Today a lovely friend Angela, whizzed me off to a Mystic Fayre (always authentic when spelt that way) in Penzance. It was also a chance to see another dear friend (Dee) in action as a clairvoyant, so I hopped out of my sick bed (yeah, right) and made for the gathering of all things mystical, magickal and slightly deranged.
Stiff, and imagining that I looked like the Hunchback's cousin, we wended our way through incense heavy air and perused a variety of stalls while we waited for a window of opportunity to have a quick natter with our all-seeing mate.
We passed a wizard and his Runes, a shaman and his rather nice hair, an painter of spirit guides and came across a guy not selling very many singing bowls. I wasn't surprised, these antique Tibetan bowls made from at least five kinds of metal were very expensive. They are played by rolling a wooden mallet around the outside rim which produces multiphonic and polyharmonic tones which very strangely sang straight to my back. There was no pain but the resonance was as at exactly the point of injury especially when he got close. It didn't look that weird, honestly. I was impressed, and had to be held back from taking out a second mortgage to take one of the big ones home.
Next we looked at aura pictures (pah!), passing quickly by Mr Man-Tan, a supposedly famous clairvoyant with dodgy taste in crocodile shoes and an appalling hair job, and then onto a stall selling prayer bowls.
"They are made to your individual needs" Mr I-Saw-You-Coming said.
Very clever considering that the tacky things were all mass produced in a factory.
We wafted on and found a delightful witchy stall selling all manner of, well, witchy things. We bought some bits and bobs and then refuelled with coffee and a tasty sandwich at the organic, free-range, definitely good for you, cafe.
I was just deciding on a rather nice cobwebby, lacey thingy on one of the many clothing stalls when Dee became free and we shot (hah, again) over for a quick hug.
"So, what are you feeling unsupported about?" were her first words to me.
I hate it when she does this because she hits the nail on the head every time. She believes that we only get ill because our emotional centres are out of kilter. She is not often wrong.
Dee was very, very busy, so after a hasty catch-up and promises to meet up very soon she pointed out a lovely Indian guy on a crystal stall who she thought could help me poorly back.
Chris tried to make me warm up with the help of some very pretty stones. The injury remained as it was but I did feel a tingle further up. He was lovely and did seem to know where all me aches were. I bought a couple of crystals and hung onto them all the way home.
As I got out of the car I realised that for the first time in days I hadn't grunted as I got up. The pain was still there but I was far less stiff and as we sunk to the sofa for a medicinal gin I felt relaxed and even managed a smile (just a small one!).
So come on, which one of you healing-type buggers was it?
(picture - Earthmother 2 by Cornish artist Annieb)