Saturday’s unhealthy dose of post-Victoriana tosh began with a recap of the ‘creepy’ events of Friday in Transylvania where Karl (husband of Yvette) and Stuart (cousin of Yvette) saw an apparition that spooked them so intensely they were forced to flail, flap, wobble and squeal. The camera, and indeed the levelheaded viewer, saw nothing. “I’ve an overwhelming urge to throw myself over the balcony" Stuart opined. Don’t let us stop you, Stu. Kath (hairdresser of Yvette) was ‘terrified’ although the Manc-voiced, turtle mouthed make-up girl is often terrified even by an innocuous sneeze and a mouse taking a pee.
Saturday had a buffoon-like Paul Ross gurning crazily as the Nosferatu-like Julian Clegg gabbled nonsense about a “massive response” from the public which I can only imagine is the 300 drunk folk who text in of an evening to claim that they have seen “a little girl” (why is it always a little girl?).
Someone, incredulously unnamed, catches two girls in a large room walking followed by a shadow of a marching man who emerges from the floor to follow the girls. The para-psychologist cannot explain it – Yvette gets excited…to me it’s a deeply unsubstantiated mobile phone video clip that needs a lot more cross referencing that old ‘historian’ Lesley seems incapable of performing without Google and Wikipedia.
Conveniently a séance in the very same room produced a barrage of orbs (or, as I like to call them, dust) and Karl being semi-possessed by an evil entity who hated David Wells (they always hate poor David, these spirits. How can anyone hate the camp, sweet smelling, overweight Scottish psychic/medium?) Stuart's legs, just as conveniently, stop working…the same Stuart who was beaten, strangled, assaulted, possessed and laughed at by ghosts on previous series. Time to call it a day and apply to Coronation Street again, Stu?
Sadly for me and the other 506 viewers, Vlad the Impailer does not make an appearance. He may have been a Romanian speaking, child hating, pensioner stabbing maniac who loved a bit of black pudding of an afternoon, but even he can remember the horror of Yvette Fielding on Blue Peter circa 1992 and decided an eternity in Hell was preferable to a live broadcast in front of a load of drunken sceptics, excited believers and a bored-looking Paul Ross.
I cannot, despite my best intentions, tear myself away from Most Haunted. Yes, its looks fake, yes its melodramatic, yes Yvette is a pain in the backside, yet the show is frighteningly compelling...as though David Wells has cast some scary psychic mind control spell over me and I cannot switch over until an actual ghost shows its face. There’s an old museum near me more haunted than a Harry Potter chapter…I might email Yvette and Karl and see if they’ll pop by – I may even volunteer my services as a spoon-thrower…I mean, enthusiastic sceptical reporter.
Think Yvette and Karl are honest? Can you fake more convincingly? Chillywinter@hotmail.co.uk
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