A spooky thing happened to me the other night. I thought I would tell you about it.

It was Sunday, which was Valentine’s Day. I’d finished reading my book and turned off the light but couldn’t get to sleep. The people in the flat upstairs were doing some passionate lovemaking (I could hear Barry White, the Walrus of Love, singing through the ceiling).

I decided to get up and make a cup of tea. (Decaf, obvs).

I know my way round my flat quite well in the dark - it’s just a straight line, really - so I didn’t bother putting any lights on. Looking back, I think this was my first mistake. (Things are spookier in the dark.)

I popped the kettle on and stood in the kitchen, in my cardi, in the moonlight. And that is when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. Something was moving.

Creeping, quite slowly, quite irreguarly, across the lino. Pale green and glowing and not quite of this world. I would later describe it in my diary, in very shaky, very frightened handwriting, as a ‘luminescent orb’.

I snapped the kitchen light on, quick as I could, but it had disappeared into the very dark bit under the washing machine. I was petrified. I thought it was either an alien life-form, a small ghost, or some sort of sentient fungi. The best thing to do, I decided, was panic.

I very quickly shut my kitchen door, my living room door, my hall door, and my bedroom door. I looked for something to hold it shut, improvised something not-very-sturdy with the hose attachment of Henry the Hoover. He smiled reassuringly throughout, which didn’t help.

Then I sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake, worrying, for hours.

At three o’clock I tried to think of ways to kill whatever it was that was hiding under my washing machine. The best I could think of was squashing it under my hardback copy of Victoria Wood’s biography Let’s Do It, which I got for Christmas. It didn’t seem like enough.

At this point, I really wished I had a boyfriend. The kind of lads I like are usually bigger and stronger than me (which isn’t hard) and would (I imagine) deal with this sort of thing very easily, then shrug it off - no biggie - and come back to bed.

I would be waiting, swooning, with Barry White lined up on Spotify. Which would be nice. But I didn’t have a boyfriend. I just had a hardback copy of Victoria Wood’s biography Let’s Do It, a cardigan, and a growing sense of dread.

‘It could escape from the kitchen at any moment’, I wrote in my diary. ‘The luminescent orb.’

I wrote this so that if whatever-it-was did escape from the kitchen and sort of abduct me (I think that’s what aliens/ghosts/sentient fungi do) I would’ve left a record behind me explaining the night’s events (so far) to whoever noticed I was missing (my Mum).

At five o’clock, another thought occurred to me. Quite a nice thought really. ‘What if it’s not come here to attack me?’ I thought. ‘What if it’s come here to help?’

Luminescent orbs probably know a lot about science, is the thing. Definitely more than me. ‘Maybe it can help with the global pandemic’ I thought. ‘Or climate change. Or Brexit.’ I was suddenly relieved I hadn’t been brave enough to try and squash it. I started to make a plan.

At half seven it was getting light and I was plucking up the courage to go into the kitchen. The thing to do, I had decided, was to confront the orb. I would use a spatula, slide it into the very dark bit under the washing machine, and coax it out.

If the orb was friendly, I thought, there’s nothing scary or threatening about a spatula. It won’t be spooked. But if the orb wasn’t friendly, I could use the spatula to defend myself - to swat the orb away or squash it. I thought it was a good plan. (I’d not had any sleep.)

I took a deep breath, and bravely (for me) opened the kitchen door. Got the spatula, slid it into the very dark bit under the washing machine, moved it round. After a bit, I felt it connect with something.

Took a moment to steady myself. Properly take it all in. I couldn’t believe I was about to make such a monumental scientific discovery, on my kitchen lino, on a Monday, in a cardigan. I moved the spatula gently. Slowly, slowly, the orb came out with it, into the light.

It was a grape.