Tab tries: Ghost Tour

Who runs them? What are they like? Who goes on them? What do you wear? Will a girl think you’re cool if you take her on one?

We’re here to help and answer those burning questions that you didn’t even know you had.

So, last night, two intrepid writers set out once more to explore the hidden depths of Oxford in a journey of supernatural discovery and pseudo-historical inane bullshit at its most tedious.

As we arrived, Stewart was introducing himself to a surprisingly large and slightly awkward crowd of 13. He established the groundwork with some pitter patter about when and how ghosts visit, before taking a frankly extortionate ticket fare of ten pounds off everyone.

Stew gesticulates to an uncertain crowd

We set out down towards Merton guided by the light of Stewart’s unnecessarily intense laser pointer, giving a nice powerpoint feel to the evening.

Lazed

He babbled on about the alleged animosity of “Town vs. Gown” (an expression he used at least eight times), telling the group accounts of genuine lynchings and one massacre, all the while chortling and giving us (specifically) knowing looks as if we were in on his shit jokes.

The group was a wayward bunch, some from as far away as Reading, and one even Essex. There was a couple from Brookes on a Halloween date (seriously?), however, they assured us they wouldn’t be in bridge due to their 9AMs – couple of absolute nutters.

When one couple were asked why they were on the tour despite not being believers, one of them looked confused and replied, “We’re tourists, it’s just what you do here, init?”

Stew waxed lyrical about the Bullingdon Club whilst lasering Brasenose and told us all to go and see the Riot Club as soon as possible, as it was “based on a true story”. He didn’t say who’s story that was but the crowd seemed to lap up his verbal diarrhoea.

Stew strides down the high street

We turned to strange man and the woman he was draped over, asking if they believed in ghosts. Yes was their answer, did we? “No”, one of us replied, adding some throw away line about being a scientist. “It’s time to leave the science behind” commented this bloke with sincerity; this was what we were dealing with.

Another pair were two slightly older, wide set ladies, one of whom had wanted to go on the tour for her birthday (legend). Did they believe in ghosts? Another confident yes, but then a forlorn sigh and a wave of disappointment at how she couldn’t go in and see most of the haunted libaries and chapels. We nodded sensitively whilst gently rubbing our concealed bod cards.

I’ve been in there for a tute

Walking down Queen’s lane we were nearing the end when a great hoot was heard and into view came a rival crowd dressed to the nines in costumes and glow sticks with a booming, charismatic orator leading the way. It was Bill Spectre’s rival ghost tour, delivering an effervescent speech that was a stark contrast with Stew’s monotonous drivel. As they passed, a reveller wearing a wizard’s hat (who was almost certainly a real-ale enthusiast) turned to us and whispered “Our tour’s better than yours!” and we knew it even as we heard Bill reciting Sewart’s story about William Spooner almost word for word.

The fun version

In one last hurrah Stew stopped and got out his phone to show us the undeniable proof of a ghostly figure before the trip came to a welcome end under the bridge of sighs. We heard Spectre’s tour ending to rousing applause whilst our group disbanded, looking a bit confused and very ripped off.

Irrefutable

And so off we ghosted to the most haunted pub in Oxford to delete some pints and forget about the whole thing.

Ghoul spotting on Logic Lane