Last Sunday my friend Tom and I spent a pleasant few hours looking for our names on the headstones in the local graveyard (it was a slow day and we don't have a tv.) At about 4.50, feeling all funned out, we pottered back to the entrance. It was only when we were pressing our faces against the bars of the locked gates, trying to fit our heads through the gaps, that we entertained the idea that we might be in a spot of bother. Surveying the scene we began to notice the 12 or so signs flanking the entrance; REMEMBER GATES LOCKED AT 4PM SHARP. We did not see these signs earlier. I think they put them up after we came in. Probably to trap us.
While we waited passively for our predicament to resolve itself we played an elaborate game with four large orange traffic cones called (deceptively), 'Cone'.
The rules were very complicated, only diagonal shuffles were permitted, stickles were off, and we played no trumps. (I don't really know who won. I don't know if there is any such thing as a winner in 'Cone'.) We hung around, alternating between playing Cone and singing "What would you do?" by City High. After about an hour a man with a plastic bag came and opened the gates. He wouldn't let me take his picture. This was suspicious. When we got home and our keys didn't work in the lock, our suspicions were confirmed: 15 years had passed since we had entered the graveyard. The man with a plastic bag was a ghost. So were we. This is a posthumous-post.