Now, no-one reach just yet for a endlessly screaming female TV presenter with a slightly camp Scouser by her side, but I think we have ghost…

Over the years we have been up here at Greys, we – and others – have from time to time commented that they thought they had seen someone moving out of the corner of the eye, despite there being no-one there.  A common enough occurrence in life, so nothing to get excited about there.  But there have been times where one of us has been alone in the brewery, and climbed out of a vessel because someone has spoken to us.  But there has been no-one there, or even nearby.  Sometimes, there has been speaking and movement, but nothing definitely definite – it all could just be a trick of the mind, and cooling down of hot pipes or even the background noise of a kerfuffle in the pigeon camp.  Sometimes things have fallen over, or onto the floor despite having seemed perfectly stable.  But again, these things happen – after all if you do quantum, and feel that a butterfly swerving violently in Brazil can affect the weather in Belgium, then the plentiful butterfly population round ought, with a bit joint effort, be able to move a plastic jug or two, indeed on several occasions a length of pipe and even an empty barrel.  After all, there is a logical explanation for everything.  Except most government policy, and of course Tuesday mornings.  Oh, and wasps, disappearing socks, Harrison Birtwistle and Ready Steady Cook.  And boy bands.  .

However, in the last year or so things have moved on slightly.  Not in an unpleasant way by any means – quite the opposite – but the hairs on the back of neck some evenings (and days for that matter) do at times rise more than a dirty old man on viagra.  There are many examples I could give, but here are two, both during October.  The first saw us working late (as we often do), and I was in the brewery on my own moving assorted clutter about and generally fiddling about, when I was aware that our Catherine had stopped polishing her whippets, and was stood to my side.  Except when I turned round she had turned into a shadowy figure shooting round the corner and out of sight.  Needless to say I was in the office very smartly indeed, to see Catherine engrossed in Grocery Today or some such, wondering why I was hurtling in like I’d seen a ghost.  The second, I was in out Malt/Junk/Anything Else We Have Yet To Realise We Don’t Actually Need Store, with headphones on, listening to music at the sort of volume that would elicit a Advice Leaflet from the Health Police (I don’t normally have it loud, honest!) when I was aware that I was being shouted at.  This is nothing new, and indeed at first I thought it was part of the music (most music seems to involve a lot of shouting these days after all, I mean, take that Dippee Driscoll fellow.).  Anyway, I soon realised it wasn’t, and really was being shouted at, albeit in a way that didn’t sound quite ‘right’.  So, headphones out, and turn around.  Nothing.  I dart out into the brewery proper, and no-one there.  But the rousing pump on one of the fermenters (it helps keep the yeast active) had been put on manually (they run on a timer as a rule), and left on for sometime judging by the large head that had engulfed the fermenter lid, and was merrily cascading onto the floor.  Now this is obviously a bad thing, so having turned the pump off, and quickly cleaned up the mess, I went into the office to find our Catherine (who had been sorting her collection of hair bands).  Needless to say, she hadn’t been shouting at anyone, and we were on our own.  She had however turned the rousing pump on some while back, and had forgotten to turn it off.  So, someone – or something - had warned me of what was happening.

Now maybe I am just psychic, and can see beyond sight.  Maybe we have a friendly, nay helpful ghost.  I can’t say either of those two options stands up to modern science.  But I do know I could never have heard that rousing pump even without my headphones on.  I also know that as of yet, the ghost hasn’t started to help clean the brew plant yet in any measurable way, so it’s time for me to get back to work and dig out the Mash Tun.  And be like Cliff Richard - keep out of the shadows…