Tag Archive: Ghosts

Gone to the dogs.

Last Saturday, I had a night where I did something for me and nobody else. Yes, don’t faint. I went to the dog racing.

Never been before and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Well, I would have if I’d have done better, but you know my luck.

Let’s begin, shall we. You have fourteen races and I chose my winner for each. Should be simple, but after five races my track record was … Last, last, last, last and disqualified.

Now how, you may ask, can a bloody greyhound get disqualified? Easy, if it’s mine, and especially if despite being in the lead, my dog decides to pick a fight with the one in second place as the race approaches its conclusion.

Still, it was a good night and here is a shot of the action.

Sept 15 - Dog Racing

You can’t see anything? But what do you expect, it’s a greyhound race. They’re quick. Well, apart from my dogs who went by the name of Pedigree Chum. It did get better, I’m thankful to say. Let’s face it, it had to. By the end of the night and despite having another two lasts, I did achieve a winner and five second places.

Coming in second. Story of my life.

Prince Charming.

Sept 15 - Prince Charming Adam Ant

No, not Adam Ant, I actually like him. The poncy prince I’m referring to is the current hundredth or so in line to the throne.

Sept 15 - Prince Andrew

Prince Andrew was strolling around Buckingham Palace recently when he was pounced on by security who through he was an intruder. Instead of complying with officers doing their job, the prince uttered the classic, “Don’t you know who I am?”

No, Andrew, or they wouldn’t have bloody held you at gunpoint.

Apparently he gave the officers a right dressing down and is now grateful for having received an apology. What he should be grateful for is having trained staff on the ball in pinpointing a total stranger. Come on, since when has Andrew done anything remotely connected with royalty and no, A Royal It’s a Knockout, doesn’t count.

He spends so much time jetting about from one golf tournament to the next, it’s no wonder the guards didn’t recognise him. They probably forgot what he looked like.

Next time, Andrew should remember some people do a difficult job rather than acting like a pompous prick.

South Staffordshire Water … torture.

It’s always a nightmare trying to collect my from school. The place is situated in a narrow road and due to the nature of the school, dozens of coaches and taxis arrive twice a day to drop off and collect the kids. Therefore, with six weeks holiday recently, you’d have thought that the ideal time to conduct any roadworks.

Not so, South Staffs Water.

Sept 15 - Odell Road Walsall South Staffs Water © David Britt

There we have it, how to make an already difficult problem ten times worse. So, South Staffs … ten out of ten for making improvements, but minus two thousand for planning.

Deck the halls.

Oh no. No, no, no no, no!

I saw this the other day.

Sept 15 - Christmas Treats on sale in September © Antony N Britt

It’s September, for Christ’s sake, and the Co-op have selection boxes and other Christmas goodies on the shelves.

I wouldn’t mind, but they’ll have gone off by December.

Things that go bump.

Went on a ghost hunt on Friday at Warwick Castle. I’d not been on one this year and thought, if I’m going to an event this year, do a big one.

It was good. We had moving objects, voices and all sorts. Although I was disturbed by one criticism of myself. I’m probably not the only person who could flirt with a ghost, thank you. I bet there are many more. Look, it’s not exactly necrophilia, I just like to get into the spirit.

Sept 15 - Winston Churchill at Warwick Castle © Antony N Britt

Still, I said hello to a few famous faces but can’t explain the dark shadow to the left of Winston Churchill’s shoulder. And no, it’s not my thumb, unless parts of my body have become transparent and not only that, the shadow was on the next photo taken from a totally different angle.

Love these ghost hunts, though going to bed at 5am is pretty rough for me these days.

Sept 15 - Wrappers in a cup © Antony N Britt

Above is also from the ghost night and my pathetic attempt to hide the fact I ate all the chocolate biscuits.

I could get used to this life of leisure activities.

Two weeks running. First the dogs, now ghosts and I have to admit to really enjoying ghost nights, especially when volunteering to sit in cupboards. There’s no spiritual or investigative reason for doing so. I just like sitting in cupboards.



Things that go bump.

You may recall me ending last week’s roast with the news that I was about to partake in an all-night ghost hunt. It was good but for me, the only thing that went bump was my head when I hit it on a low beam in the cellar.

I shall remain a believing sceptic, or a sceptical believer, whatever sounds more apt. Let’s say that over the years, so much weird stuff has happened to me, I have to remain open to the possibility of ghosts, or accept the prospect that it’s all simply a product of my deranged mind.

