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Another typical Jenny Randles curate's egg book, with interesting stories which remind us of how many weird things people report, by no means all (or even most) of which fit into any kind of conventional pigeon hole. Of course there must be some question as to whether these are special to what Jenny calls window areas, or whether you couldn’t find just as many anywhere if you were prepared to devote the time and effort into looking for them. To be fair though, boring old Trafford seems to a pretty Fortean-free zone. Wild country places are obviously much more atmospheric - and photogenic as the excellent pictures show - than, say, Widnes on a wet Wednesday. My Brigantian heart wishes it was all true, however. We would have the real thing, while our English neighbours would have to make do with the commercialised tat of Glastonbury and the fading nostalgia of Warminster.
Jenny thinks that some pretty unusual atmospheric phenomena are going on there, and that it is a pity that the atmosphere of true belief prevents scientists taking a look at them. Fine words, but the trouble is Jenny herself can’t stop wittering on with pseudoscientific speculation about time warps and the like. Even worse is her re-raking up the corpse of poor old Zigmund Adamski to make a mystery where there is none, save that of human motivation. Why are paranormalists always their own worst enemies?
Peter Rogerson, Magonia Supplement 29, July 2000
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