Bark at the Loon – Most Haunted and Halloween
November 3, 2009
I saw some of this year’s Most Haunted Live – not much different to previous years! I wrote this in the last days of my involvement with the old MH forum, and stumbling across it tonight I thought it might amuse, even though it is two years out of date now, I still stand by what I said then!
“I watched Most Haunted Live last night, and I found the experience extremely painful, excruciating actually. Now before people tell me to ‘get lost if you don’t like the show, you don’t have to watch’, I’ve actually been involved for quite a while with the whole Most Haunted scene – I worked briefly for HanrahanMedia, and ANTIX as a researcher, have appeared on the show as an “expert”, and then worked on a related contract with the LivingShop people, and have been involved in parapsychology and ghost investigation for twenty years now. Some of the older posters on this forum will know who I am. I’m not a nay sayer – I usually am supportive, and like many of the people involved and regard some as good friends.
This time however I was really depressed by it all. Firstly, there is this whole pentagram business. (Note: they were doing 5 nights, in 5 locations to form a huge pentagram across England) Now I’ll declare my prejudices – an ex-pagan who practiced ritual magick I’ve been a Church of England Christian for over a decade. I’ve already joked about the pentagram thing, but really, while not offended on a religious level, this is just silliness. Inscribe an inverted pentagram all over England and pretend that something bad might happen? Wow! Hammer House of Haunted!
Now look, let’s get this straight. The pentagram has a long history as a symbol, used by occultists, Christians, Jews, ancient cultures – drawn all over their text books by me as a kid – and in itself its a pretty star. With two horns exalted (upside down) it’s generally these days associated with teenage pimply heavy metal occult wannabes, pagans with wonky jewelery, and Satanism. So are Yvette and company actually advocating Satanism? Of course they aren’t – so why indulge in this amateur dramatics black magic crap? Are we going to have virgin sacrifices and inverted crosses next?
Now it’s ‘just entertainment’, I know that and you know that. That’s what hurts though – Karl and Yvette were completely sincere when they started out, and for a while the show was moving towards sound research. It was good TV. Now it has degenerated in to cheap schlock horror occult cliches. Worse than that, it’s become stupid. Why?
Because…
1. if you believe in this stuff, and real evil powers, and after purportedly being attacked by a demon in Edinburgh Vaults they should have every reason to, why on earth would you mess around with these things?
or
2. they don’t believe in any of it, and it’s strictly for colour, in which case why mess around with these things?
Now I don’t actually think that we are all going to be eaten by the Staypuft Marshmallow man on Halloween. If they had real style the last night would be a complete fake, misleading the viewers, a scripted drama a la Orson Welles War of the Worlds, and would apparently end with the casts messy demise and demon’s pouring out of the studio. Be hilarious, would go down in history, and end the show with a bang not a whimper. If you wanna go entertainment, that’s got to be the way to finish your amazingly successful run of series – and MH has been amazingly successful. I’d laugh, the regulators would slap Living’s wrists and for a while we would all be spooked and freaked – but it would be a great end to Most Haunted.
Now all this occult crap – and I’m sorry the line “David went with Karl and Stuart but they failed to use protection” still has tears running in my eyes with laughter, maybe you are all too young to recall the safe sex ads of the 1980’s? – anyway we now have spells. What was Yvette shouting? Malleus Decorum? That’s what it sounded like – Hammer Behaviour? Perhaps she was invoking the spirit of MC Hammer? I’m guessing I misheard and she was shouting Malleus Maleficarium – The Hammer of the Witches, Spengler and Kramer not Kramer versus Kramer, but a 14th century I think manual. “Whatever is done for the security of the state is merciful.” I dunno if a 17th century witch would know the implied threat though? It’s a book title guys, not a spell!
And what was this crap about witch trials often being suppressed, and covered up? I have never heard the claim before. It seemed a bit disingenuous to not mention the lady hanged in the State Records for 1684 and referenced in the episode was in fact hanged in Exeter as well – nowhere near Lancashire. Still that I can put up with. This whole “let’s play at being black magicians” and whitter on about “dark stuff” and ‘the Goat of Mendes’ – and do any of them know the origin of that phrase? (I mean the Egyptian one not Eliphas Levi). That practice would be worth seeing on TV, and definitely be the end of the show!