On the night, apart from a couple of knocks on the table, nothing major happened that I couldn’t find an explanation for, though I did take this picture in the granary loft.

What do you think; definitive proof?

So I wasn’t scared, even when asked to go and sit in dark cupboards – I was game. Twice, I did it. No reason for wanting to prove or disprove the existence of ghosts. I just like sitting in cupboards.

I shan’t mock any more. It’s just a bit of fun and I do remain keen to try again. In fact, I’m off to another on Friday, so who knows?

Having said all of that, the scariest thing that happened to me all night was an encounter with the worst toilets I’ve spent a penny in, all year. Yew! Ghosts – no problem, but that … I won’t even post a photograph they were so disgusting. Well, I didn’t actually take a photograph. You see, with a queue of nice looking ladies waiting outside, having my flash go off from behind the closed toilet cubicle is not a look I’m keen to promote.


Poor old football fan. Dennis Swift found himself in hot water when police arrived on his doorstep to warn him off for writing … poetry.

Apparently, Dennis had not been too kind in his verse about his beloved Bolton Wanderers. The club took exception and complained to the police, hence the dawn raid.

‘Don’t go writing any more,’ one of the cops blasted.

Oh, give me strength. Have they nothing better to do? Talk about soft targets and what about the club; how petty are they? Every week on the terraces, 30,000 fans scream, ‘You’re a fucking wanker,’ at the manager when the team lose and nothing can be done yet one man writes a sonnet, and the swat team are banging on his door.

This soccer club doth protest too much.

Shame on you, Bolton Wanderers, and shame on the local police for following through.

And talking of bad cops …

PC Simon Harwood may not be guilty in the eyes of the law over committing manslaughter but one thing doesn’t alter. He is a violent thug who should never have been allowed to continue in the force.

Cowardly, Harwood, during the G20 protests, decided enough was enough but rather than vent his anger at those causing the trouble, had a go at a middle aged man on his way home. Minutes after being pushed to the ground from behind by Harwood, Ian Tomlinson was dead.

So Harwood had been subjected to a bad day. Been taunted. Was that any reason to take out his anger issues on an innocent passer by? I worked for years within the police alongside hundreds of good, honest officers. This incident is an insult to their excellent work. The fault here, lies with the tosspot chiefs who sit on their backsides and couldn’t spot a wrong-un if one thumped them, which sounds likely in the case of Harwood, now having heard the long list of previous disciplinary accusations against him. The Met, however. conveniently managed to keep these incidents from the public domain, having not acted when they arose over the years.

Outside the court, Harwood’s wife expressed relief after enduring three years of hell. What about the hell suffered by the family of Ian Tomlinson? Tell them that justice has been done.

You chiefs at the Met. You have blood on your hands.

And to celebrate his 94th birthday …

Nelson Mandela turns into a chameleon.

Barclays boob again?

After the scandal of rate-rigging, fat-cat bonuses and the like, beleaguered bank, Barclays were in the news again. This time, it was one of their own employees who has been found guilty. Clerk, Rachael Martin stole £40k from the bank in order that she could have a boob job.

Well, it isn’t the first time Barclays or any other of these greedy bankers have swiped money from their customers to fund a load of tits.

May the love of God, picket your funeral and spout hate at grieving families …

Okay, you may have guessed from previous roasts, I’m very anti-religion. However, God has very little to do with the bollocks spewed out by those planks in the Westboro Baptist Church. Come on, I’m all for free speech but this is nothing more than bigoted hate. In the UK, this lot would be arrested., especially if the hate was directed at Bolton Wanderers Football Club in the shape of a poem.

Hiding behind the mask of our fictional hero, God, this load of pond-life have spouted hatred against everything. You name it: Sexuality, the armed forces, Judaism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Islam and just about everybody who isn’t a member of their twisted community. Don’t worry Westbroro. It’s reciprocal. Everybody hates you in return. Says it all – even the Klu Klux Klan distanced themselves from Westboro on the grounds of the religious group being extreme.

The Foo Fighters – Kicking Westboro’s sorry ass in a counter protest last year. Long live Dave Grohl.

Off on the ghost trail, again.

As I mentioned, I’m booked up for another ghost event. I’ll have done it by the next time I’m roasting, so who knows, I may have that proof of life in the world beyond … or not. I am keen though. It’s just an interest and I’m penciling in two more for later in the year. Woodchester Mansion is supposed to be extremely haunted so should be good. Also, Dudley Castle will be really terrifying. Okay, spending a night at Dudley Castle won’t be, but having to travel through Dudley to get there, will.



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