You’re aware of my distrust of, and outright cynicism about, the charlatanry that is the psychic industry. The clairvoyants are shamelessly rooking gullible and vulnerable unfortunates, and doing so with a cynicism only matched by mine about their activities. I’ve pilloried this community in the past.
If I were organising a psychic evening, I’d be very suspicious indeed if said seer rang me up for directions. Can’t they predict their own actions, or is that not part of the remit? I’m looking forward to my first sighting of that perennial urban myth, the sign that says ‘Psychic Fair. Cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances.’ However, I saw something over the weekend that went beyond my wildest dreams.
I’ve mentioned my liking for the programme Judge Judy, carcrash television where you get a load of halfwits who are a/ plainly lying through their teeth, and/or b/ just being planks. Neither activity cuts any ice whatsoever with the acerbic and frankly scary Judge Judith Sheindlin.
I was couching and watching a new series on Sunday. There was the normal (applying the term loosely) parade of hucksters and cheats, room mates who’d fallen out, a woman who sold a car that she had no title to, a dodgy hairdresser who messed up bigly, all that stuff. Then the Big Kahuna.
A woman was suing another woman. Nothing to see here. Move along. Except these were no ordinary women. They were both psychics. Two of the gifted ones going head to head. I sat up and took notice. This was going to be good. And it was. It was.
They’d reached a business agreement about some collaboration, money had changed hands. The deal was broken when the one who’d been paid backed out. The idea was she’d share her contacts list (I assume it was the living contacts not those from the Other Side) in exchange for the filthy lucre, and she didn’t.
This raises again the awkward question of why the payer didn’t already know who her future clients would be? You’d think that might be a given, wouldn’t you? Nevertheless, the Judge, patience clearly worn, gave her her moment of fame asked what the problem was.
‘Her information (wait for it) didn’t live up to my expectations.’
You might want to get a new job, one that can actually do.
By the way, if I were a psychic I’d not bother channelling Victorian tweenymaids or Napoleonic soldiers. I’d go for the big one and channel Doris Stokes.