I ain't 'fraid of no ghosts

If there’s something strange in the neighbourhood, who you gonna call*? It’s me and the man on our first ever ghost hunt. It’s our anniversary on Sunday, 12 years of un-weddded bliss, and, not being able to face yet another boring steak dinner in one of the unmemorable pubs or restaurants in our local vicinity thought it was about time we did something a little more exciting. (Don’t get me wrong, a meal out is better than nothing – take note the man - but we hardly live in a gastronomic paradise, unless you count the 27 Chinese or Indian takeaways and a lonely chain Italian restaurant. 12 years is a long time and we are in danger of turning into George and Mildred. And if the secret to a long happy relationship is shared experiences, I want to make sure we have more than a few rubbery steak with crap chips dinners to talk about in our old age).

So I came up with this ghosthunting idea as something that would be more memorable and a bit more exciting. What could be more romantic than wandering around the ruins of a burnt out WW2 hospital at 2am? I have absolutely no idea what to expect. Will there be a Mystery Machine and a dog? The man could just about pass for Fred, but I think as much as I’d like to be Daphne, I’m probably more of a Thelma type.

In all my bravery and excitement at the time of booking it, I’m now actually quite scared. Ghosts have never bothered me, I grew up in a really old house which I believe was rammed full of spirits, but never felt in any danger from any of them. There was a fierce old man spirit, who wasn’t very nice, but there were a couple of lovely lady spirits and lots of children who made me feel safe. I loved that feeling of there being something “there” when I was home alone; it made me feel less lonely. I’m sure a scientist or psychologist would find ways of completely rubbishing what I think I’ve seen, heard and felt but there was a time that scientists believed the earth was flat and despite their know all beliefs, they still can’t explain how a bumble bee actually flies, so I don’t think ‘they’ know as much as they think they do.

I think it’s hard to say for definite whether or not you believe in something like ghosts, because the term ghost is very hard to define. What is a ghost, is it an imprint of time? Maybe our energy creates a kind of photograph of ourselves that is only visible at certain times. Life after death? If everyone who ever died automatically became a ghost we wouldn’t be able to move for spirits, it’s hard enough getting a seat on a train as it is. Maybe it’s people between worlds, either because they have unfinished business in this one or can’t bear to leave it? Either way I can’t say I believe in ghosts because I don’t actually know what one is.

In some ways I like that there is no definitive answer, the romance and mystery of not knowing. We know too much these days, so much can be explained away by science. There is fun in the fact that science is yet to find an answer. This is unfamiliar territory for me, someone who likes to know everything.

The man was away last night and I hate being in our house alone. It just feels empty to me. I have never felt anything here at all, and I usually get quite a strong sense of a place the moment I move in. But we have lived here for a year and so far, nothing. I was talking to a friend about it recently and she said she thinks she is less sensitive to spirits since having kids. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe our new house is full of spirits but I just don’t feel them because I’m concentrating on keeping children from eating entire jars of Marmite with a spoon.

There are lots of reports that say ghosts don’t actually exist, it’s all in the mind. If you’re in a spooky place, with a spooky atmosphere and want to see something, you will. Well I was trying to feel something last night, willing a chair to move a little, or to get a funny smell or a cold draft, just so I knew I wasn’t alone. But despite our creaky old house, full of cobwebs and a mystery past, I felt nothing at all.

Either way I’m looking forward to our ghosthunt with a mixture of trepidation, excitement and total terror. On the one hand I hope we experience lots of ghostly phenomena, but on the other I kind of hope we find nothing so I don’t embarrass myself by being terrified. Think I’ll take the Rescue Remedy just in case.

*Ray Parker Jnr. (1984). Ghostbusters Theme

Toppers, Samers, Downers... and Oversharers

Just dropped son number one off for his first morning at big school, which means he is now part of the big wide world and will finally be exposed to playground politics. Social politics don’t change as we get older, comments may get a bit more sophisticated (“you smell like poopies” to “new perfume? Lovely”) but the rules are more or less the same.

Thanks to the plethora of random TV channels offered to me by my V+ box I have access to an ever increasing selection of American talk shows (much to the mans dismay, he’s always complaining that I use up all our space with my “tat” and there isn’t enough space for his UFC). Recently on “The Talk” (Darlene from Roseanne, Sharon Osbourne, and a couple of American sitcom actresses sitting around discussing their home lives. More fascinating that you’d think - did you know Sharon and Ozzy are at it 5 times a week?) they brought up the theory of Toppers, Samers and Downers.

The idea is that everyone is either a topper (someone who always has to one up the other person), a samer (someone who agrees wholeheartedly with everything you say) or a downer (someone who points out the negative). I’m not sure whether or not it’s actually that simple, people rarely fit into such neat boxes, but it’s quite interesting to try and spot toppers, samers and downers.

As one whose finger is always firmly on the pulse of social etiquette (ha)I would like to add a category, if I may. Oversharers. I was born an oversharer but over the years have managed to carefully cultivate a pretty solid tact mechanism, with one exception. As soon as I get some wine into me (truth juice) I’m right back there making people squirm in their seats with inappropriate stories.

If I’m with BFF or the man there is no such thing as oversharing, we are all samers. We tell each other everything anyway, and a big part of any close relationship is knowing everything about one another, when you give so much of yourself to someone it can’t help but strengthen bonds. But often when I don’t know someone so well, or am feeling uncomfortable, or there is a gap in the conversation, I’m likely to come out with a detailed birth story or two (or worse). It’s not just about trying to make myself feel more comfortable but also others, although it usually does the opposite. I’m, somewhat naively, trying to create that closeness that I have with people who know everything about me. If you know someone really well it’s hard to be uncomfortable around them. But oversharing in the presence of stubborn undersharers can make us overs fell quite ungainly and inelegant.

I could name at least one topper, samer, oversharer and downer in my life (but I won’t, that would be oversharing), and I personally have gone through phases of each. When wine is not involved I’m a pretty consistent samer, I like to think I’m the same as everyone else and I’m not very competitive. Being a samer also increases social bonds, it’s nice when everyone feels like they are going through the same thing. There’s nothing like being able to say to someone “I’ve had the hardest day” and them genuinely knowing what you’re on about. We all like to feel like we’re in the same boat.

But it depends on who I’m in conversation with. If I’m talking to a blatant topper I can easily slip into topping ways myself, there are some people that can make even the least competitive person feel a bit ruthless.

Within the mummy circle the subject of sleep is a constant source of topping. “Aloysius had me up five times last night, I had to have an espresso this morning” “That’s nothing, I haven’t slept for two weeks AND I’m allergic to caffeine, I’m running on pure adrenalin” There’s something about motherhood that makes people competitive. From the “my labour lasted 106 hours” or, on the flip side “I was only in labour for 15minutes AND I had a fourth degree tear” (lots of oversharing toppers when it comes to birth stories), it’s no wonder that kids arrive in the school playground and start trying to top each other (my dad is bigger than your dad). They have watched their mums do it from birth.

I fully expect son number one to be a topper, I think it’s normal at his age. Although having had such an uncompetitive mum he might have some ground to make up.

Do you think that people fit neatly into one of each category? Which one are you?