How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.

Our first night in The Old Unicorn was mercifully ghost free. As my companion is more than a little nervous of spectral apparitions this was somewhat of a relief. In the end all that disturbed our rest was a rather flat band playing at the pub down the road. Every time someone exited the hostelry there escaped a noise so loud that I was forced by reflex to sit upright in bed. Waiting for the revelry to cease I decided to read my copy of "Arty Magick". I counted Alli Sharma's rabbits until sleep overcame me. Today I scrubbed and hoovered and wiped and buffed. My old lodgings are cleaner now than they were when I moved in. I gave my companion the dirtier jobs: the toilet and oven while I tackled the stubborn black mould on windows that frankly needed stripping and repainting. By the time I had finished scrubbing they were indeed stripped. It is eight now, we have decided to retire.