You would think that living alone in an old house would cause me a few uneasy moments. My home has been around since Cromwell’s Commonwealth and has the obligatory ghost who prowls the old path to the side of the house and disappears when he reaches the spot where the original door used to be.
I’m not afraid of him or being alone, day or night. Precious is the moment as you drift awake, warm and comfortable; those seconds before you are fully aware of life and its vagaries; before the gods realise you actually have a plan for the day – before someone sneezes close to your ear …
SueJEaton 