his tool box out to take off the handle and unlock the door from the outside.

And then the bathroom window decided it wasn't going to shut. It did, eventually, after a lot of wiggling and jiggling and poking with various DIY implements.

And then this morning I lost my car and house keys! Okay, nothing to do with the bathroom, but once a ghost starts to misbehave, they know no bounds and I think Mrs Black was, by then, intent on trying to scupper our outing to Canterbury, especially as she knew I was looking for a Christmas jumper and a pair of long boots.

We turned the house upside-down looking for the keys. Now, when I arrive home, I do either one of two things with my keys. I deposit them in the mouse bowl by the front door or I deposit them on the sideboard in the kitchen. The first option is when I have only my handbag with me and the second option is when I have shopping with me and am carrying my keys between my teeth.

I checked both my handbags - the big one and the little one. I checked my coat pockets. I checked the kitchen, the hall , the living room and the writing room. I went outside and checked the path and the driveway. No keys.

Andy followed behind me, checking all the places I checked, just in case, like you do.

No keys. I am thinking, there's a burglar waiting for us to go out and when we do he/she/scum will be in the house stealing Christmas presents and using the new toilet with dual action flush. Andy is thinking, they'll turn up somewhere. (The keys, not the burglar.)

Anyway, I found the spare car key and we decided to go to Canterbury. I was fretting quite a lot, and cursing my stupid and forgetful brain. Off we went.

And on the way, I did two things - I prayed to St Anthony to find the lost keys and I stopped for some petrol.

As I was standing in the petrol station waiting to pay for my petrol, I caught myself scanning the floor in case my keys were there. Like they would be, in a place I'd never been to before. And St Anthony kept saying, 'Your keys aren't lost,' and I kept saying, 'Well, where the heck are they then?' and the other people in the queue were slowly backing away.

I paid for the petrol. And, as I put the purse back in the bag, there, in the little side pocket - were my keys!!!!!

How many times had Andy and I checked my bag??

Yet there they were!!

Somewhere in the ether, the ghost of Mrs Black let out an old-lady titter.

I was not amused.