Ghost, or transvestite, or transvestite ghost?
Late, late on a Saturday night, and I am driving with my (now ex-) wife down the A35 towards Dorchester and the turn-off home in Weymouth. It is a cold evening on the Tolpuddle Bypass, with the odd patch of fog drifting insubstantially across the road like some lost soul trapped between this world an the next. Much like a...

"Ghost! Did you just see that ghost?"

I am dragged out of auto-pilot by the alarmed shouts of my darling wife at what I had – at first – taken to be a late-night hitch-hiker.

"You mean the figure at the side of the road?" I ask.

"You saw it too?"

"The figure at the side of the road in a long white gown?"

"That's unreal," she said". "Just wait until I tell everybody. It... it... was almost like an angel."

"That wasn't no ghost or an angel," I say, yet she doubts me.

Alas, I have unpleasant memories of this particular stretch of the A35, it being Pervert Country, and southern England's premier transvestite dogging spot

To this day, she maintains that she saw the ectoplasm-spattered tortured ghost of some poor abandoned bride. I know I saw some bearded truck driver in a plus-sized frock hoping for a blow job. And that wasn't ectoplasm.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 13 Sep 2012, 13:51, Reply)