I suppose that I could have sought the services of a psychic or medium, you know, those gifted people who can talk to the spirits on our behalf. People like Derek Acorah (being sent up by Harry Hill):
Now I wonder whether Harry Hill was perhaps being a little cruel. I mean, if ghosts do exist, why can’t there be a dog ghost?
Mrs PM’s mother actually bought me a book by Derek Acorah for Christmas a couple of years ago. She knew about my fascination with all things weird so a book entitled “Amazing Psychic Stories” seemed a great idea.
Within five minutes of starting it, I cast it aside. It was dreadful. As I read it I began to think to wonder what kind of people believe in the nonsense that was written in books like this. So much for me going to speak to a psychic.
I don’t want to pick on Derek Acorah in particular but his behaviour and techniques do leave a lot to be desired. I mean, come on. A dog ghost? What on earth does he think he’s playing at, pretending to be possessed by Fido the wonder dog?
“Woof woof woof woof woof!”
Oh really Derek? And is Fido worried about me from beyond the grave?”
“Woof woof woof woof woof!”
So forgive me if I’m being just a little too choosy, but I think I might cross Derek Acorah off the list of psychics that I might consider bearing my soul too.
Mind you, the truth is I wouldn’t go to ANY psychics at all; I am too sceptical and I simply don’t believe a word that comes out of their mouths, particularly if they are “possessed”. Here is Derek Acorah again, supposedly possessed by a child killer:
Now to me this is ridiculous.
I have a huge problem with psychics and mediums; I think that they are full of crap. I’m sorry but that’s my opinion and I apologise to anybody who believes in this nonsense.
Mrs PM, on the other hand, seems to be fascinated with the idea that there may be something in it.
I have often caught her watching these people on TV.
“What are you watching?”
“Oh nothing,” she says, waiting for the inevitable volcanic eruption.
“Who’s that weird looking bloke?”
“Nobody,” she says.
Cogs turn in my brain as I try to trawl my memory for the face; for once it doesn’t let me down.
“It’s that bloody bloke; that bloody psychic; the one who cons people that he’s talking to dead people.”
“Oh no,” she sighs.
My soapbox is out, I am standing on it and ranting so much that the cats hurl themselves through the window, calling 999 as they do.
To be fair I have watched these people on TV just for research and the script goes something like this:
PSYCHIC: I’m speaking to a man – he’s trying to connect to me. He’s a soldier. He is wearing a uniform.
THERE’S NOBODY THERE!!!!
PSYCHIC: He says his name is Dave or Don or Derek or Dilbert or Desmond or Dennis. Does anybody here know a soldier who has passed to the other side?
PSYCHIC: He may not be a soldier.
GULLIBLE AUDIENCE MEMBER: I have just lost my husband. He was a pilot called Zebedee.
PSYCHIC: AH! YES! Welcome Zebedee. I knew there was a D in there somewhere.
What follows is a load of old baloney that the psychic invents to somehow reassure the gullible audience member that their loved one is safe, well and enjoying the afterlife.
“I’m having a PARTY! Don’t worry about me! I love you. Sort yourself out! WAHEEYYY!”
A few years ago, I went to Las Vegas to join Mrs PM who had been at a conference there. I remember one morning, waking up thinking that I was still jet-lagged.
PM: What shall we do today?
Mrs PM: You can do what you like; I’m going to see James von Praagh.
Mrs PM: James von Praagh.
PM: Who’s he? A comedian?
Mrs PM: He’s ... erm ... erm ...erm a psychic medium.
PM: HA HA HA HA HA!!!!
Mrs PM: What’s so funny?
PM: I’m sorry; I just thought I heard you say you were going to see a psychic medium.
Mrs PM: I am.
Mrs PM: And it’s costing me $75
And she went, leaving me completely in the lurch for a man who claims to talk to ghosts. I had to spend three hours of my life in Las Vegas wandering around casinos, drinking beer and trying not to spend too much money - which in the end was very nice. I ended up in a bar chatting to a man who was about to get married by Elvis - presumably through a medium.
Meanwhile, Mrs PM sat for around three hours in a theatre listening to mumbo jumbo about messages from people who had died and, for some reason, wanted to send a message back to the living.
We met in the bar later; I had had a couple of beers.
PM: So, did you speak to the dead?
Mrs PM: No, but it was very interesting?
PM: In what way? Did somebody come back from the dead and say to a gullible audience member “And I hope you are looking after my house. It was lovely when I died. I’ll just bet you’ve redecorated it haven’t you? And have you spent my inheritance yet? I’ll bet you blew it all on a WILD PARTY!”
Mrs PM (tutting): You’re such a cynic. Some people were genuinely happy and upset.
PM: Happy AND upset? Why, were his jokes that bad?
At this point Mrs PM became possessed; not by a ghost but by a sudden inexplicable urge to punch my arm.
PM: Bloody Hell – that HURT!
Mrs PM: Shut up or I’ll hit you again.
Now I’m going to be honest with you. I would actually have considered going to see a psychic presentation had it been absolutely free.
So I could have heckled.
Imagine sitting in the audience of “Crossing Over” with Colin Fry (a man who looks so spooky that he may in fact already BE a ghost):
CF: I’m connection with a lovely old lady called Edna and she is here to speak to this lady here.
PM: Where is she then? I can’t bloody well see her.
Mrs PM (through gritted teeth): Will you SHUT UP??
PM: No I will not. Mr Fry, I don’t mean to be rude but where is Edna? And how come nobody else can hear or see her? How do we know she is there when we can’t see or hear her? What can you actually see and hear? Are you sure you're not just seeing things?
CF: You clearly are a troubled soul. Security? Get this idiot out of there – and his missus too.
PM: Why don’t you get your ghostly poltergeists to throw me out then?
Mrs PM: I’m gonna KILL YOU!!!
PM: Well if you do, I’ll try to come back and talk to Mr Fry. Make sure you are in the audience for that, my dear.
Anyway, I am a fair minded person so I want to give the psychics a chance to fight back. Here, once again is Derek Acorah, getting his own back on Harry Hill.
Perhaps I should change my views. I wouldn’t want Derek Acorah to come and punch me on the nose.