Now I’ve long pointed out the dangers of inviting spirits if you actually believe in them to use your energy,etc, etc, if you can’t tell what they are. When said spirits start going on about seriously dark stuff, surely the time has come to back out? Yet nope, they charge on, insulting, cajoling and demanding. That says to me you either don’t believe any of it –or are just plain daft. Draw your own conclusions.
So do I think it’s dangerous? Well it’s their souls not mine. A lot of people care passionately about the team, and probably are tearing their hair out in worry. I’m fairly relaxed, but it was not pleasant viewing,and I am nervous for them. I’m figuring at the end of the day its no more “real occult” than an Ozzy Ozbourne concert – one almost expected “Bark at the Moon” to start playing – but I have another reservation.
Ten years ago there were less than fifty ghost groups in the uK. Today there are I think over 600. Most Haunted is remarkably influential. The general public had I thought moved beyond a perception of parapsychology and ghost investigation which had overtones of John Constantine, Hellblazer. I know of six people who really know the occult, and happen to be ghost investigators, and four of them post on this forum – there may be more – and two of them (I’m counting myself) are Anglicans these days. Yet this is in no way representative of psychical research, and all this inverted pentagram silliness might be seen as bringing the whole thing in to utter disrepute.
Oh well – Most Haunted, still a great show I guess, nice people - but dark powers, penatgrams and all this beastliness? Knock it off! It’s not big and it’s not clever. It’s Wayne’s World meets the Exorcist.
Rant over. Normal service can now be resumed.
cj x
15,000 served – if only I owned a burger chain!
October 28, 2009
Well I have finally hit the 15,000th visit to my blog, and things are picking up so fast I’m astounded. Lord Kelvin, Heroquest, Futurism and the discussion about Science and Religion make up most hits, with a few people who know me reading it for the general wittering about my dismal life, parapsychology and I suspect the odd person who is looking for something completely different and gets very disappointed on arriving here!
I have not had much time recently to post, I have been incredibly busy with cats, friends, and psychical research. I did return briefly home to East Anglia to see my parents and have been as usual immersed in working on books, planning events and running roleplaying games – Geist, the New World of Darkness game, Ars Magica, Call of Cthulhu and Unknown Armies if anyone is interested!
My life is changing quite fast at the moment, and despite many set backs and disappointments I feel confident that being forty is not as bad as many folks imagine. I’m actually quite happy, and desperately trying to sort out a postgrad, but as always funding still seems incredibly remote. Still I have found one possibility which excites me, and hey, I’m trying. What is clear to me is that I need money, and fast, and that I am profoundly psychologically ill suited to trying to make money — I simply don’t like charging people, I find it embarrassing, always have. I expect one day I’ll overcome this, which might reflect a deep seated lack of confidence in my own abilities, that what I can offer is actually worth anything, but hell I’ll have to get past it if I am going to have a future. I’m just not sure where my talents if any lay, outside of working in a university.
Well as always with these updates let’s end with a quick look at the latest search terms used by those who find my blog –
“invisible woman loitering” — an all time favourite, I have no idea! Great though!
“norfolk (uk) geology” – er, boulder clay as I recall, over chalk and sandstone outcrops? The Breck, Fens and North Norfolk coast are all fascinating. But why this blog?
“demolition puts nuns on the run” – I’m speechless!
“easter fart” – looking for a South Park episode maybe?
“massage mediums” – there could be a gap in the market. Which is more reputable?
Jokes aside, I think things are going OK. Hopefully I’ll have more time to update the blog soon. Take care everyone, and thanks for reading!
cj x
A Logical Argument for Existence of God(s) or Goddess(es)
October 17, 2009
Had a bad day. today. Dave Sivier came over and we had an enjoyable discussion on increasingly bizarre plans for “better faster cheaper” space exploration – NASA’ s current strategy in case you have not heard the phrase, culminating in a discussion of ideas for building a cheap Brunel-era tech space elevator, and I read some stuff Beast brought over on the development of the mammalian brain, and got very excited about the morphology of Eocene Lemurs. The gas man failed to show, but I slowly went down with a feverish cold and feel rubbish, and not at all with it. Therefore as I feel rough I shall attempt to offer something not too ambitious in the way of posts tonight – my old attempt at a logical proof of the existence of God seems a good start…
OK, it was a couple of years ago, and someone challenged me to prove the existence of God in one post on the Dawkins forum, and silliness ensued. May amuse…
“OK, I shall argue the existence of God from the World of Warcraft.
