BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN
It was one of the odder calls I have received:
A colleague telephoned, “Dom there’s a witch from Wales after you”.
“I thought Ruth Tingay was based in Scotland?” I replied, confused.
“No, this is another one. An actual black witch animal rights loon! You know, as in evil black. Black Witch of Salem! The Witches of Macbeth! She runs a business called Sourceries Limited (alas now gone up in a puff of magic smoke). Her and her sad, paid stalker husband are involved in black magic. They are part of that nasty crowd who slate the poor parents of Madeleine McCann. The witch is calling people up who are linked to us and she’s smearing you something rotten. Left, right and centre.”
Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of animal rights crazies. Seriously, I am beginning to think that they might well be the reason God doesn’t talk to us anymore.
That call back in January resulted in an email replete with multiple attachments getting sent to me about this black witch and her partner who both have rather a colourful record and use multiple aliases. It turned out to be true that the witch was indeed a black witch called Serenwyl, aged 64, and that her husband was a paid troll/stalker used by animal rights people to pressurise their ideological opponents. You know, one of those power couples like Richard & Judy or Frank Sinatra & Ava Gardner, just without the fame – or any power for that matter.
Just last weekend, Serenwyl – ‘Seri’ she tends to go by these days to come across as a more approachable sort of a witch – telephoned the ex-husband of a lady who had written some articles for Country Squire Magazine and gave him an earful about yours truly. The poor fellow had no idea what had hit him. Talk about spoiling one’s day. You can’t see witches’ pointy hats coming on random telephone calls – pick up and it’s already too late. While he was sitting down for a brew she was ranting on the phone about me. I have never met him or her and she has never met him. Full on Snap, Cackle and Pop. The police were then called on Serenwyl/Seri/Sair/Serenwyl the Pillory Rhosier who know her rather too well already but must be a tad confused, like the rest of us, by which witch is which.
Anyway, Seri doesn’t seem to like me much. I can’t think why. Is she being paid to smear me by someone, I wonder? At least I don’t recall seeing her at any covens or mistaking her for a low-flying crow. Yet Seri seems to be flying off her broom handle at me. Maybe she’s mistaking me for any one of a number of people who laughed out loud at her in the past. She shares interests and contact with some other stalker fleas I have on my coat, and she is a very persistent sort of a troll. They have all been in touch with Packham’s solicitors, which is of ongoing interest to those that be.
I have to say that however much you try and block out these crazies, every now and again, like sarin gas, they mess with your head…
Back in January at the time of the warning call from my colleague I was suffering from a really sore right shoulder. You know, one of those sharp, stabbing pains. You get to a certain age and you can almost pinpoint pains back to a particular rugby match. Still, this pain was a real bugger and felt like someone was lancing the inside of my shoulder blade with a hot poker. So, as I sat there with a shoulder heat pad on, I began to seriously consider the black witch. Was she maiming me? Did she have a Dom Wightman voodoo doll she was stabbing with a kitchen knife? How does one go about mitigating a voodoo attack? Is there something one can do to perhaps reverse the negativity?
YouTube leads you down a right old rabbit hole. That wasn’t much use at all. So, for a chuckle really, I asked the question on a group I belong to:
One of the responses came back with the name and number of a white witch up North. I thought, why not? So I gave her a call and she seemed lovely. She did a Tarot card reading for me. As she interpreted the cards I didn’t really know what she was talking about but we got on well enough and she had (what I imagine to be) an 0898 voice. Then she urged me to move the phone to my right shoulder ‘where the sharp pain is’. But I hadn’t told her about the pain! Then I heard a dinging noise through the phone. She was using a Tibetan singing bowl and clearing my aura of all the darkness that the black witch or others had left there. When she was finished she asked me to hang up, have a shower and wash all over with salt. She reassured me before that call ended:
“Whoever sent the pain now feels the pain, dear”
I have called the white witch of the North a couple of times over the last weeks and I have to say my shoulder is now completely free of pain. Maybe that was due to the natural healing process of time or maybe because of a Potteresque clash going on in the ether which I do not understand. All I do know, from my travels to such distant lands as Venezuela and the Philippine archipelago where they know how to handle black witches, is that we have concreted over too much of our past in the West. In such less developed lands the witches still hold power, both good and wicked. The idea that “Where there is no imagination, there is no horror,” the West has taken too far perhaps.
Either which way, the animal rights crazies, who hate me and their ideological opponents only a little more than they hate themselves, are on very shaky ground. Killing the messenger is really not working. Perhaps the time has come for them to take to their broomsticks? The sky’s up thataway….
Dom Wightman is the Editor of Country Squire Magazine.