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Usually you look at church towers and you're happy to accept explanations as to why they were built such as 'glory of God', job creation scheme or local landowner's ego. With St. Æbbe's at Coldanger, I'm almost willing to believe the local legend of ghost container. – #MattAdams

The county has a surfeit of wandering coffins. It isn't short of knocking, jumping and wriggling coffins wither. There seems to be more activity in some church crypts than there is above in the pews. Hookland's dead seem to refuse stillness. – #MattAdams

The Water Gypsies call it luckless water. Trippy Pete calls it a NPZ - Non-specific Perturbing Zone. You can feel when you walk the navigation. Tangible unease. Psychic skin prickles and a throb at the back of the skull. An inexplicable desire to move on quickly. – #MattAdams

There are certain roads that seem to bend time. Blur your sense of now and when till you are never quite sure which year you'll emerge in when you finally pull off of it. There are an awful lot of those roads up around King's Chase. – #MattAdams, 1981

The longer I spend in Hookland, the more I understand #autumn isn't a date, it's a state of mind. An anticipation of mangelwurzel lanterns, illicit fireworks. Joys of a conker carpet, sweet smell of apple rot and tang of bonefire wraiths. Spirits growing new teeth. – #MattAdams

Maisy says my problem is that I'd call the sentinels of every Coreham arch: 'Ghost Stone Kings' when according to her they are: "The leering watch beardy-weirdy patriarchy". – #MattAdams, 1981

Of course, Trippy Pete has a theory about everything. He reckons that the mediaeval reports of glowing red eyes seen on the old roads weren't black dogs, but rather the rear indicator lights of cars from people having an incomprehensible vision of the future. – #MattAdams, 1980

Each time we visit, each time we evade the military patrols and get closer to the Gog and Magog dishes, I become more convinced that the signals are an infection. I also become more unsure of where the signals originate – the dishes or the standing stones. – #MattAdams, 1981

Broken homes has a different meaning out on the Barrowcross Moors. Abandoned places, unravelled by combination tyranny of weather and phantoms. Buildings haunted by the absence of those that once lived there and the hill spirits that forced them to flee. – #MattAdams, 1981

C.L. Nolan said England is merely the crust that floats above imagined tunnels, caves and hollow mysteries. When you get into the network of caves below Coreham, you get a terrible sense that he might be right. Every mile they go on dislocates you from above. – #MattAdams, 1981

There are certain spots in the wood that make me think about the cunning folk who claimed that trees hold 'green conversation' with each other in a language that could be learned. An alphabet of twisted limbs and roots, bark striations and swayed gestures. – #MattAdams, 1981

The nosebleeds alway begin when you're through the second fence. However, it's not until you to get to the third fence's old gates that the signal manifests in you. An overwhelming hollowness and compression to a single destination. – #MattAdams, 1981

I have never known anywhere like Hookland for ghost veneration. Even murderers and pirate phantoms get celebrated in pub sign or temporary paper and wire shrines. Here, haunting is hallow. – #MattAdams, 1980

Every landscape on Barrowcross Moor feels like mystery manifesting. Each of them seems to posses its own cycle of folklore. Story vortice that pull you toward them. – #MattAdams, 1980

I woke with my head heavy with visions. The coming of the Next Stone Age, the Scrap-iron Age. A post-apocalypse England of A-roads turned to green leys, rusting pylons as silent memorials of cities of light. The land itself screaming its wounds in my mind. - #MattAdams, 1980

On Blackford Down we are caught between transmitter and receiver. We know there's signal, but all we get is psychic noise. Our hands read moss as braille maps of the stars, become possessed by stone synesthesia where shape becomes the song of the land to the heavens. – #MattAdams

Walking Ashcourt Necropolis is like moving through the pages of a book of symbolism. Message across time carved in stone that I struggle to decode, not because the signal has degraded in broken limb vandalism, but because our culture quickly forgets the arcane. – #MattAdams

As we walked towards the Magog dish and the Dial Stones, the headaches kicked in. A sick throb in the parietal lobe, a losing of language. In our heads a screaming static, a screaming static and signals trying to come through. We began to become unstuck in time.– #MattAdams, 1981

