After weeks and weeks of trying to arrange a date for dinner, we finally managed to organise an outing with our recently married friends.

“We’re going on a ghost hunt!” announced my so-called pal knowing it would strike fear into my heart.

“We’re going to Chepstow Castle for a night time ghost walk…and we’re having fish and chips outside in the castle grounds in the dark just to set the scene,” she added with excitement.

“We’re having a picnic in the middle of winter?” I asked wondering what was wrong with any of the popular pubs or restaurants in the area.

“It’ll add to the ambience if we sit close the the castle walls soaking up the spooky atmosphere,” she replied. “We might even see a ghost before the night starts,” she added.

“If it’s really scary I might be a ghost before the evening starts,” I muttered looking at the programme for the evening.

Just a few days later we found ourselves heading into the magnificent Chepstow Castle - definitely worth a visit if like me you’ve never been - and listening to our well informed guides recounting some of the fortresses more gory stories and tales of the ghostly goings on within its walls.

“And now we’re going to venture into the deepest part of the castle…the cellars,” announced guide Alison, whose torch had just terrified half the tour by switching on seemingly of its own volition.

“I’m not going down there,” announced the housemate.

“Don’t be daft, it’s not that scary,” I replied.

“I don’t care about whether it’s scary or not. I’m not walking down all those steps. I’ve done my walking for this week in Cardiff thanks to your mother who took us the wrong way out of an arcade and made us walk miles more than we needed to.”

I thought about pointing out that walking is not actually rationed to a specific number of steps a week but one look at her determined face made me think better of it and head off alone.

When we emerged moments later the housemate was looking pleased with herself and was engaged in a deep conversation with the other tour guide, who it transpired usually worked at Raglan Castle.

“I’ve been telling Jane all about our ghost photograph and she wants to see it,” she said.

As we wandered back to the castle gates we explained to the keen ghost hunter that many years ago we’d taken the housemate’s grandchildren to the castle and in the backgrounds of a picture I’d taken of the three of them was mysterious figure of a man who nobody had seen at the time.

“It was the middle picture of six I shot off as part of a burst and the figure only appears in the third picture. There’s no sign of him anywhere else and he didn’t emerge from the tower ahead before my lot did,” I explained.

“I’ve always meant to drop the picture into you at Raglan, but never got round to it,” I explained.

“It’s quite a strange picture,” I added handing over my phone.

“It’s amazing!” announced our guide gazing at it. “It’s so clearly the face of a man. We actually have reports of people seeing a soldier in that tower so I wonder if that is him. It’s probably the best ghost picture I’ve ever seen!”

“Really” I said. “I wonder will it make me enough money to to retire?” I asked the housemate half jokingly