1. WoW (or any MMORPG) is a simulated world with it’s own programmed physics in which players take part in an immersive mutual reality. If you are not familiar with it the best documentary is South Park’s episode Make Love, not Warcraft (link contains sound and obscene humour) which is on cable most nights this week I think.
2. My proposal, based on Nick Bostrom’s famous paper http://www.simulation-argument.com/simulation.html - the Simulation Hypothesis – is that given predicted exponential growth in computing (assuming we break the supposed Silicon limit) future virtual universes may be indistinguishable from the real thing. See the work of noted theologians Rob Grant & Doug Naylor in their opus Melior Quam Vita, part of their Rutilus Dwarf series of philosophical investigations for an example. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Better_Than_Life
3. Given that our universe is said to appear to be highly “designed”, as in the infamous problem of Fine Tuning, and the collapse of our normal understandings at Quantum levels, I suggest that this may simply be the level of programming code, and that it is extremely likely that we are living in a simulated universe generated by a civilization that has surpassed our own level of advancement. As virtual universes are easier to construct than real universes, we might infer the odds of us existing in a virtual universe are far higher than those of us existing in a real universe.
4. As the response to Fine Tuning usually suggested (including by Professor Dawkins) is multiverse, let us run with this and allow an infinite (or vast as required by Fine Tuning) number of universes. The odds of those universes having produced an advanced civilization which manufactures virtual universes therefore approaches certainty, and as these numbers increase vastly so does the number of virtual universes increase (probably exponentially) as does the likelihood we live in a virtual universe. This argument was amusingly developed by cosmologist Paul Davies. SO Fine Tuning or NO Fine Tuning, the argument holds.
5. The programmer of such a universe is outside time/space, super-natural, can change physical laws at whim, created and can destroy the simulation, and can of course “incarnate” by entering the simulation. Furthermore they can provide virtual afterlife, or switch players from previous simulations, giving reincarnation type effects. In effect with regard to their creation (including us) they are a God. This idea fits perfectly with the model of reality proposed by certain atheistic forms of early Buddhism, or more recently by William James in Human Immortality. If you must you can mention The Matrix, a film I have never actually seen, because my friends try to lynch me whenever it comes on. ![]()
6. Therefore the existence of God(s) is at near certainty! If Christianity’s claim that we are made in the image of God is to be considered, then these deities might be rather worrying though.
Feel free to critique my logic — somehow I doubt anyone is going to convert!
As you may have gathered, I’m not entirely serious, though actually it is rationally coherent and entirely as far as I can work out logical.
I welcome any serious critique, because though I have not, you can seriously argue this! Is it not a rational proof of the existence of Gods?
“
This led to much discussion – but despite the bad humour and tone, I was being serious. I’m not convinced, but once you start to think in these terms it’s much easier to understand how real theology works and why the whole God hypothesis is not as ridiculous as people seem to assume. If you are interested in the cosmology underlying this look for the works of Lord Martin Rees, President of the Royal Society – especially Just Six Numbers – and Professor Paul Davies excellent The Goldilocks Enigma which I had not read at time of writing but which covers all the arguments for Fine Tuning of the universe wonderfully, as well as giving you a whistle stop tour of modern astrophysics. However one night a few weeks ago I was up at 4am or something, and caught What We Still Don’t Know, a documentary series presented by Lord Rees. It was superb – and one episode in particular struck an incredible resonance with me, and might well amuse anyone who has read my argument. Have a look at it, because the exposition of the ideas I’m playing with is a thousand times more beautifully presented here, by people who know what they are talking about. If I have time tomorrow I’ll talk through the critiques of Cosmological Fine Tuning briefly, and discuss why “I still believe in God, even if He no longer believes in me” to slightly misquote Wayne Hussey Here is the episode on YouTube (contains sound and flashing images) – but really, do take the time to watch this…
What We Still Don’t Know -final episode, Lord Rees
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ylxRBESxAlM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1FFs4g9Y10
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1Beve83wmY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9-RSyuw_9E
I’m off back to bed to rest. Night all.
cj x
Stopping smoking again
October 15, 2009
I’m stopping smoking again. This will make me a bit out of it for the next few days, but I doubt I will murder anyone who does not richly deserve it much; I might kill a few innocent bystanders but I will stop short of desecrating their graves, burning down their houses, eating their relatives and singing comic songs on the ruins unless they really annoy me, you know by wearing a loud shirt in a built up area or possession of an offensive wife or similar. (yes I watched Not the Nine o Clock News too much!)
