"There's, like, seven planes of existence and we are down here and they are up there. And they pass on into the spirit, you know? And there's lots of different kinds of mediuming (sic) and mediumship (sic) and some in the spirit (sic) will talk to me and some will appear to me. I talk to them through my third eye and there are 122 chakras. Not many people know that. I can see all of your auras. But not in colour. That's not part of my gifting (sic). I can only see them in white. So, yeah."
So, yeah. I went to see a 'demonstration of spirtuality and mediumship' tonight. I'm pretty sure mediumship isn't a word. Obviously I'm cynical about the whole thing. I have watched some on the telly and have been alternately amused and disgusted. Preying on vulnerable bereaved people isn't nice. Pretending to be possessed on Most Haunted is funny. So, I figured a fiver would be well spent to be either disgusted (I do enjoy that) or amused. I was wrong. Oh, so wrong.
A nervous, chubby bloke from Kenilworth (A medium. From Kenilworth. I mean, really) proceeded to sweat profusely in the corner of the pub while fumbling his way through an explanation (of sorts) of his 'gifting'.
A quick look around the tiny audience showed five people who he's clearly related to, a couple of tipsy girls, a few enthusiastic middle aged ladies, two people I know who came for the laugh, and a complete and utter psycho. He was easily the most terrifying thing about the entire evening. I spent most of the night trying not to meet his killer stare. I imagine that's the look he gives you just before he peels your skin off and fashions it into a suit. Luckily, he left early.
After approximately twelfty hours of explaining his craft we got to the messages.
"You know when you get a bit hot? That's a spirit letting you know it's there. And if you get cold? That's a spirit. And if you have pins and needles? That's a spirit. If you shiver? Also a spirit. Anyone can do this. But I'm going to be working with spirit (sic) tonight by talking to them in my head. OK?
"Right, I have a man called Richard. Can anyone understand that? He's 6ft 2. And dead. Anyone? Can anyone understand that? He likes building things. You know, general manly activities. Fishing mainly. Anyone? You? No? OK.
"There's two dogs. One's small and one's medium to large. Does anyone understand that? No? Anyone? No? OK.
"I have a woman. She was old and frail and didn't feel good before she died. In her 80s. She's a grandma. Anyone here lost a grandma? She liked flowers. She wants to stress that she liked purple flowers. Can you understand that? Anyone? No? OK?
"I have a woman between 60 and 100 with an E in her name? Anyone? Oh, you. Thank you."
As everyone in the room would probably know someone who was dead a few hands went up. His relief was palpable as he turned to the recipient of his message.
"She's called Doris. Does that mean anything to you?"
I spent the next hour counting the tumbleweed as it went past.
I have dead relatives coming out of my ears. I have dozens of them. Parents, grandparents, friends. Loads. I've been to more funerals than I have weddings. I'm a fecking gift for a medium. I'm not going to lie; there was a tiny, weeny part of me that secretly wanted it all to be true and have my dad send me a message. Although, to be fair, if me dad wanted to say something to me, it's unlikely he'd pick some highly unconvincing dude from Kenilworth as the conduit.
The only dead person in that room was the hapless medium himself. I have never seen anyone actually die on stage before. Not so THOROUGHLY.
He probably should have seen that coming.