Dead historical figures are still frequenting my home. Today, the ghost of Bertrand Russell visited. He is a nice enough chap, and showered the sponge cake I offered him with praise - I endeavour to prevent him finding out I bought it from Tesco. However, this esteemed gentleman feels the need to re-invent himself since death, to keep up with today's youth. He's been terribly depressed since his rapping career stopped dead (no pun intended). Now, he is attempting to learn to skateboard in my back yard. I haven't the heart to tell him skateboarding is not as big as it used to be, but he is dead, and can be excused for being a bit slow to catch on to trends.
Russell is at least safe in the knowledge that he cannot hurt himself skateboarding, seeing as he is a ghost. For the same reason, I'm not worried that he's just landed in my geraniums.