Confession time.

The failure of my hard disk meant I had to visit a very dangerous shop. It's a UK electronics company called Maplin.

Their gadget collection is second to none, and they always have some kind of sale on.

I was somewhat restrained. I left the radio-controlled tugboat on the shelf. It preys on my mind though. I'll try not to go back until they're sold out.

However, I can never resist anything solar powered because once bought, it's free to run. My garden has so many solar-powered lights I have to be careful in case a plane lands there. I have some solar-powered house lighting too. It's hardly powerful enough to read without straining your eyes, so it's not yet a replacement for mains lighting. It's also limited in the UK winter because we don't get much sunlight then. For low lighting, say for watching a film or making a cup of tea, it's ideal. And free.

Maplin always has solar panels in a variety of sizes. In the attic, I have a very old battery-powered train set. If it still works, I want to see if I can set that up to run around the garden on solar power. No reason, apart from the sheer lunacy of it and to find a use for the small solar panels I bought.

One thing I regret buying is the blood pressure monitor. I've tried it a dozen times and there's nothing wrong with me. What a waste of money. I've smoked and drunk alcohol - no good. I can't get myself into the high blood pressure range. It's infuriating. It's like all that medical insurance I've paid out and never been ill.

It does have a clock built into it though, so maybe I'll wear it as a watch. The self-inflating wristband should raise an eyebrow or two.

I even found a couple of useful items, but I'll get to those after I've finished with the trivia.

Stone the Horses.

On a lighter note.

The Rolling Stones are to play in Belgrade, in a huge horse-racing stadium. Instead of moving the horses somewhere else, the authorities have decided to sedate them for the concert.

Animal rights groups are furious.

I don't see the problem. It's a Rolling Stones concert. Why shouldn't the horses be loaded with drugs?

Everyone else will be.

Heresies of the horned god.

I came across a fundamentalist website today. You know the sort of thing - you're all going to Hell, no matter what, unless you do precisely what we say, when we say it. No discussion. No deviation from our absolute rule. They 'save' by dictation, not persuasion. It's here but turn off your speakers or risk being depressed by sombre music.

This was filled with such things as 'Harry Potter teaches children how to be witches', 'Dungeons and Dragons will turn all your young into devil-worshippers'.

I tried Dungeons and Dragons when I was young. I didn't become a devil-worshipper. Frankly, I found it all rather dull. And none of the Harry Potter spells are anything more than a bit of fake Latin. It's a children's book, and no more evil than the Wizard of Oz.

These kinds of sites twist history to suit themselves. For instance, they declare that the Celts worshipped Satan (who the Celts had never heard of) and that Halloween was the central Druid festival. On Halloween, the Druids apparently walked from house to house demanding food, the origin of Trick or Treat. All the dead walked the streets.

What utter crap.

Trick or treat is a recent American invention. It was unheard of here in the UK even in my youth. It's new, not ancient. Druids had no need to demand anything. They were in charge!

Halloween was the Celtic New Year. End of harvest celebration, big bonfire, beer, jump through the flames as a cleansing ritual (once the fire died down so nobody suffered burns). That sort of thing. If the druids were there, they were drunk. It had nothing at all to do with death or the Devil. The whole thing was hijacked later, not by witches, but by the church. Yes, it was the church who declared this an unholy festival. The new breed of Satanists latched on to that and took it to themselves.

The chief god in the Celtic pantheon was called Hu, and this god had a son. His name was--wait for it--Hesus.

Does that sound like they worshipped Satan, or someone else?

When Christianity arrived, I imagine it going something like this:

Pilgrim: "The son of God has come to Earth and died for your sins."

Shabby Celt: "Oh yeah? If that's true, what's his name?"

Pilgrim: "Jesus."

Shabby Celt: (after a pause) "Well, that does sound like the Son of God all right. Must be true then."

Christianity had no trouble establishing among the Celts, because they already believed most of it anyway. They weren't worshipping Satan. They had a host of minor gods (godlings? godlets?) and one principal god. Christianity had one principal god and a host of angels. The transition wasn't difficult.

There was no need to stamp out the Celtic New Year festival. The druids didn't care about it all that much anyway. The big thing for them was (and still is) the solstices and the equinoxes. The people did care about it. It was the big end-of-year party, and this new religion wanted to forbid it. There was considerable bad feeling about that.

The site also claimed that Easter was a Christian festival overrun by Pagans.

