Yesterday I went to Seb's prospective school fayre with mum in tow because she loves that kind of thing and my son can be a bit of a handful at times. Alongside all of the tombola stalls, doughnut decorating and plant sales there was a mystic stall so I decided to throw caution the wind, pay my £5 and have a reading. It was odd, as with most things, mystics seem to provide some very general information - the sort which can be interpreted any way you wish, apparently I have a great deal of love coming to me from those in the spirit world and those below, still on earth. The really odd thing is that she stated that she was getting a clear picture of a man, formerly close to me screaming out in agony, a huge set of snarling animal's teeth and then blackness. I don't know quite what to make of that one.
There was a stall featuring owls - a tawny, long eared, snowy and barn - so frankly the whole set. I wasn't so keen on the series of tattooed women pushing through but this is a regular feature of this somewhat chavvy suburb I live in so I let it pass. I couldn't imagine being an owl trainer - a life keeping owls in a box and transporting them around childrens' parties, fayres and country shows. That would be a very odd existence indeed. After I'd fed Seb on the various goodies available I ventured home.
I received a call from Nick at 8:15, he's very thoughtful and waited until I'd got Seb into bed and settled down on the sofa with a glass of wine. We chatted for ages, there were no gaps in the conversation so all was good. Polly came in at some point, dripping all over the laminate. Apparently she'd been 're-birthing' in the local park's lake. I do hope she doesn't develop Wheal's Disease - the whole windsurfing community went down with that a few years back.
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