When I was about eight years old my mum donned a large headscarf, equally enormous earrings, and looked into a crystal ball. I vividly remember this spectacle since she was performing a charade as a clairvoyant at the local school fete. It was a crude and rather comical caper, although people still paid to have their fortunes told. Later in life, I had my palms read on several occasions and mused over the general claptrap of a long, happy life with many children. In fairness as a broad statement, I guess this wasn’t too far off the mark, other than the second element being occasionally torpedoed by grief. In a nutshell, I wasn’t convinced about the possibility that any human being possesses the ability to communicate with the dead, let…