Propriety forbids me using the words I'd like to here.

It's a shame, because the Celtic religion and Christianity were perfectly compatible. If the early church hadn't stamped so hard, they wouldn't have caused so much bad feeling. Satanism might never have surfaced at all. It is, after all, merely an anti-Christian thing rather than a real religion. Saying the Mass backwards? Desecrating old churches? That's not a religion. That's an anti-religion. It arose because of the Church's attempts to stamp it out, not despite them.

As for the Horned God, that wasn't Satan. That was most likely Pan, or the Green Man. Celts had no devil and no Hell. To them, if you didn't make it into Heaven, you were sent back here to try again.

If some recent Goatman reports are to be believed, that horned god is still out there. More on that later.

A tale of two hard disks.

It is a far, far, better backup I make now than I have ever made. It is a far better search I make for install disks than I have ever done. Sydney (Antistatic) Carton.

I’m not entirely unread, you know.

Backing up is only a small part of the battle. Here’s a cautionary tale for computer failure.

Step 1. Swear a lot at broken computer, then go out and buy a new hard disk. Marvel at the amount of storage available now: it’s not possible to buy disks smaller than that required to contain the population census for a medium-sized country. Pay, and swear some more. You know this one’s going to break long before it’s even partly filled.

Step 2. Disassemble computer. This is easy. Mine has a clip on top which, when pressed, releases the side of the box. No screws to remove and subsequently lose. The hard disk is held in a plastic carrier so no screws there to remove, lose, or get confused with the ones that held the case.

Step 3. Remove hard disk, apply liberal sprinkling of very bad words and set aside for later attention with a large hammer. Insert and connect new hard disk, press computer side into place. So far, the work of minutes and very little effort (apart from thinking up original ways to curse).

Step 4. Reinstall Windows XP. This involves a lot of waiting, preferably accompanied by a full bottle of absinthe and new, imaginative swear words when it tries to install American dictionaries, keyboard, etc. Several hours pass.

Step 5. Reach for program disks, remember they were put in a ‘safe place’ years ago, when first installed, and try to remember where that is. This is not assisted by the absinthe consumed during step 4.

Step 6. Disassemble house looking for install disks. Make mental note to search Internet for swear words in other languages since the English ones are all used up by now.

Step 7. Reinstall those disks you can find, curse in absentia those you can’t. Attempt to persuade computer to connect to the Internet. Howl at the moon. It’s just as effective.

Step 8. Threaten to punch monitor. This achieves nothing but you feel better for it. Try again to connect to Internet. Realise you’ve forgotten the password and swear some more. Try all possible passwords until it works. As soon as it does, leave computer while XP adds in dozens of updates it’s found on Microsoft’s site. When it’s finished, the programs you installed will do the same. Everything wants to be registered again. Everything. Reach for new bottle of absinthe.

Step 9. Try to set up Email, realise you’ve forgotten the passwords and connection details for all Email accounts and beat head against desk. Determine to write them all down when you’ve worked out what they are. Drink absinthe. It won’t help but by now you won’t care any more.

Step 10. With Email at least partially working, try to remember that huge list of favourite sites in the browser. Open browser. Swear at it while it updates itself.

Step 11. Find a few sites, realise you don’t know the passwords any more because Windows did all that. Get passwords emailed. Write them down this time.

Step 12. Finally, after all this, those backup disks come into play. Now you can put all your files back even though you’ve drunk so much absinthe you no longer have any will to read them.

Backups are only part of the story. You also need to keep all those installation disks in one place, together, where you can find them. As for the security risk of writing down passwords, well, to hell with it. Write them down. Keep that with the install disks. If someone steals your computer, disks and passwords, you really won’t be that much worse off than if you had a hard disk failure anyway.

Step 13. Sleep off massive absinthe hangover. Hope that, in your dreams, the place you put those last few install disks and email account details will show themselves. Yes, it’s futile, but it’s your last hope. At least when you wake your breath smells of anise rather than booze.

And now, at last, normal service will be resumed.

Hiatus

My principal computer has just decided to trash its hard disk and everything on it. Fortunately, since I have experienced this before, I am pretty regular about backups. So I haven't lost much.

However, it takes a long time to put all those programs back, not least because it's two years or more since I last installed them and can't remember where all the disks are.

So there will be a delay.

If you sent me Email in the last 24 hours, assume it's lost forever and resend.

