There seem to be more ghosts in Bradford pubs than there are punters. There's the phantom footsteps at the Tap & Spile in Sackville Street, the woman in black at the White Swan in Idle and the ghostly former landlady who inhabits the Dog & Gun at Oxenhope, to name but a few.

Most recent addition to the every-increasing Bradford hostelry ghost list is the Hare & Hounds in Wibsey, with its bizarre flaming porcelain angel.

Now I've never seen a ghost, but, were I to meet my maker, I'd love to come back as one. Not to terrorise people, you understand, but I'd get a lot of satisfaction from stirring things up a little, making a few carefully-selected individuals feel a chill down their spine.

I've drawn out a game plan, a list of top haunts which - were I to unexpectedly perish - I would hope to frequent:

OUR BEDROOM and bathroom: Without me to trail round after him, my husband would be forced (eventually) to pick up his dirty laundry and put it in the basket. I'd get my own back for years of clearing up after him. With my invisible presence I'd confuse and annoy him by pulling all the undies out again and trailing them along the corridor to the bathroom. And in the bathroom I'd have a field day, heavily thumping the loo seat down every time he left it up.

MY EX-boyfriend's house: The love of my life who dumped me years ago and left me devastated. I'd love to waft around his gaff as a beautiful apparition, red hair flowing in the breeze, reminding him of what he's been missing. On second thoughts, the years haven't been kind to me - maybe it would be better not to reveal myself and simply terrify him with a few moans and groans.

THE T&A computer: Whenever something goes wrong with the system, fingers (whether in jest or otherwise, I don't know) seem to waft in my direction. I know that I'm genuinely thought of as computer illiterate. So, once I joined Bradford's spook community, I'd whizz back into the newsroom and take up residence as a ghost in the machine. I'd wreak havoc on a scale worse than the recent international Love Bug virus. The terminals would shake, creak and whine every time a word was typed. Work of any sort would be impossible.

MY FORMER neighbours' house: If it isn't already, this would become the noisiest house on the block, as my spirit took every opportunity to go bump in the night - and throughout the day too. Sadly, though, if they made half as much racket as they did when they lived next to us, they wouldn't even notice.

MY BROTHER'S flat: He's gardener at a huge country house and lives on the premises. Inside it's all creaky floorboards and wooden panelling, yet he pooh-poohs the idea of a ghost. I'd take great pleasure in ambling past him in the vast stairwell. He'd never recognise me, with my head tucked under my arm.

I must say, the after-life offers a lot of possibilities for having a laugh - which is more than I can say for the present. But then again, you may not get to choose your haunts. Chances are, in common with everyone else, I'd end up at a Bradford pub.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.