Jul. 22nd, 2011

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When I was in Cornwall a few weeks ago, I spent one lazy afternoon in Bodmin on my own. The she-David had wandered off to shop for shoes and kittens, like she does, and I found myself with an hour or so to my own devices and as I waddled past the town museum on the square I thought I'd take a few minutes to look around.
Squeezing myself through the doorway I found that a few minutes was all it would take, as the museum only has four rooms. The first is a shop manned by the sort of amiable-but-heart-of-steel old ladies who always seem to run these places and despite entry being free somehow manage to make you feel like paying anything less than several quid to get in would be the height of rudeness. The second room is full of geology and minerals and fossils, as the region is famous for that sort of thing and the locals are justifiably proud of it. The third is a small military history room, covering local soldiers from the Iron Age through the Romans to the Civil War and up to the modern era, and the last room is one of those social history rooms which local museums always seem to have, with agricultural indstruments and period outfits and old photos.

Amongst those old photos was a shot of a fairground from about the turn of the last century showing two gypsy fortune tellers caravans. One had a sign outside it announcing that "Gypsy Sarah's lucky daughter" was within. The other, standing right next to it, had a sign outside announcing "Gypsy Sarah's only clever daughter."

I loved that.

Anyway, according to an article in my sister's latest edition of Girl! magazine, more and more women are giving up going to see their therapist and switching their custom to psychics instead. Suprisingly, this article was not entitled "Throwing good money after bad". It's not certain why this might be happening. Perhaps one flavour of snake-oil is much the same as another. Perhaps psychics give better results than psychologists. Perhaps the magazine needed to fill two pages in a hurry, or perhaps some people just have more money than sense. Whatever the reason, I'm ever-keen to see opportunities for making a fast buck, and if people are willing to hand over cold hard cash to be told what Tarot the psychic cat sees int he statrs for their future then I can play that game as well as the next man. I've got a psychology degree and am qualified to be a therapist (and if that doesn't discredit the occupation, I don't know what does) but so what if that's not flavour of the month? I can also spin a line of bollocks with the best of them so I'm just as qualified to have a magic third eye as anyone, and I've got Battersea Cats home just round the corner from my house so getting my hands on the essential paraphenalia to be a psychic won't exactly be a stretch.

So, in the light of that preamble: cross my palm with silver and I'll tell you a fortune*.

*Note I say "A" fortune. I make no promises it will actually be yours.

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