Friday the 13th

No, not the film. The day. It's tomorrow.

A day universally associated with bad luck, but for no clear reason that anyone can define. Many say 'it has its roots in Christianity' but know no more.

There are a few reasonable explanations for why this day is considered unlucky. The number 13 has long been associated with witches' covens, particularly those who prefer the darker side of the Pagan beliefs. Most of the old tales of witches (dancing naked in the moonlight, flying on brooms, sailing in sieves, the coven of 13, and much of what is now absorbed into modern 'witch' culture) is a load of rubbish. It stems from stories made up by accusers, embellished by lawyers, and forced from the lips of the accused under tortures so appalling thier minds could not focus. They would say anything - absolutely anything - the torturers wanted to hear.

Few of those accused were, in fact, witches. Everything they said was made up to stop the pain. The real witches, those few who were tried, were not evil. They were healers, herbalists, homeopaths. They had no means to curse or harm anyone, as should be obvious. If they had such powers, wouldn't their tormentors all be turned into toads?

Why Friday? There is one strong link, and it's also associated with accusations of witchcraft.

The Knights Templar, subject of so many wonderful and bizarre conspiracy theories, were originally intended to protect travellers to Jerusalem, back when it was in Christian hands from 1118. The romantic tale of the 'nine knights' isn't quite what it seemed. A knight didn't travel alone. Each had a small army with them.

Anyway, once Jerusalem was lost, the Knights Templar had no definite purpose. They had, over the two hundred years of their prime, become incredibly rich. The King of France owed a lot of money. Many of the Templars were in France. So the King (and his puppet Pope) decided to make up a load of nonsense, accuse the Templars of heresy, and, basically, steal all their money.

The Knights Templar were expertly taken, in their sleep, all at once. Those who weren't immediately killed were tortured, some for years, and finally burned at the stake. They had to be tortured because the King needed to show a decent pretense at following the law. He needed confessions. They didn't need to be true.

This heinous act took place on Friday, October 13th, 1307.

Is this the origin of Friday 13th as an unlucky day, perhaps? Or does anyone know of an earlier tale, which would make this one simply a vindication of the terrible date?

House hunting.

Still no repeated photos. The weather is grey with random frosts, and when the sun does appear, clouds move across it so fast it's like living under a strobe light. One day, those clouds have to break.

So here's a thought for today, inspired by this link, sent to me by Southern Writer.

The easiest way to search for ghosts is to live with them. That is, buy a house with resident spirits. The link is to an article on a particularly famous haunted house that's for sale.

Before you all rush in with bids, there are things to consider. The present owners won’t sell to just anyone. They have to approve of the buyers.

So do the ghosts.

Ghosts might be invisible, incorporeal and mostly silent, but never forget they are dead people. You are not buying a house with novelty-value. You are buying a home with sitting tenants, and if you don’t get along with them, you can’t get them out.

The present owners of the house in that article have lived peaceably with their invisible co-occupiers, but that doesn’t mean the next owner will. There are those who classify ghosts as ‘malevolent’ or ‘benevolent’, and would say that this house is haunted by benevolent spirits but it’s not always that simple.

There are a few people in this world I would share a house with, or at least tolerate their presence. There are many people that infuriate me. Some can do this with an expression or a single word. Sharing a house with them would be hell, and, assuming I was not in a position to physically throw them out, I would do everything I could to make their lives miserable until they left.

Does that make me malevolent? It would certainly seem so to the wretches who moved into my house. Yet, if someone tolerable moved in, I would appear somewhere between benevolent and benign. It depends as much on them as on me.

So it is with haunted houses. The dead people occupying the house will have a say in what goes on there, like it or not. They are not going to be happy to perform for dinner guests. They are not going to be delighted to have wave after wave of amateur dead-detectives shouting demands for raps and asking puerile, pointless questions. Just imagine how you’d feel in that situation. You might well change from Caspar the friendly ghost into Beetlejuice within a very short time.

Think very hard before you make a decision to buy a house that’s already occupied by the dead. Ghosts are not a novelty appliance you can turn on and off at your convenience. You’ll be sharing that house with them 24 hours a day, and you never know when they’re around. Be very, very sure you’re comfortable with that.

Most importantly, visit the house first. Don’t try to contact the ghosts. Let them see you, let them hear you, let them know what you’re like. If it’s possible to visit a few times, for extended periods, do so.

If they don’t like you, they’ll find a way to let you know.

