Behold - I refuse to write about SNOW. Mainly because I imagine Canadians and Swedes snickering at our complaining about a miserable 10cm for the past two weeks.
Snowbound as I am here in Cheesetown, I'm putting up a ghost story. Call it something for the long snowbound days and nights...
Sometimes when I write here, I am economical with the truth; mainly to respect feelings and privacy of other people who didn't ask for their existence or comments to be PUBLISHED.
But I never lie.
And I'm not lying now. This is a true story. It happened to me, and you can chose to believe it or not.
Many many many years ago, when I first moved down to London, I was sharing a house with a small neurotic Gujarati. Sas was a small, gin drinking, chain smoking Indian, with a long term white boyfriend, who had led her parents to believe that she was a small teetotal, clean living virgin.
Her parents wanted to arrange a marriage. You can see the problem.
Many gin soaked nights were spent whilst Sas considered her options. Finally she decided that the most sensible option was for her to see a fortune teller. The fortune teller would solve everything. I had no idea how a fortune teller is meant to resolve all this, but, whatever, it's a free day trip down to Rochester with Sas. We will see fortune teller, see Rochester, see pub, solve all problems.
And yes, I'll see a fortune teller too, to keep her company.
First sign of trouble was when we arrived at the fortune teller's shop. Fortune tellers don't have shops where I come from, Their fame means you don't need to advertise. But here we are. Second sign of trouble was when it became clear that the "fortune teller" was actually a spiritualist.
OK. No. I do not do spiritualists. Without getting technical about this, there are a hundred reasons why it would be wrong.
But we're here. And Sas wants me to go first.
Sigh
So I'm in a small room, with a woman I KNOW is a charlatan. And if she expects me to give her any help whatsoever, she has another think coming.
The fishing questions start. Do I know a James?
Everyone knows a James!!! Pfffrt. No the name means nothing to me.
She sees a Mary here...
Pffft. Yeah right. Mary. No the name means nothing to me.
There is a woman here with a strong accent.
Yep that would be because as a Glaswegian in the south of England, I've got one. No, that rings no bells.
My "spiritualist" is getting a little bit ratty after twenty minutes of this. "Look, you need to give me some help here" she actually says that.
I am getting ready to get out of there when she suddenly comes out with the goods.
"OK. I see a man. His name is Bill, and he's standing on the other side. He's standing, holding a child by the hand. And he has a message for Nan. He wants her to know that it's OK. Everything's OK now, and he wants to say sorry."
B*gg*r
In the pub later, Sas and I held a post mortem on the fortune telling session. After hearing how the fortune teller had resolved nothing for Sas, I considered whether to tell her or not.
The "spiritualist" had managed to give me the name of my dad, who'd died the previous June, with a message for "Nan", my mum. Oh yeah, and Bill and Nan had had another kid before me, who died in infancy.
Snowbound as I am here in Cheesetown, I'm putting up a ghost story. Call it something for the long snowbound days and nights...
Sometimes when I write here, I am economical with the truth; mainly to respect feelings and privacy of other people who didn't ask for their existence or comments to be PUBLISHED.
But I never lie.
And I'm not lying now. This is a true story. It happened to me, and you can chose to believe it or not.
Many many many years ago, when I first moved down to London, I was sharing a house with a small neurotic Gujarati. Sas was a small, gin drinking, chain smoking Indian, with a long term white boyfriend, who had led her parents to believe that she was a small teetotal, clean living virgin.
Her parents wanted to arrange a marriage. You can see the problem.
Many gin soaked nights were spent whilst Sas considered her options. Finally she decided that the most sensible option was for her to see a fortune teller. The fortune teller would solve everything. I had no idea how a fortune teller is meant to resolve all this, but, whatever, it's a free day trip down to Rochester with Sas. We will see fortune teller, see Rochester, see pub, solve all problems.
And yes, I'll see a fortune teller too, to keep her company.