OK, stopping smoking usually makes me a bit depressive/anxious/unpredictable/suicidal/tense/angsty. Housemates often take sudden unplanned holidays when I mention I have stopped smoking, and a few friends do leave town immediately and hide out at relations or in the woods. Yet really I give up fairly quietly, and without fuss, and the only thing that stopping smoking is guaranteed to do is to make me is immensely fat, so I end up looking like a happy pig who has been genetically modified with beachball DNA, before being greased in butter and blown up with one of the air pumps they use to inflate airships. Last time I stopped I put on two stone in a few weeks, making CJ resemble this -
I never bother with the pills/potions/patches approach to stopping smoking – I could not afford to if I wanted to – I just stop. This usually works quite well for me for a good six months of any given year, then something happens and I start again. I have no real problem conquering the addiction (apart from the usual mood swings/self destructive/homicidal impulses and starting screaming for no reason while smashing everything in sight, but aren’t most people like that first thing in the morning?) but then something happens and I get really upset and I start smoking again. At the moment my life is so utterly depressing and stressful it may just be the wrong time to stop, but I really don’t want to buy cigarettes, and can’t afford to if I wanted to anyway, so I guess I’ll just whinge and put up with it.
Worst of all I’m getting my sense of smell back. And I really don’t appreciate that!
Feel the fear and do it anyway – CJ tries a Roller coaster
October 14, 2009
This summer I had a rather unnerving experience, and for some reason I never got round to sharing it on my blog. I refer of course to my adventures with Becky, this time in Alton Towers. No not that sort of adventures! This is a respectable blog, and Becky is a respectable kind of gal!Anyway it might amuse the very bored amongst you.
Our friend Yvette managed to get some free tickets to Alton Towers, but was unable to get time off work, so she offered them to Becky and Becky in turn asked me, so I caught a train to the Frozen North and escaping the sweltering heat of Cheltenham set off for the more clement climes of Derby. OK, so both trains I was on conked out, and th air conditioning failed, so I arrived in Derby hours late, with a rip in the side of my trousers, (notice a recurring theme here?), smelling like a dead dog, and rather tired and stressed.
Becky picked me up form the station, and then she bought me a white t shirt so I would not bake – yes, CJ in white – I know! That’s the end of my goth street cred. Armed with trainers, new socks and an appropriate t shirt I was all set for Alton Towers. I got to meet Dale, Becky’s brother, a great bloke, and to worry Becky by wandering round her parent’s house, which was fun. Oh and she darned my trousers. Becky is sweet!
Anyway, we went to Alton Towers, and boy was she to get her revenge for making her darn my trouser. CJ has never really been one for rides – anything faster than a push bike tends to make me anxious. I get nervous in cars and trains, and am rather scared of heights. Apart from one rather extreme experiment many years ago with a wurlitzer, I have never been on any big fairground ride. Dodgems are my limit. So Becky decided I should.
We qued for a short ride, which I thought looked ok. It was called Oblivion - the name should have given me a hint. We queued the best part of an hour, and when I actually saw the track my legs turned to jelly and I was barely able to not run out the other side! To be honest, if Becky had taken another second putting her handbag in the box thing and returning to her seat I would have fled. If I had realized what was ahead I would have definitely run.
Oblivion is a VERTICAL coaster – it flips you face down, and you fall straight down, vertically, in to a hole in the ground. Here, have a look – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-EA0l9JUsc (contains sound). The video does not begin to show how terrifying it actually is.
Amazingly despite being terrified of heights I managed not to scream. I got off the ride, and was more concerned with the pain in the center of my chest. Maybe this was a muscle strain from the 4G you experience as you plunge from the fall in to the tunnel, or maybe it was my heart complaining – I’m still not sure. I hyperventilated a bit, smoked two cigarettes in quick succession and when Becky asked did I enjoy it could only say”I think so, I’m still alive”. That was how I enjoyed it – I came through the other side in one piece.
Actually my chest just started hurting again just thinking about it, so maybe a strong anxiety reaction, or it really did give me problems! Becky incidentally, seemed to really enjoy it. Next up was AIR, so I led us across the park in what fortunately turned out to be the right direction. (I had mentally memorized the park layout from the top of that terrifying ride while waiting to plummet to my doom!)
