The hair on the delicate hands of the milkmaid stood on end as she heard her cow moo. “What is it, dear cow,” she said, even as she continued milking, “What is it that troubles you?”

The cow mooed again, and the milkmaid whispered, “You are safe! Our fences are tall; no lion can jump in and be off with you. Our laws are strong; no one can butcher you anymore! You are safe dear cow, why the terror in your voice?”

 “What’s that awful smell?”

 “What smell?” I asked the friend of mine, who had just entered my home.

 “Can’t you get it?” he asked surprised.

Ofcourse it is! Can’t you see I’m lazing around? There’s no bus to catch or appointment to keep, it’s Saturday and a day of rest!

And then I look out, there’s a man at my window.

 “Hello!” I shout, taken aback, “What are you doing there?”

Since my wife, a doc, has already had her vaccine shot, I decided I would field a few questions to her for my safety and the safety of the people, “Who gave you the shot?” I asked.

 “A fellow doctor!” she said.

 “Male or female?” I asked.

 “Why?” she asked, “Does it matter?”

It’s been whispered that ghosts of yesterday can mix with the nocturnal spirits of today, as no time bar separates them in the supernatural realms, which is why in the other worldly bar that phantom souls frequent, the late Winston Churchill walked across the spooky floor to join the late Thomas Babington Macaulay for a ghostly drink. “What are you grimacing about Thomas?” he asked lightly, dropping the title of ‘Sir’ which Macaulay would have otherwise insisted be added to his name, but not so for the great Churchill.

 “Ah Winston, how are you, and I do hope you’re enjoying the spirits here!”