First sign of trouble was when we arrived at the fortune teller's shop. Fortune tellers don't have shops where I come from, Their fame means you don't need to advertise. But here we are. Second sign of trouble was when it became clear that the "fortune teller" was actually a spiritualist.
OK. No. I do not do spiritualists. Without getting technical about this, there are a hundred reasons why it would be wrong.
But we're here. And Sas wants me to go first.
Sigh
So I'm in a small room, with a woman I KNOW is a charlatan. And if she expects me to give her any help whatsoever, she has another think coming.
The fishing questions start. Do I know a James?
Everyone knows a James!!! Pfffrt. No the name means nothing to me.
She sees a Mary here...
Pffft. Yeah right. Mary. No the name means nothing to me.
There is a woman here with a strong accent.
Yep that would be because as a Glaswegian in the south of England, I've got one. No, that rings no bells.
My "spiritualist" is getting a little bit ratty after twenty minutes of this. "Look, you need to give me some help here" she actually says that.
I am getting ready to get out of there when she suddenly comes out with the goods.
"OK. I see a man. His name is Bill, and he's standing on the other side. He's standing, holding a child by the hand. And he has a message for Nan. He wants her to know that it's OK. Everything's OK now, and he wants to say sorry."
B*gg*r
In the pub later, Sas and I held a post mortem on the fortune telling session. After hearing how the fortune teller had resolved nothing for Sas, I considered whether to tell her or not.
The "spiritualist" had managed to give me the name of my dad, who'd died the previous June, with a message for "Nan", my mum. Oh yeah, and Bill and Nan had had another kid before me, who died in infancy.
9 January 2010 at 11:54
Spooky. But I'm also a sceptic... I'd still be wanting my message to be more specific!
Sx
9 January 2010 at 14:31
Scarlet - To be honest I was serously unchuffed that I was still expected to run messages for him.
9 January 2010 at 17:26
You've told us how she did it but I don't want to piss on a good story by pointing it out.
9 January 2010 at 18:31
Mr Musgrove Urm I don't think "Bill" and "Nan" were the only names left. I suppose everyone getting in touch could be sorry - but the child?
Seriously, if you know how this one is done I'd love to hear it :)
9 January 2010 at 22:50
Interesting, but I'd also like to know how Sas turned out (not being rude or that, but she sounds truly fascinating).
Hope all well in the snow.
11 January 2010 at 17:34
Ay... I had goosebumps reading this, Macy (and more than one chuckle).
I too am an obnoxious skeptic, but had two encounters with (the same) psychic that rattled me with the spooky accuracy of a lot of the information she gave me. (That was years ago.)
Among her predictions: I would get pregnant within a year (that was at the time when hubby and I were dead-set on having only one child and did everything to keep it this way). Lo and behold, our second-born, Peter, is almost 17 now. :) And yes, he was conceived within a year of the psychic's encounter.
Another thing was her prediction that within a year (all her predictions came with a one-year guarantee) I would be asked, at work, to take on a position of somebody whose name started with a J as this person would leave her job.
Given my work situation then, it seemed totally improbable. Whadya know? Ten months later I was asked by my boss to take on a day shift position of my (very distant) colleague, Jill, who had to go on an unexpected family leave.
There were other things on which she was unnervingly accurate, enough so and without getting any help from me (or so I think) that the encounters with her have shaken my skepticism. Just a bit.
BTW, love your winter slide show.
11 January 2010 at 22:30
I'll admit I'm reaching a bit 'cos I suspect you're a bit too young for the demographic. These days "Nan" would usually be picked up as a grandmother.
(-:
12 January 2010 at 10:59
Mmd DeF - I'm having a cogitate about writing more about Sas.
Elizabeth - Yep. I think "shaken sceptic" is probably my position on it all.
Kev - Agreed, north of Birmingham, "Nan" could be grandmother, but in Glasgow it's short for Agnes