I was walking home from work one evening, minding my own business, when I very nearly lost my life!

I've seen some pretty queer things in my time.  I work in a museum as a guard, and some of the things that they uncrate from those heathen countries are enough to give you nightmares, but nothing like this.

I was walking along Earl Street, near Seven Dials, when I felt this strange sensation come over me.  It was like turning suddenly, knowing something was there, only to find nothing - a nothing possessing hideous life!  The dank water smell of the cloying fog was replaced by a foul scent of smouldering hair which somehow reached out and filled my lungs, driving itself deep into my body.  I began to choke.  It meant to kill me.  I cannot describe the terrible feeling of invasion by those foggy tendrils.  And still I could see nothing!

I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember a bobby was standing over me asking if I was all right.  Somehow I made my way home through the fog, which now seemed to possess a life of its own.

The next day I quit my job at the museum and went back to Glasgow.  You can keep your London fogs!
 

                                                                                                                                                                    - THE SCOOP, Oct. 8, 1923