Postcards From York II

"Wow!"
"Wow, indeed!"
I ran my hands across the wonky medieval walls of our York holiday home.
"This is amazeballs. We don't really need to go to the city. We can just sit here in the house and enjoy its...um...medievalness."; I suggested.
"We really do need to get out at some point, you know."; said The Husband.
"OK then, but only after I open every single cupboard and drawer and check under the bed for snakes."
"There are no poisonous sna..."
"There be adders!!!!"; I interrupted him.
"It's highly unlikely they are nesting under the bed of a holiday home in York."
"You never know. It's better I check."
There were no adders so we went for a walk around the city.

"Look at us walking around with very little likelihood of getting robbed or beheaded!"; I exclaimed.
"Is that a dig at my homeland and its crime statistics?"; said The (Brazilian)  Husband suspiciously.
"No, not at all."; I lied.
He wasn't buying it, but before the argument could develop, I stopped dead in my tracks.
There was a movie (or a TV) production going on, just yards away from York Minster.
"Ooooh, they're filming something, let's have a look."
After observing various people in period costumes shuffling this way and that on set, I decided I was going to be brave and ask some questions: "I'm gonna go and ask what are they filming."
"Why? They're busy, they're not gonna tell you."; stated The Husband
"If I ask politely they will.".
I approached a busy and important looking man: "Erm....so...yeah....whatcha filming here then, mate????"
"Crimewatch UK"; he dead-panned.
I squinted at him suspiciously.
He squinted back. We had a little squint off.
"It's a reconstruction"; he quickly added.
"M...m...mate, you can't bullshit a bullshitter. I'm gonna ask you again...Whatcha filming?"
He better tell me now.
"Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. For BBC."
"For real?"
"For real. You can check on the internet."
I whipped out the phone. His story checked out.
"Aight then. Cheers. Have a good day."
I went back to The Husband who moved several metres back from the set and was by now dying with embarrassment.
"It's getting dark. Let's go back to the house."
"Let's."

Since the house was supposed to be haunted, I switched all the lights off, lit a million of candles, immersed myself in a roll top bath creatively positioned in the bedroom and waited for ghosts.
Nothing.
"Can we go on ghost tour?"; I asked, still immersed in water.
"Sure."; said The Husband.
"And then can we call the ghosts via ouija board?"
"NO!! Are you crazy. You don't mess around with that."; he panicked.
"But the house has ouija board. And there are instructions."
"NO! It's not good."
"But, you don't believe in anything!!!"; I protested.
"I believe in ghosts!"
"Sweet Bejesus! Fine, I'll do it on my own!"
"You do that. But not in the house."
"Look, I can hardly go and sit with my ouija board on the wet and cold streets of York, indulging in paranormal activity. People will think I lost my marbles and commit me to an institution."
"Don't be silly, this is England. People will think you're mildly eccentric at most."
He won. No ouija board then. Still, I was determined to see and hear the ghosts.
We settled for the night and nodded off to sleep...