The Smell Of Fireworks

02-01-2014 – Thursday

10.00 am

The smell of fireworks is still in the air and people didn’t bother to clean up their mess and they still haven’t. Even though the whole neighbourhood is complaining about it, nobody seems to be doing the obvious … clean up! Stop cursing the darkness and light a candle, for crying out light! If they’d like, I have got a not-so-magical broom that might be of assistance (it won’t be me handling it, though). I think I am one of the few kids around here who just doesn’t seem to know what’s so grand about blowing up money. Because, basically, that’s what lighting firework is.

Luckily for me school is still closed. First day of school isn’t until 6 January. This means I have got lots of time to indulge in my new hobby: ghost hunting! I told you yesterday that I discovered I am no Harry Potter and I am certainly no Jedi either. Neither the Force nor the Schwarz seem to be working for me and Abracadabra definitely has had its best time. That is why I have decided to do something I might just be good at.

Ghosts are all the rage here in England. If you want to find a haunted house, just throw a rock. Each self-respecting town has got its own ghost tours, hundreds of books on where to find which ghosts, tons of websites dedicated to the supernatural, and a country full of believers. To be honest, I have no idea why it is these ghosts are still here. It is said that fireworks were used to scare away those nasty spirits. What with all the loud bangs and booms from two days ago one might think those ghosts would have all left. On the other hand … where would they have gone to? I guess nobody has ever really thought about that.


15.00 pm

I told my friendly neighbour Mr Bent I was going to be hunting ghosts. Mum and Dad still don’t know as they have been out all day. They told me where they were going, but I forgot what it was and what time they’d be back. So, it’s just me and Cheddar today. It left a nice little bomb for me on the carpet this morning, because Mum and Dad didn’t bother to tell me I had to walk the dog. Cleaning up dog poo has never been one of my most favourite hobbies, if you can call it a hobby at all.

They left me a little note on the table, well, a shopping list that ended in ‘Love, Mum and Dad’. If only they had left some money on the table, too. I won’t be able to go shopping without any money. I guess we’ll be eating pizza tonight.

Anyways, Mr Bent was very enthusiastic about my idea. He’s already got an idea for my first ghost hunt. There is supposed to be a ghost somewhere at Threadneedle Street. And he was going to tell me all about the ghost tonight. I’ll be reporting back tomorrow about this, because right after his stories I’ll be off to bed. His stories usually scare the shit out of me. He has a knack for telling stories. I bet you’ll be finding out tomorrow.





Why!? I was so looking forward to pizza. Mum and Dad came home with a big bag full of food. Mum realised she had forgotten to leave money for the groceries and so they did some shopping themselves. This must be some kind of proof that there either is no God or, if there is, he must really hate me (at least today).

Mum made Sunday Roast … on Thursday! This woman must be admitted to a mental institute. Or am I being overdramatic at the moment? I don’t know. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. But geez … something is wrong. Off to Mr Bent.



Dear diary (whahaha, diary, yeah), I was right, his stories nearly made me wet my pants. I was about to go to bed and hide under de blankets. Instead I decided it would be better to hide under my bed. If there were any monsters hiding underneath my bed, it’d be best to join them instead of beating them. I’ll be in bed as soon as I have finished shivering. Hopefully, I won’t wet my bed tonight or have terrible nightmares. I am still not going to go into any details at the moment, suffice to say, you don’t ever want to be going to go anywhere near Bank station, ever again. Never! 


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