My little account about my interaction with what may’ve been the ghost of George Harrison while I was sitting on the bog set off another bog related memory – this one involving Nick Redfern as it happens though not as a LITERAL ghost and only indirectly.
Basically just over a year ago we moved into the place we’re in now and not long afterwards there was what seemed to be a minor earthquake (the effect of which may’ve been exaggerated by the fact the house has brand new foundations) but powerful enough for me to sense it arriving at about 5.20 in the morning and wake up in time to witness the whole house seeming to momentarily lift in the air.
[All sorts of weird sh*t subsequently unfolded in the following weeks and months involving me and another party seeing ghostly Chinese-looking people floating round the place – coming directly up out the ground in the case of this weird old menacing granny type straight out of Ringu (though if she was meant to scare me it might as well’ve been Pingu) – which made me wonder if any of the early 19th Century railway cottages and workshops were ever rented out to Chinese families before they knocked ‘em down in the first half of the last century but then again might’ve had something to do with this overbearing (to the point of intentionally menacing) Tibetan ‘god’ figure that seemed to turn up the same time whinging about how unfairly the Dalai Lama was treating him to which I could only reply (after consulting my Tibetan Buddhist brother and finding out ‘Geordie Sugden’ might be Dorje Shugden) “It’s not me you need to be talkin’ to about this mate – it’s the Dalai Lama. As I understand it you’ve been having some sort of running beef with the guy for lifetimes so if you’re really sincere about being the good guy you want me to see you as then you’ll prove it by getting your arse round to his place to sort it out with him. Other than giving you this advice what else d'you expect me to do?”].
Anyway at the time the earthquakey thing set off a memory from around 1989 of being on the eighth floor of a building near the Liverpool Pier Head with 60-80 other people but with only me an’ one other guy noticing there’d just been an earthquake hence the debate which now followed where I was emphatically told Liverpool doesn’t have earthquakes forcing me to reel off various memories of other earthquakes I’d experienced proving that was wrong.
This in turn set off the memory of the earthquake I’d experienced while living on the Saint Nathaniel’s estate at the heart of the Toxteth Riots where I’d been sitting on the bog when I suddenly became aware there was a train somewhere off in the distance hurtling towards me from directly behind.
Now I knew Edge Hill station was just up the road from where we lived and since you could often hear and feel the vibrations and echoes of trains roaring through the night I dismissed the growing wobbling sensation as a mere buttockular illusion.
Yet the more I sat there the more aware I became this thing was definitely hurtling straight at me and with such growing force it definitely felt as if it was about to slam straight into me – but I was sitting on the bog on the second floor of a council house where it was physically impossible for any train to reach me!
I now tried to dismiss the whole thing as just another of my weird and often silly special effects (like ‘invisible dogs’ – or ‘leprechauns’ - seemingly coming up to me in class or work and peeing down my leg) some of which can take the form of very physical ‘panic attacks’ where it feel as if something’s been ‘launched’ at me from a very great distance which when they finally arrive slam into me with such force it feel as if it’s all I can do to stop my atoms literally ripping themselves apart and flying off in all directions.
However as the ‘train’ finally started to arrive instead of slamming into me it made the cistern, the porcelain toilet seat and the water it contained – and of course me and various parts of my anatomy - violently jiggle around on the spot until to my relief I felt it pass directly under the crack of my cheeks, past my nuts and out through the middle of my legs.
Which’s where Nick Redfern enters the picture so to speak because as I recalled all this I was convinced it had to be one of the earthquakes which occurred round the beginning of the Eighties (either just before or not long after the Toxteth riots) but I realised the details didn’t quite match.
Then as I kept replaying the mental video tape of me sitting on the bog I was struck by how young and slender my legs looked, how petite and dainty my feet seemed and – the dead giveaway – I realised I had Y-fronts round my ankles which meant whatever I experienced had to’ve occurred in the first half of the Seventies in my early teens.
So I got on the internet to check if there was anything to this memory and I find out on January 23 1974 at around 8.38 pm that Wednesday night there was supposedly an earthquake in Bala Wales accompanied by an unusual meteorite display.
Well that fit the bill perfectly because I always dreaded Monday and Wednesday nights as a kid because Coronation Street always came on at 7.30 pm and because I absolutely hated that dreary depressing whiney theme tune (almost as much as I hated A Family At War’s one at 8 pm) I’d trained myself to find some way of distracting myself just before it came on hence my hurrying upstairs to look across Parliament Street from the titchy bedroom I shared with Our Kid just in time to see a green fireball come down at an angle of about 20-25 degrees (so low in fact I thought it was go’n’o hit the estate across the way) only to then watch it ‘bounce’ seemingly on the very air itself back into space.
The thing was though I was so spellbound by what I’d already seen I kept watching for more until around an hour later just as I was about to give up I saw this green glowing ‘disc’ (an egg shape elongated almost to a sliver strictly speaking) start emerging from behind a large old tree and immediately started screaming my brother to hurry up the stairs if he wanted to see a real live flying saucer only for him to burst in the room just as it zoomed off.
Now it was that ‘disc’ which set me thinking maybe what I saw couldn’t've been the same thing or I’d somehow gotten my memories mixed up.
Then I started stumbling across all this internet stuff debating whether that same night a UFO supposedly crashed in the Berwyn Mountains also in Wales some of it critical of a book called In A Covert Agenda by Nick Redfern.
But that’s why Nick’s such a hero of mine: he’s never been afraid of sticking out like a sore thumb or taking a position contrary to popular opinion – hence he’s also the only other official native of Norfokkerunia with me (though of course there're others - but they’ve still to officially earn their passports).