The thought police are in town. Again.

Did anyone see Terry Gilliam’s film ‘Brazil’, from 1985? It depicted a dysfunctional society ruled by departments of the Ministry of Information.

Information Records stored everything, although nobody read it. Information Dispersal put out propaganda. Among these departments, the most feared was Information Retrieval, the secret police who extracted information from suspects by any means possible. Torquemada would have been proud.

Everyone was classified, sorted, categorised and placed in a slot.

It seems the UK’s tinpot dictator, Tony Blair, has seen this film and evidently considered it a great idea .

Coming soon to an ex-democracy near you!

Sorry, but... I'm not listening.

One of the most infuriating bits of modern speech is the starting of any argument with 'Sorry, but...'

It drives me nuts.

If you start any statement with an apology for that statement, it can only mean that you already know that what you are about to say is wrong, worthless or both.

Therefore there is no point continuing past those words, especially since I've already stopped listening.

EMF, ELF and misinterpretation.

Because paranormal investigators use devices that detect electric fields (ELF), electromagnetic fields (EMF) and similar invisible effects, the misconception has arisen that these devices detect ghosts. They do not.

They detect ELF or EMF, depending on the meter. That’s all they do.

High electric fields can cause your hair to stand on end. This can be demonstrated by putting your hand on a Van der Graaf generator while someone else cranks it up. Most people, at least those who did physics at some level in school, will have experienced this. Unless the safety police have banned this demonstration, which wouldn’t surprise me.

So if you walk through an area of high ELF your hair will move. In the dark, and amid the heightened expectations of a ghost hunt, this will feel exactly as though someone touched your head. That’s one of the reasons investigators take readings before the investigation proper. If all reports of touching occur in areas known to have a high ELF, then they are probably caused by the electric field. Where the field comes from is then important to determine but it’s usually due to electrical wiring. This applies equally to EMF measurements.

Now, I know I’ve made it sound as though these meters are the tool of the sceptic, and yes, they often are. They must also be the tool of the investigator. If there is an electric field effect in an area you’re investigating, you want to know about it before you report anything. Otherwise, all a sceptic needs to do is wander around your location and hey presto, he’s debunked you. Debunk such effects yourself first. Don’t leave yourself open to the sceptic.

Where there are fluctuations in ELF or EMF, always, always look for the natural explanation first. Sometimes there isn’t one, but most times there is. Remember the story of the boy who cried ‘Wolf’. You don’t want to be an equivalent in ‘the investigator who cried Ghost’.

Investigators who repeatedly make easily-disproved claims will find that eventually, everything they say will be ignored. If such an investigator finally produces a perfect EVP, photograph or video, nobody will listen. Don’t get into that position. It’s better to report nothing for years than to report the wrong thing once a week.

Use the ELF and/or EMF meter, but don’t treat it as a ghost-meter. It’s not. It’s an instrument for measuring a specific, known, quantifiable physical phenomenon. If it comes up with an anomaly, take note of that and look for an explanation. Once in a while there won’t be a readily available natural source for the anomaly. That’s when things get interesting. However, unless you’re an electrical engineer, don’t assume that because you don’t see an explanation, there can’t be one. Note the anomaly and investigate further. There could be wires buried in the walls connected to appliances you don’t know about.

If we assume ghosts are composed of some form of energy—and to fit in with the laws of the universe, they must be—then it is reasonable to suppose that their presence will affect local electrical and electromagnetic fields. Reports of flickering or dimming lights and of spontaneously-drained batteries support this theory. I have no reason, at this time, to suppose that ghosts are exempt from the laws of nature. Rather, I consider that the spirit form is part of the natural order of the universe, and therefore subject to the same physical laws.

However, there is no absolute proof that ghosts actually do affect these fields, nor can we even guess by how much we would expect the fields to be affected. Note anomalies. Don’t crow about them too soon. They might have nothing to do with the spirits, even when you know for certain they are present.

Remember, instruments measure only what those instruments were designed to measure. There is no such thing as a ghost detector. EMF meters measure EMF, ELF meters measure ELF, thermometers measure temperature, and so on.

A blip in ELF or EMF is not proof of spirit presence. It’s proof of a blip in EMF or ELF. A temperature drop is not proof of spirit presence. It’s proof the temperature went down. Don’t jump to assumptions as to why these things happened.

