Visitation

Oh, I don't know. Today has seemed like a day too far, and so I'm protesting by being incredibly unproductive.

That's not to be confused with the days where I'm unproductive due to incompetence, or the days I'm unproductive due to laziness.

This time it's justified.

I'm sure someone snuck (sneaked? snoke?) an extra day in the middle of this week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Blursday, Friday. And Blursday passed in a... sort of undefined mass of colours and shapes.

My brain has decided I shouldn't be here. And my brain knows more than all the rest of my body-parts together. I should listen to it. Or at least my ears should. Because they are good at that. Also, they're close to the brain, so there should be no audio problems.

My brain has decided not to pursue this subject.

***

Last night I was visited by a ghost. It was the ghost of Roy Castle.

Not the one from Record Breakers. It was the ghost of an actual castle. The castle that used to stand in Roy, British Columbia.

It was only built in the late 90s. A salesman from Campbell River travelled to Roy and built it himself. It wasn't very big. Calling it a 'castle' was more of a legal distinction. It wasn't a house, the salesman said.

And it wasn't.

It was eight bricks, piled at random, with the words 'Roy Carstel' written on them. The salesman was dyslexic.

They tore it down last year, after a local resident stubbed his toe on the battlements.

Anyway, the ghost of Roy Castle appeared to me last night. It couldn't move or speak, of course, and was entirely invisible.

But I smelled mortar, and the ghost option seemed the most plausible.

This morning, when I woke up, I could see the faint imprint of miniature flags on my pillow.

I'm not crazy. Before yesterday, I was as sceptical as anyone about the notion of Canadian ghost buildings. But now I'm not so sure.

My confusion was compounded this morning, when I was visited by the ghost of Amy Winehouse.

Not the singer, of course. It was the recently demolished vineyard in Amy, Northern France.

I was hoping that rather than an uninspiring wine manufacturers, the ghosts might have continued the castle theme and sent me the spectre of nearby Château de Pierrefonds.

But that's still standing, so I had to make do.

It would be nice if I could tie this all up, and turn it into something comprehensible.

But I'm one day past caring.