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I have finished a draft of the writing and am taking a break from it. I am making a short film very quickly, off the cuff, nothing to do with Spare or the supernatural. Still, I have to catch the Number 4 bus and often find myself outside St Paul’s Cathedral, so I finish up with my nose pressed up against it. It’s covered in graffiti. There’s a brand new specimen in biro, they must have used a ruler. And high up, a tangle of  carved signatures sporting impressive curlicues, St Paul’s gives me the heebie jeebies, it could be the eighteen pound entry fee to get past the door, it could be because it’s bone white. I’m with Herman Melville when it comes to White.

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So do I believe in the supernatural. I don’t believe in ghosts but if you put me in a haunted house I wouldn’t stay there for long. A friend of mine told me she had once had to stay in a remote cottage on the Yorkshire Moors. She had been left to look after equipment while the film crew were elsewhere. She decided to ring a friend. A little way into the call she felt something come up behind her. All she knew is that she had to curtail the call and get the hell out of there. She later found that the woman who had lived  and died there had been thoroughly unpleasant.

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I wouldn’t write in biro on the skull of a dead man.

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I have met a Demon.

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Which brings me back to Zos and I have a stack of note pads and sketch books and I am looking at the first scribbles and the notes I  made that were just to catch ideas and not to explain to anyone else.

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