I took her by what I thought was the shortest route – straight through a long stretch of parkland and woodland. On the way I started to tell her about strawberry gothic, chinoisserie and 18th century changes in notion of the landscape (I have an MA in it after all), but before I could get on to Repton and Brown I noticed a) she was staring vacantly in to space with that look she normally reserves for me talking about politics and b)was sneezing horribly. Becky suffers really badly from hayfever and I had led her on a forced march through the gardens that made her horribly unwell. I still feel bad about that. Well, fairly bad – after she tried to kill me by taking me on Oblivion not too bad.
At AIR I took the precaution of watching the ride, and realised I would probably die if I went on it. Here’s a video — http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Mxo5Fi1gYI (Youtube, contains sound)
It was the hottest day of the year, the queue was an hour, and frankly confessing my cowardice Becky decided I could be forgiven and despite really wanting to go on AIR herself she let me off. Instead we did something I’m better at – we ate burgers.
And then it was off to queue another hour for a sort of rapids rafting ride. It was lovely to splash around in water, the element I am most comfortable with, but even so it seemed rather tame. Still it was a nice sedate boat ride, and I did enjoy it. Then I saw what appeared to be a tiny, rather tame roller coaster – Runaway Train - and it really was not very high or frightening looking. I thought it was a kid’s ride, but as I had still not been on a roller coaster I said I’d try it. What a mistake! You go round twice – now I was expecting a gentle fairly slow run, oh no – runaway train is what the name suggests, and I was convinced I would be hurled to my death and the chest pain was troubling me again (and once more as I write this and recall it) I really thought I might die, even though I KNEW the ride was safe – I thought I might just expire from terror.
I swore in ways that would have made Yvette Fielding blush. Yes, really. And those of you who know me know I never normally swear – but my words were deeply disturbing. Becky seemed rather amused by my utter terror. Second time round the track and I was almost beginning to enjoy it, but then it stopped and I went and took a phone call from Richard Felix, who had called me. By the time I had finished talking to him I was no longer in agony, just shaking and terrified.
Stopping only for donuts – why does this woman who never stops eating not weigh more than me? — it’s just not fair — we went on to the log flume. Again it took about an hour to queue – we spent most of the day in queues, while I bored Becky by wittering on – but this one was worth every minute. We got to sit in the front of a bathtub, and go round the track. I LOVED it! I adore boats,and water, though I am a terrible swimmer – well more of a terrible drowner, my father is a superb swimmer but I am not. Still I adore water.
Becky sat in front and shielded me from the worst of it, and when I got scared I just hung on to her. So excited was I she generously agreed to queue up all over again, cos I wanted to do it again! Second time round however something was up. I have since heard from Tom that rides like this have a car called a “drencher”, where you get fantastically wet. We got the drencher. From the very first splash we were soaked to the skin, and the searing heat had finally gone as it was late afternoon, so it was actually a bit chilly! I just could not help laughing at Becky, who was getting absolutely soaked, even though the water came straight over her head and splashed me full in the face, till my shirt and trousers were saturated – and Becky looked like she had been plunged head first in to a lake several times. She stopped to pour water out of her trainers, and some people in the queue applauded as about a pint poured out taking a couple of minutes, I had no idea how much water they could absorb!
I took a photo of Becky soaked to the skin, looking dreadful, but sadly I deleted it cos if I had shown anyone or posted it here she would have KILLED me. And not in a nice Oblivion sort of way either! It was 5.30, and tragically we had to leave without going on Air. Becky was just too wet, and I don’t think my jovial “let’s get you home and out of those wet knickers” helped much. When she got off the monorail for the car park she left a big puddle,and I laughed, but when she asked why I just said it was because we had such a great time. She modestly removed her jeans behind a blanket from her car, and drove home with her blanket skirt on – practical as always! Amusingly she did ask me if it was legal to drive in a blanket. It was an amazing day out, and while Becky will doubtless stop speaking to me for month when she reads this, we had a truly fantastic time. Many thanks to Yvette for the tickets, and to Becky for taking me and showing me that I am not really a big wuss – I’m a colossal wuss!
cj x
The Cats of Normal Terrace: mourning Ziggy
September 21, 2009
Nowadays my blog is filled with me talking about ghosts and stuff, and it’s probably easy for people to forget that I have a life outside of work, psychical research and religion. This post is about the street where I live, Normal Terrace, and the most important residents – the rulers in fact of our lane, the cats.
This morning my neighbour Chris called to tell me the sad but not unexpected news that Ziggy, aged 17, a lovely black and white puss had finally died. He had been ill for months, and in sharp decline the last few days, but so often had he recovered from the point where all seemed lost that his passing still came as a shock to me. In some senses I think it was a relief to us all – poor old boy, none of us wanted him to suffer, but the death of a beloved member of the community always hits home.
