I have just spent the afternoon at a lovely old house organising the gorgeous collection of books they have. It’s a holiday home so I was on my own and time was not pressing. I had tea and a rather nice lemon drizzle cake to sustain me.
The clock on the mantle ticked softly as I studied the wonderful old works by Peter Scott and the like. I barely registered the door opening and closing until a moment later a chill breeze swept over me. I looked up to see, well, nothing, nothing at all.
I put it down to the lousy weather we had today and bent back to the books. A few minutes later I looked up to take my tea cup. Across the table from me, appearing to sit in one of the chairs was a patch of greyness, indistinct but identifiably of a human shape. As I watched the greyness shimmered and dissolved. I sat, rooted to my chair, for fully five minutes trying to make sense of the encounter. Now, back at the Dower House, comfortable in my own study, I still can think of no rational answer.