10 February 2008

...thy father's spirit

By the clicking of the thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
There is a ghost at the old CBC building on the Parkway, so it seems.

The ghost of one news producer long since past not from the Earth but from the building.

Your humble e-scribbler dialed a familiar number this weekend, in order to follow up on the strange case of the missing SAC story.

The number rang and rang, as it should on a weekend.

But instead of going off to message manager as it usually does, an unfamiliar voice suddenly entoned that the call had reached the desk of Bob Wakeham.

Bob was apparently not available but the call was then re-routed to the newsroom where some kind - and hopefully non-spectral - voice answered.

No message, sez your e-scribbler, maybe the cell phone is working properly.

Eerie that calls should go to Wakeham when one is inquiring about why a major political story never made to air at CBC. It's the kind of story people of Wakeham's time would have delved into until every ounce of information had been wrung from it.

Those sort of things never seem to happen in these days of Crackberries.

Odd that.