It was a lovely sunny, warm day as we headed into London for the weekend. The birds were singing, people were laughing and everyone was enjoying the sunshine.
As we approached our destination, a pretty square near St Pancras Station my world began to change. We were staying at the Winchester. Actually it was the Howard Winchester but as soon as I heard the word Winchester the Howard became redundant and all I could think about was Shaun of the Dead.
To be fair, the Howard Winchester looks nothing like the famed pub but once spooky thoughts had taken hold, I viewed everything through blood coloured glasses. The hotel had a decidedly odd vibe, the receptionist strange and cold, our room in the attic, just one of three accessed by a separate staircase………
Needless to say, I was relieved to leave the hotel and get out into the sunshine where bad things don’t happen, not even in movies. But just around the corner we stumbled upon Hotel California. The weekend was getting worse. Although I love mini breaks, I don’t fancy checking out of my hotel anytime I like without the possibility of ever leaving. Suddenly home seemed a very nice place to be indeed.
But away from the square spooky thoughts soon left my mind and I enjoyed the rest of the day soaking up the sort of atmosphere that is unique to Camden Lock.
Later that night, tucked away in the airless, hot attic room I slept feverishly and awoke in a mild panic with the sun shining through the open window. It was early but relieved at being rescued from my nightmarish slumber I wandered over to the window to breath in the fresh morning air. But horror! There were bodies lying prone in the grassy square and a couple of people malignantly hanging around outside. Images from Shaun of the Dead raced through my mind……. Could it have been a zombie attack? Were we safe in this room? Would we be able to escape to our car? How long could we survive up here without any food? Was the tap water drinkable?!
Thankfully, before I dissolved into complete panic Lovely Hubby joined me at the window and laughingly pointed to the revellers crashed out on the grass and the early morning smokers standing around with nothing to do. Of course he was right; nothing to worry about at all.
The rest of the day was fine, honestly, completely fine. But I must admit to arriving home in one piece quite a relief.
Normality resumed, I popped down to my shed at the bottom of the garden to have a bit of a sort out and found two opened chrysalises stuck to the ceiling. Loving all things nature-like I gently took them down so I could show the family. As I entered the house a flock of crows descended on the garden in a gaggle of noise and I quickly placed the objects on the bookcase and raced outside to shoo the creatures away. But then I remembered, it’s not a flock of crows at all…….it’s a MURDER of crows! The birds settled in the huge oak tree at the bottom of the garden and watched me………just like in The Omen.
Needless to say, I hurried back into the house and locked the door, thankful that my children are now young adults and not little devils riding around on tricycles in the house (although our house certainly isn’t large enough to ride a bike through it, that detail is immaterial really).
Dinner, bath and bed. All hideous thoughts banished from my mind. But later that night I dreamed of the chrysalises on the bookcase. They were not the pupae of beautiful butterflies but the pods of two alien babies……and the mother was angry, very angry that they had been taken….because the alien babies were still inside…….and the mother was entering the house……and she was coming for the abductor………..
For crying out loud…...
And rather worryingly……this blog post naturally came to a halt at 666 words. Oh dear!