We got passed the first two fences easier this time. This caused paranoia to kick off. We kept on asking, do they want us to get to the dishes this time? Are we part of some military experiment? What put this desire in us to come? Are we mere manipulations? - #MattAdams, 1981

I found Trippy Pete's boat by the gasometer skeletons outside of Ashcourt. All along this stretch of the canal there's there's talk about Blackwater John and Empress Eel sightings. Both somehow seem to be linked to the torso found floating last week. – #MattAdams, 1980

Maisie told me that when her Nanna was a child, her great-parents used to lock her inside their cottage during the Puck Fair. They were worried about her slipping through a crack in the hill and never coming back. They used to buy her a doll as compensation. – #MattAdams, 1981

Podcast #43 is now up! @MattAdamsFoL joins us to talk about his experience @TheOpen in St. Andrews. A unique, insightful & fun conversation with one of Golf’s best storytellers. @GolfChannel host & analyst, #MattAdams 🥃 🏌️‍♂️ 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 Watch/Listen on your here:

The phrase panic gates does little to reassure when you start exploring where you shouldn’t be. - #MattAdams, 1981

Barrowcross's abandoned farms haunt the landscape as much as its neolithic tombs do. They've become accidental memorials. Amplifiers of absence. Stone maps of vanished lives. The sharp teeth of their failing walls turns the wind into the whistles of the dead. – #MattAdams, 1981

At the edges of Barrowcross you find dozens of abandoned farms, deserted homes. They make a map of trauma. It's like the visible rippling out of some horrific event or terror that escapes easy language. Talk of a curse is simultaneously simplistic and accurate.– #MattAdams, 1981

It sits brooding at the edge of Black Langton. It splits the parish. Half call it 'the Murder Barn', the other 'Ghost Keep'. A place of childhood dares and driving passed a little more quickly than the speed limit allows. The coppers don't mind. They get it. - #MattAdams, 1980

We navigate the end of the day in clouds and the disintegrating ley lines of plane trails. Searching for Ashcourt's occulted pubs. The Widow's Marmoset. The Death to Monaco. I Am The Witch's Last Knock. Ale alchemy to turn this cursed week. – #MattAdams, 1980

Out on Blackford Down, caught between the Magog dish and the Long Stone, suddenly the unbidden thought: ‘Hymns Ancient and Modern’. Now I can’t help thinking of the signals as sacred songs. - #MattAdams, 1981

We pushed along the cut, chuckling of engine our soundtrack out of Ashcourt. The ex-Children of The Hum are holding one of their 'Floating Moots', boats flanking the banks like a hippy naval armada. Everywhere talk of newly made ghosts, a twitching of omens. – #MattAdams, 1980

When you sit on Trippy Pete's boat and dangle your toes and tins of beer in the cooling of the canal, it is best not to think about Stay Belows or the teeth of the Empress Eel. Especially when the sun makes you see shadows under the surface. – #MattAdams, 1980

We climb long lanes with green-crested Mohicans running across their middles. Cars become vague memory. Time frays. We navigate by ghost stories and the hope of lunchtime pubs. - #MattAdams, 1981

Sometimes I feel I've fallen through the cracks into a parallel dimension. An apocalypse of collapse and technological atavism. Abandoned trains left to weather dismantling. Civilisation's infrastructure pulled up for burning. The great silence of the Pylon People. #MattAdams

More time you spend on edges of Barrowcross, harder it is to dismiss the ruined homesteads and abandoned farms. An idea forms that there’s some force on the moors that doesn’t like neighbours. A force rippling out like someone lugged a huge stone into a duck pond. - #MattAdams

@KHubes5 @kyler416 If my memory is correct, #Yepez became a @Cardinals in the #MattAdams trade with @Braves. He improved and flourished in @CardsPlayerDev because he reached his potential power, cut down on his K’s, and improved on his BB’s. Cards saw his potential and gave Yeppy space to grow.

Out on Blackford Down I become confused. Which is receiver? Which is transmitter? Lost in ancient static or modern pulsing, the headaches always come. As does the coppery tang of blood in mouth just before everything is all noise and no signal. - #MattAdams, 1981

As a kid growing up, to live near a military base was in your head living in the world of UNIT and Doctor Who. Then as a teen it hits you that you’re just living next to a nuclear target and they’ll be no TARDIS rescue. - #MattAdams, 1982

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