There are no easy shortcuts. There is no scientific instrument that can positively detect an incorporeal human spirit. The devices we have give indications of where anomalous events occur, and thus where we should study further. Detailed, methodical study will eventually produce the proof we all seek. A quick one-night stand will never do that.

Investigations should never be one-off visits, unless the first visit finds no evidence to support a second. Before the second visit, check out those anomalies.

Bye bye brainstorm.

I never liked the term 'brainstorming' myself. It was made up by a manager somewhere to describe a process of random babble from which the enlightened could fool themselves into thinking they extracted brilliant new ideas.

However, like it or not, it became a term. It described something. I took part in one once and was amazed at how pointless it all was. I never did it again.

Even though I find the term silly, I had to groan at the news that 'brainstorm' is now a politically incorrect word. Apparently it might offend epileptics. Soon the language will be reduced to the words 'and', 'the' and 'it'. George Orwell's Newspeak is here.

So the silly term devised by management is no more. It's been replaced by the half-minds of the Politically Correct with a new, non-offensive term. I warn you to swallow anything that's in your mouth before I tell you what it is.

Thought Showers.

It's no less silly, but at least it does accurately describe the thin, wet thinking that goes on in those meetings.

Can I still say 'wet'? Or does it offend those who can't swim?

The perils of procrastination.

Once I lived, for a few years, in a place called Ayr in Scotland. Just across the sea was the island of Arran. Well, I often thought I might like to visit that island. I eventually did, on a visit to Ayr, some years after I’d moved away. While I was there, Arran was so easily accessible I thought ‘I’ll go tomorrow’ – but never did.

Those who have read ‘Ghosthunting for the Sensible Investigator’ will recognise this photo. It’s of a derelict, abandoned house, left alone by surrounding road developments and a likely spot for an investigation. I’ve passed it many times and thought ‘I should spend a night in there’.

I passed it again recently. It now looks like this:

Procrastination has killed any idea of an investigation here. Spending a night sitting on a pile of rubble holds no appeal for me. Nor, I suspect, does it appeal to any spirits who might once have been in residence. Even recording-type apparitions will be gone, because the structure that recorded them has been destroyed.

The house is to be part of a new site development. Retail units, I believe. One can only hope that any spirits who might have been in the house take up residence in the new shops, and that these shops are not filled with women’s clothing. I don’t want to be seen hanging around there if that’s the case. It’s not the sort of thing I want to be famous for.

There’s a lesson here. Don’t assume you can do something tomorrow, just because it’s possible to do it today. Putting things off has, in this case, led to disaster. It’s time to look again at that list of potential sites that are so easy to get at that I’ve always given them a low priority.

They might not be there tomorrow.

...and the moon shall turn to blood...

Well, not quite blood-red, but an impressive copper colour at least.

The cloud broke before the eclipse was complete but there was little light left and still some thin cloud, so I didn't get a great shot as the eclipse happened. At least it didn't rain.

Clouds then covered most of the actual eclipse, but I was lucky--they cleared again as the moon emerged. For a while anyway - enough time for a good few photos. Here's one of the better ones:

The clouds came back to spoil my fun before it was all over. Here's the last worthwhile picture I took, and it's not a particularly good one.

It was an impressive display. The pictures don't do it justice. I hope, next time, it happens in the summer. It's still very, very cold here. Anyway, playtime's over. Back to work.

Move that cloud.

Tonight there is to be a total eclipse of the Moon (11.20pm, GMT).

If the clouds don't break in time, cover your ears. You'll hear words you shouldn't hear otherwise, and I'll be saying them very, very loud.

In case they do break, I'll be charging up my video cameras.

Tax - the new panacea.

The rain has, if anything, intensified. So still no chance at photos. The frustration is unbearable.

So I'm doing a lot of thinking, and the environment has been part of that - all this global warming and CO2 emission stuff. The sort of thing Victor Allen Winters discusses a lot.

The UK government has found a way to tackle global warming. It's the same way they tackle everything else, from traffic through smoking to alcohol.

They're taxing it.

The price of airline tickets has been increased because of a new tax which will help the environment. Quite how the environment benefits from us poor plebs giving more money to the government, I don't know, but they assure us it will. Maybe they distribute it as grants to badgers, foxes and hedgehogs. I had a rant in mind about this but the head of Ryanair, an Irish budget airline, has put it so well I thought I'd just link to that instead.

Here's the article.

Read it quick, before the government decide to tax your eyes.