I'll bet it was boo in horse language

I always believed that when I left home, my parents would degenerate into pensioners. I’m not sure why, but whenever I return to Whitters, I half expect to find them nestled under tartan blankets, moaning about the government.

In actual fact, I returned home to immediately be ushered into the kitchen and shown the entirety of our cupboard. Home cooking only improved after I left, something I am constantly reminded. While I sit with a bowl of noodles, my parents tuck into spinach seasoned polenta and Parma ham with a mozzarella centre. It was fish fingers and sweet corn with every meal half a year ago.

Life just isn’t fair….

Anyway, my parents refuse to conform to expectations; I had barely been home a few hours before my Dad started to giggle like a schoolboy because my doctor’s name is ‘I.B. Cross’ and my mother ate a whole box of Roses intended for my grandmother, muttering, ‘She doesn’t deserve them anyway’.

The sad part about it is it’s true. Me and my grandmother are not on speaking terms, mainly because we don’t like each other, but still every Mother’s Day my mum faithfully attempts to preserve the lie.

The waters changed midweek, so all my father’s diligent plans were somewhat skewered - and that was without the earthquake. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper so when it actually happened I was partially awake anyway. I have one of those bunk bed types, except instead of a bottom bunk, I have a broken cupboard, so needless to say, when everything started to shake I gripped the mattress for dear life.

Speaking of broken cupboards, there was a funny quake related story in the local paper quite recently. Since Whitters is pretty close to the epicentre, the paper sent journalists into town to interview random locals on their experiences. Anyway, one of the people interviewed said that he thought his cupboard had been possessed and was shocked to learn the truth. From the tone used, it sounded like he was somewhat disappointed. Disappointed, I guess, that Derek Acorah won’t be broadcasting our mediocre village on Britain’s most Haunted.

If anything, it’s worthy of a segment on Rosemary and Thyme - I can just see it now - The attack of the Clattering Cupboard …. Aforementioned title characters are sent to a manor house in some random county to ‘tidy up the garden’, only they never get around to it, as on their arrival they discover the owner of the manor house stabbed fifty times in the back. Of course they investigate, discovering the man’s wife crouched in the corner of the study, next to a hostile looking oak cupboard, which is covered in blood and flapping its doors. The woman is also covered in blood, but seems unperturbed by the situation. Instead she stares at the title characters and says, ’It wasn’t me….the cupboard did it….’