I READ in the Adver that ghost hunts will be run by a Swindon organisation called Paranormal Planet, starting in February.

I’m seriously considering looking them up on Facebook and asking their advice, because I’ve been plagued for years by unexplained phenomena and strange manifestations. Even more worryingly, whatever sinister beings are responsible have followed me from address to address across the country.

As I recall, it started innocently enough. I’d wake one morning with a draught in the house and discover the front door wide open to the elements, even though locking the door was part of my routine every time I left to go about my business.

Sometimes the door would be securely locked and the key in its usual place on a hook in the kitchen, but the living room window would be open wide. Sometimes, if it had been raining, there would be wet and muddy footprints all over the house that didn’t seem to lead anywhere.

I initially believed there must be some sort of logical explanation, and probably still would if the phenomena had remained so relatively low key.

As things turned out, though, the open doors and windows were only the beginning. Other things began happening and continue off and on to this day.

For example, I’d suffer troubled sleep filled with nightmares in which I clearly heard the demonic trumpet fanfares sounded by the hellish host to summon the damned to eternal punishment. Then, on waking, I’d discover the bedroom to be filled with a sulphurous stench, as if the very pit of Hades had disgorged its foul miasma.

Sometimes every television and radio would be blaring, but tuned to channels I’d never watch. Sometimes there’d be a meal neatly plated on the kitchen worktop, but with ingredients that were calculated to mock and frighten me. Curry flavour Pot Noodle and jam doughnuts on toast, for example, or pickled walnuts on a bed of rice pudding and a pint glass of strawberry Nesquik with a hard-boiled egg in it.

My supernatural tormentors have even infested my computer. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve wandered, bleary-eyed, into the room where I keep it, and discovered that my list of YouTube favourites has been tampered with to include every video featuring Felicity Kendal.

More disturbingly, an ex-fiance who runs a farm got in touch via her lawyer.

It seems somebody’s been using my IP address to send love notes addressed to several of her sheep.

I called in a vicar a while ago but whatever infests my house clearly objected to his presence. It caused a random object to appear.

I was explaining my predicament as best I could while he sat in an armchair with a growing look of discomfort on his face. He was sniffing, as if at some peculiar odour, and seemed very uncomfortable.

Finally he reached down the side of the cushion and withdrew a large doner kebab complete with salad, sauce, a thick coating of fluff and one or two dead spiders. He fled with a strangled cry of disgust.

I suppose I must continue to deal with this horror on my own.

Fortunately the demons only seem active on Friday and Saturday evenings, plus the occasional Bank Holiday, so at least my torment is not constant.