Units of Forgetfulness

You and I have been out and about a lot in recent days - you've been working, I've been going to parties - and nothing paranormal has happened. That, in itself, seems quite paranormal, unless you take the view that paranormal things only happen to people who stay in most of the time by themselves.

One thing that caught my eye last week was the report in the Guardian newspaper that West Midlands and Surrey police are offering a £1.5bn contract for private firms to investigate crime and detain suspects. Do you think we should tender for it? I would enjoy the investigation but I wouldn't enjoy detaining suspects. I imagine it would be a bit like having builders in the house - lots of cups of tea and coffee, and trips to Tesco up the road to buy them chocolate biscuits and muffins. Of course, builders are usually here by consent. What is the etiquette when detaining suspects? Presumably the promise of a blueberry muffin would not be enough to keep the suspects here if they didn't wish to be detained. I could lock them in the cellar. But actually I'd hate to keep someone here against their will. You know how I feel about animal rights. It would not be possible to speak out so vehemently against the imprisonment of animals in circuses and zoos while keeping suspects detained in the cellar on behalf of the West Midlands or Surrey police.

No sooner had I started writing this post, complaining that nothing paranormal had happened, than something occurred that was very mysterious (frightening, even). I went to make a bread-based snack to keep my spirits up, to help me finish writing the allocated 1000 words of my novel today. I found the bread easily enough, but I couldn't find any almond butter to put on it, even though I'd bought a jar of it the other day. It ought to have been in the 'dry goods' cupboard by the washing machine but it wasn't there. I looked in the fridge and found it in there, of all places, with the cellophane wrapper still intact. And yet I knew I had opened it and eaten some of the contents (very almondy, if you 're wondering how it tastes.) Weird! Self-healing cellophane! We could make a fortune... However, further investigation revealed a second jar of almond butter in the fridge. This one had been opened.

Remember when I thought I had bought a jar of almond butter, couldn't find it and went out and replaced it? Now I have two jars of almond butter. But why? What does it all mean? One possible explanation is that the original jar disappeared in some kind of 'Brigadoon' circumstances for 17 days, only to reappear this afternoon. Another is that the universe is calling out to me, telling me that there is plenty of paranormal activity, if only I look closely enough. Another explanation is that it's a sign of forgetfulness. I don't know how many jars of almond butter I would have to buy before calling in medical professionals, or even if such people measure forgetfulness in units of jars of almond butter.

I would like to do further research on units of forgetfulness. I think of the heyday of science as being the time when scientists were inventing new units of measurement, don't you? The kelvin, the watt, the pascal, the ampere, the ohm, the volt and the joule. I would like to give my name to a unit of forgetfulness, or to anything scientific and esoteric.

3000 Female Ninjas

We talked about whether or not we should carry weapons when investigating anomalous events on behalf of SBI. However it's not clear what kind of weapons would work against ghosts, spirits, Spanish secret agents, or mythical creatures such as giant rats, even assuming any of them are likely to attack.

Maybe we just need specialised combat training instead. For details, please see the video below and this article in the Telegraph: Iran trains 3000 female ninjas as potential assassins.

Legendary Affaire

Here's a link to the story I was telling you about when we met at La Rueda on Thursday. An American woman, Erica Marshall, was killed on 10 February when a horse started kicking while she was treating it in a hyperbaric chamber in Florida. Apparently sparks from the horse's shoes caused an explosion.

According to The Telegraph, the explosion could be heard 30 miles away. They explain that EM met and married an Englishman called Keiran Marshall while studying in England. The story is illustrated with a wedding photo. There are quotes from Peter Rust, the landlord of the Fountain Inn, and Tim Errock, the owner of Phoenix Fine Drinks in Gloucester. EM is variously referred to as 'a 28-year-old newlywed', 'the former barmaid' and 'an equine expert'. The article in the Telegraph is the one I read first and I still prefer it to any of the others I read subsequently as it has the most 'human interest' elements.

Irish Central tells the story from the point of view of Sorcha Moneley, an Irishwoman who was injured in the explosion (the comments under the article are generally unsympathetic to all concerned). There are more details about the accident in The Chronicle of the Horse, here. There's a succinct write-up and a photo of the wreckage on MSNBC here, though there's a lot of bickering in the comments under the article, with people trading insults about cats.

Retired Race Horse blog does a bit of Marpling about the story here ('The news of the horseshoes seemed very odd. Why would anyone allow a horse with steel shoes into a hyperbaric chamber?') and links to a story about a horse called House of Wisdom who died in a fire in a hyperbaric chamber in Newmarket in England in 2008.

Wesh.com talked to neighbour Georgie Yates who said of the explosion: 'They heard it down as far as Morriston Post Office.' Wesh's reporter explains that the horse was being treated for Equine protozoal myeloencephalitis, a neurological disease, and then quotes Georgie Yates again: 'The roof was blown open and walls were gone, but my heart just goes out to the family members of the poor girl that lost her life.'

The horse was called Landmark's Legendary Affaire.

Obviously, this isn't paranormal. It's just a very sad story. There's no need for us to investigate it. However maybe I could use an explosion in a hyperbaric chamber as a cause of death in an Emily Castles Mystery. Did I tell you I'm experimenting with a new kind of mystery where it's always the most obvious suspect who's responsible? I like your theory that the first person you see on screen in TV series like Marple/Poirot/Midsomer Murders is always the murderer. That wouldn't work in the books because I usually start with Emily. Actually, it would be fun if I could turn Emily into a serial killer, but it would remove the mystery element. Anyway it's probably already been done.

Do you remember the story of the horses that were electrocuted at Newbury about a year ago? The horses were called Fenix Two and Marching Song and they both died of a heart attack. That was another sad story. It seemed paranormal at the time. There's a full write-up here in the Daily Mail under the title 'Horror at the Races' ('a mysterious incident', 'the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in my life') but it's full of upsetting details so don't read it if you don't want to dwell on the horses' suffering.

Case no 0001 - Evie's Gold-Spangled Dog Shit

INVESTIGATOR: Helen Smith

Notes: In January I went to a fancy dress party where I met a successful novelist named Evie who was dressed as a vicar. I subsequently made friends with her on Facebook. On Tuesday 14th February (Valentine's Day) Evie updated her FB status to say that she had just walked past a dog turd decorated with gold stars, but she hadn't taken a photo as there were too many people about. She noted that it was "Opposite the Montpelier, at the foot of a tree." Several people urged Evie to return to photograph the dog shit. She did return, and she took a photo and posted it on Facebook. The photo proved her to be a credible witness. It showed a dog shit broken into four parts and sprinkled with gold stars.

What does it mean? Valentine's Day is a heap of sparkly shit.

Categorised under: Not paranormal.

[I have left a message for Evie on Facebook asking if we can use her photo here. If that's not possible, we can recreate the evidence and photograph it ourselves. That's partly what SBI is for.]

Edit: Evie said we were welcome to use her photo so I have posted it (above). Thanks, Evie. However, she also said she thought this might explain the sparkly shit.