Last night, I went over to the other side . . .
Just screwin' wit' ya. I went to a psychic night being held in a pub in Rutherglen. It was . . . interesting.
I've never been to a psychic. Or anything like that. Not sure how much I believe in that stuff to be honest. I go through phases of believing in certain phenomena, then change my mind. ANYWAY, I've always kinda wanted to go. Just like I've always kind of wanted to have my fortune read. But then been also really scared at the same time.
So we're in this pub (we were late. Oops) and there's a dude walking around. Doesn't particularly look psychic. In fact there was too things I noticed about him pretty much immediately. One - his massive gut. (Seriously. I was transfixed by how far it hung over the top of his trousers. And I say I'm not observant.) Two - the fact that he would go up to someone, say "I need to talk to YOU!" and then walk away from them like he'd immediately lost interest. Or had been repelled. His habit of pacing as he talked was perhaps meant to keep the audience's attention. It just made me dizzy. Perhaps I'd had too much wine? (Perhaps that's a rhetorical question? Hmmm... Let's ponder over that one.)
I was skeptical. A cynic. I watched the way he would say random things to people that would make them at first look confused, then suddenly light would begin to dawn. How many questions did he have to ask before he would actually hit on the correct answer? Sometimes, quite a few. Other times, they still looked confused. In which case, he would blame it on their lack of willingness to be connected to the dead person in question and walk away. Then there was the things he said which could be a fairly good guess. Such as "You were close to this person, weren't you?" That was probably the most obvious one. The other, slightly less obvious, but pretty much a given all the same was "I sense some sort of connection to Ireland." Hello!!! In Scotland, pretty much EVERYONE has some sort of Irish connection. It ain't exactly rocket science.
Anyway, I remained very much the skeptic. But there was this tiny part of me that kind of wanted him to turn around to me and have someone with him that wanted to talk to me. Just so perhaps I could somehow understand. The obvious choice was my Gran - we were only about three streets away from the house she shared with my Granda prior to her death. But then . . . I started to think about how my mum always says my little brother, who died of cot death at three months, is like our guardian angel, and I started to wonder if he could maybe turn up. And . . . I kind of wanted it to happen.
However, my friend got picked on. Not by name, of course. She was "the one in the pinky red top. Primark top. You know?" (Okay, we ALL wear Primark clothes but we don't necessarily want to be OUTED as a wearer). He proceeded to talk about a baby, a miscarriage, and tons of other cryptic stuff that she pretended to go along with. "And you . . . you thought you might be pregnant recently?" he added at the end. She shook her head. "Someone close to you then?" he prodded. At which point she turned around to yours truly and said "Well, SHE thought she might be . . ."
Yes. Thank you. In front of a pub full of crowded strangers, tell everyone about how I was a little worried that my period turned up over a week later than I expected it. And had mildly panicked me. Eek.
Suppose I should be at least glad that they WERE strangers . . .