I pop off to visit my parents. Their motorhome is parked on Cheltenham Racecourse, so I book into a 15th Century Manor House. It's cheap, charming, and I'm staying in a turret a good 100 winding steps up.
These things are good. Even better, the hotel is hosting a 21st birthday party with a superhero theme, so I get to watch braying young posh boys in spandex wandering around.
Cheltenham's gay scene is rubbish (a tiny disco room), so it's a weekend of reading Miss Marple and drinking scotch. What could possibly go wrong?
Later, I'm in my taxi into town. "Lovely place mate," says the driver, "But you're well out of it!"
"Why's that?" I ask.
"It's haunted. Everyone who stays there says so."
"Oh. I'm staying there."
The taxi driver doesn't even blink. "It's a friendly ghost, i've heard. Yeah."