THE poet William Blake once wrote, “If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.

And now Abergavenny man and semi-professional paranormal investigator Johnny Turnip has made the wild claim he will not only wash the doors of perception but force them open with a metaphorical crowbar for the benefit of humanity as a whole.

What’s more, he intends to do it with the pot once owned and liberally used by the late singer with The Doors, Jim Morrison.

“Once I find the pot of fairy gold, all I have to do is eat some of the stuff, and I’ll be the wisest soul that’s ever walked the earth,” explained Turnip.

“I’ll be more knowing than the most high, more powerful than Godzilla, more magical than David Blaine, and I’ll use my special powers to wash and force open the doors of perception so we can all walk through together like one big happy and harmonious tribe.

“The only thing is, once I first ingest the fairy gold, I have to avoid going insane, or the plan won’t work. I haven’t figured that part out yet, but it’s kind of redundant until we find Potato Creek Johnny’s pot of fairy gold, which is apparently in Los Angeles somewhere.”

Turnip told the Chronicle that after a seance where he and the boys summoned up the spirit of John Lennon in a New York hotel room, the dead Beatle told them that the word amongst the real players on the 1970s rock n roll grapevine was that Jim Morrison had been driven insane by a pot of fairy gold, and upon his death in a Paris bathtub, it was stolen from his apartment by a shadowy figure, taken to LA and sold to a secret society.

Turnip explained, “Unfortunately for us, Lennon had no idea about the true identity of the shadowy figure, let alone know which secret society it was.

“He just looked at us, shrugged, and said, ‘That’s the point of a secret society, lads, they’re secret!’”

Turnip added, “So, although the trail led to LA, after that it ran colder than a fish’s corpse in the snow. And although none of us had ever been there before, it’s probably a big place, and the chances of us finding our pot there would be slim to non-existent. We needed some sort of clue!

“So I said to the ghost of John Lennon, ‘You’re dead and exist outside of time, surely you can help us in our quest?’

“He just smiled at us and replied, ‘It doesn’t work like that, lads. Time has no beginning or end; it’s happening all at once. I’m just an aspect of me talking to an aspect of you. In many ways, I’m only sleeping, and you’ve just walked into my dream.

“’Talking of sleep, I need to get back to my kip. So I’m returning to the ether for a bit. Good luck with your quest. It sounds like a worthy one. I’ve often imagined all the people living together in harmony, and if some old pot is all it takes, then go for gold, fellas!

“‘Don’t worry too much about not having a clue where it is. My advice would be to head to LA, grab a few beers on the Sunset Strip, and tell them your tale. You never know whose listening and fortune has a habit of favouring the gobby!’”

Turnip explained, “And with that, he was gone, but not before doing one of those weird little bows that The Beatles always used to do in their early days.

“As I turned to Big Tony and Puerto Rico Paul, I could see they were getting a little disheartened in what was fast becoming a bit of a wild goose chase.

“When we set off to America with Tom Cruise in his private jet to find my ancestor Potato Creek Johnny’s pot of fabled fairy gold and save the world, it had all seemed a bit of a lark, but since then, a combination of falling from planes, out of body experiences, conversations with dead people, running battles with angry leprechauns, and quantum happenings had taken their toll.

“In many ways, it would be nice to forget about our mission, unwind with a few beers, and head home. But we were warriors to the bone and had to keep fighting until the battle had been won.”

Turnip told the Chronicle, “As I watched Big Tony sink into the sofa like a collapsed puddle and sigh about missing home, and Puerto Rico Paul absentmindedly stub another ciggy out on the plush carpet and gaze out of the window wistfully with bloodshot eyes, I knew I had to come up with something pretty special to galvanise the troops and keep them focused on the task at hand.”

Turnip added, “Just as I was formulating a plan to manipulate the boys, Big Tony let out a wail of anguish and cried, ‘I just want to go home, JT. This travelling life isn’t for me. I’ve got the hitherto bad.’

“‘Hither what?’ Scowled Puerto Rico Paul, sensing some quality bloodsport to relieve the boredom.

“‘Hitherto!’ Explained Big Tony earnestly. It’s a Welsh word and it means big-time homesickness.’

“Rolling his eyes to the heavens, Paul sparked up another fag took a deep drag, and said, ‘Actually, you big bellend, the word you’re looking for is hiraeth. Hitherto is an English word that means a state of circumstance that existed up until now, which in your case is one of complete ignorance. Hiraeth, on the other hand, does not simply mean homesickness; it is a melancholy longing for a time and place that can never come again.

“‘You are not simply pining for Wales, big boy, you’re pining for the old you and your old life. On a subconscious level, you have recognised how this trip to strange lands where we have experienced the stuff of fantasy has radically altered your DNA. You are now forever changed.

“’As Nietzsche once wrote in a letter just after the syphilis had started to rot his brain, ‘Sing me a new song. The world is transfigured and the Heavens rejoice.’

“Paul added wistfully, ‘There’s no going back now, even if you do go back. The hiraeth has its hooks in you and will haunt you to the day you die. I’ve had it since birth. I always felt I should have lived in Victorian times, and on occasion, the modern world and all its vulgar triviality and lack of vision have reduced me to tears. But alas, I maintain.’”

Turnip told the Chronicle, “As Paul returned to his lonely vigil of the New York skyline, he muttered, ‘Like fish we swim through the mechanics of the universe and this giggling despair has got its hooks in me.’ He’s always been a dramatic sort!

“Meanwhile, and somewhat pathetically, Big Tony started silently sobbing, and not for the first time, I cursed the blunt tools that fate had seen fit to give me in my quest to change the course of history and heal the world.

“Yet just as despondency and the urge to neck a bottle of whiskey fought for dominion of my eternal soul. My mobile pinged. It was my mate Tyke, or Tom Cruise as he’s better known.

“The Hollywood heartthrob was passing through Manhattan in his Black Hawk on his way to Hollywood and wanted to know if we fancied popping along for the ride. The fates had aligned, and our cards were marked. We were going to La-La land to change the course of history, and the mood from glad to sadness!”

The Manifest Trials and Tribulations of Johnny Turnip is now available on Amazon.