I begin my account of this very strange journey with a brief look back at my childhood. I feel it important to describe certain aspects of my youth as these snapshots will provide useful insights into the influences and experiences which were to shape my feelings towards the supernatural, before I came into contact with Skully.

Due to family difficulties I was raised by my maternal grandparents and their unmarried daughter, Barbara. My grandmother, Elizabeth May, was a follower of the pagan or wiccan tradition. The back-to-back rows of terraced houses deep in the middle of industrial Yorkshire were a hotbed of superstition and folklore. It was not unusual for me to get home from school to find her living room filled with sweet-smelling incense, empty teacups, strange cards and crystal balls. And, of course, a wonderful variety of colourful individuals who chatted and talked until just before the menfolk returned from their shift at the local pit. My Grandfather was a Royal Arch Mason whose real interests lay on the more esoteric fringes of Freemasonry.

Even as a child I was struck by the singular fact that in spite of their beliefs being poles apart, they were perfectly happy and content with each other. On the other hand, my parents, despite being united behind the unified banner of Christ, were completely miserable. I imagined this menage-a-trois as a species of 'Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.' In the blue corner, my grandmother and her pagan friends used a crudely painted donkey cut from a cereal box; a wooden-spoon for a tail; a teatowel for a blindfold; a liberal sprinkling of alcohol and a generous slice of joviality. A good time was enjoyed by all. Their attempts to 'hit the spot' were pretty much what one would imagine. Each participant had their own -closely guarded- secret formula for success, but usually, the tail was attached to some humorous part of the cereal box. However, once once in a while someone would score a lucky 'bulls-eye.' In the red corner, my grandfather's Masonic brethren had commissioned the Queen's own sculptor to craft a life size and anatomically correct donkey from solid gold and the most precious of jewels. NASA developed a computerized, laser guidance targeting system acting in conjunction with a motorized exoskeleton into which each candidate was ritually inserted. Each attempt was strictly governed by a complex sequence of protocols and instructions. Unfortunately, and by their own admission, they had lost the donkey's solid silver tail (also fashioned by the Queen's own sculptor) and so couldn't play the game. Sat at the back, in a dark corner were the Christians, who wouldn't play because 'It was a sinful game. They were sinners. Everyone else was a sinner for playing.'

My aunt, Barbara, was a natural clairvoyant, who, for reasons unknown, never came to terms with her ability and was most certainly unnerved by her experiences. She was courting (and would later marry) a staunch Catholic, who probably did much to fuel her fears with his particular brand of rabid religious repression and mania. His Catholicism did however serve one useful purpose, it added a fourth dimension to my Spiritual map.

Form a very early age I was exposed to a rich vein of diverse belief systems and curious experiences. Throughout my formative years I witnessed (and heard accounts of) many strange and downright bizarre occurrences. None of which were acknowledged by the State appointed education I was absorbing. I was also vaguely aware of 'something' inside me. It is possible that this 'something' was a seed which germinated under the influence of my grandmother's tuition. She may have planted the seed herself, but I feel that she merely watered something that was already inside me; waiting. The evidence of my own eyes had very much confirmed that there was definitely 'Something in all this supernatural stuff.' But no one seemed able to offer an explanation of the mechanism. Each theory seemed to contain a spark of the Truth, but none came close to a real understanding and most went of at such a diverse tangent as to insult one's intelligence.

In 1979, three crucial events occurred, in quick succession, which were to completely change my focus. My grandmother died, my grandfather moved to Huddersfield (to be with his mistress) and my aunt married. With the departure of these three pivotal individuals, my connection with a real, living tradition was extinguished. I decided that it was time that I consulted the vast corpus of dubious scribbles and ranting, collectively entitled 'Occult literature' in my search for answers. My grandparents held views which were poles apart, but were united in their respect for a 19th century poet, mountaineer and magickian called Aleister Crowley. It was with this particular gentleman that I started to decipher the formless 'something' inside me that continued to whisper. Over the next seventeen years I perused everything from sacred religious texts to black magick rituals. I lived through the phenomenal rise of the New-Age movement; UFO hysteria and abductions; crop circles; conspiracy theories; spoon bending and faces on Mars. By 1996, I was thoroughly disheartened by the whole issue. To concisely sum up my feelings I shall use an analogy:

When one flicks an electric switch, the light comes on. Although there are many factors which could conspire to prevent this, the switch serves its function on all but an insignificant percentage of occasions.

The above being an exact opposite of the supernatural, which, in spite of its mountain of associated dogma, elaborate ritual and divine (unholy) sanction, could not even find the switch let-alone turn it on. I had become savagely skeptical. The flames of my cynicism fanned by an ever increasing crop of TV shows and books that featured a menagerie of colourful and flamboyant cranks, loonies and disturbed individuals. All of whom seemed only too willing to make complete fools of themselves in attempting to outshine last week's 'In-Guru.' That so many people were taken in by this media freak show seemed to speak for itself.

At this time I had reached an all-time spiritual low. I decided to change my house, my job and my life. It was with these huge changes in mind that I drove into Doncaster with the intention of buying a linen basket, a pill-box and maybe a good book to read.