Ziggy lived seventeen happy years, with his sister Zag and the elegant Suki. Chris loves them all so much, and serves their imperious demands with a devotion many a cat owner will understand. I know we don’t have favourites, but in a sense Ziggy was her favourite.
My acquaintance with Ziggy began when I moved in to the street, maybe four years ago now. He and Zag were not the friendliest of cats – unlike the white lady who basks at the bottom of the street, or the beautiful but highly strung black fluffball Tina owns, Zig and Zag always kept thre distance. Attempts to pet them were rebuffed — and my cats never achieved more than a nodding relationship with those two. I really thought they were unfriendly, aloof little kitties, but I was always pleased to see them basking in the sun outside Chris’ house.
Then came that terrible day 18 months ago, when after a frantic struggle to save him, and a trip to Swindon it still hurts to think of, we lost Lisa’s beloved cat Marmalade. Some of you know the vents that followed, and how we have another fluffball now called Marmalade, but we will pass over that – the important thing is that among all the condolences, and the incredibly kind efforts of David Curtin who drove us on that last terrible journey, and brought us back in tears, the support from Tina, Lynn and all our friends in the street – well that was the day I cam to know Ziggy.
I was sitting on my doorstep, crying my eyes out. I rarely cry; I had not cried since 1992 until that day, but the dashing of our hopes just when we thought we had saved him had left me distraught. The sight of a grown man crying on his doorstep is not one many people care for, and I was therefore surprised when I felt a nudge. It was Ziggy – he came, climbed on to my lap, and nuzzled my nose. For the first time, and I had sat in the doorstep many times before while he regarded me warily, he had approached me, and now he purred and rubbed himself against me. I don[t know if he understood I was distressed or not, but I do recall the comfort he brought me. There were other cats, and always would be - Marmalade had gone, but all over the world new kittens were being born, who would live, play, hunt and wail as kitties everywhere do.
Ziggy and I became friends from that day onwards. I came to regard him as a good friend, and as Chris was unwell and I came to pop round more and more, for our little trips to the shops or afternoon chats, I came to befriend Zag and Suki as well, and when they were ill, I took them to the vets for Chris when they needed attention. Stephen Crickmore of Albion Lodge (by the Tesco on the edge of forever) is a wonderful, compassionate and highly skilled vet - and he always did Ziggy proud. Chris nursed him, with special diets, endless love and affection, and cared fro him as i cared for my beloved Crowley who left me on a dark December morning last year. I know the sting of loss - but also I know that there is comfort in friends, in the happy memories, and in the moggies who remain and make their demands of us. Zig will be yowling for his supper in a better place now, but it's hard to imagine a better home than that Chris gave him - his Paradise must look alot like that little house in Normal Terrace!
One day in February I was convinced our journey together, Ziggy and I. would be our last. I walked to Stephen with heavy heart - I did not so much lift Ziggy in to the box as pour him in to it, and he had not eaten for days. I was trembling as I walked down the road, and yet as I approached I heard a loud indignant yowl and the old boy sprang up, and started purring. Stephen gave him some shots, and he was able to live another happy six months. Yet Stephen knew his days were numbered, and we all knew one day he would move on, leaving us to go play with the other kitties who have gone before.
That day has finally come, and I recieved the call from Chris this morning. I cried — I’m sad and sentimental at the moment anyway– but I have a happy thought. Yesterday the sun beat down on Normal Terrace, and Ziggy went outside, walked over to the fence, up and down a bit, and then lay down on his favourite spot. Last night he sat on Chirs’ lap till minutes before the end when he leapt down, lay down in front of the fire where he often basked, and went to sleep one last time.
Tonight we are taking him to Gareth’s to bury him, and pay our last respects. I’m hoping to be strong for Chris’ sake: I know how good it was to have Kevin Sides there for me when Crowley died, and am still thankful to Malcolm for his help that day. So I’m crying, but not for Ziggy – I’m crying for us — for Zag and Suki, for Chris, and for all of his friends he las left behind – but I’m not crying for Ziggy. He lived a wonderful life, and died content and peacefully at a great age, surrounded by those who love him.
I just hope, when the times comes, we can all manage to be as lucky as Ziggy. Till we meet again Ziggy, love
cj xx












