An Indian summer....

Evangeline came round this morning to waft her hands over my back. As so often happens, she suddenly glazed over.

"Norman's here," she said. (She was referring to her spirit guide, a native American who died at the battle of Little Big Horn. I have yet to discover why he's called Norman.)

"Well I hope he averts his gaze. I don't want him looking at my bits and pieces. If I'd known he was coming I'd have put my best bra on."

She ignored me.

"He brings a warning! Your husband will be travelling over water," she gasped dramatically, "and then under water."

I relayed this to H later.

"Tell me this," he asked, "why are we paying that woman? She knows I'm going to Greenock today. They've been saying on Radio 2 all morning that the bridge over the river is flooded, and to use the tunnel under it instead. She's no more psychic than I am. If she's not giving us dire warnings from your undead father, she's passing on rubbish from an alleged Cheyenne warrior."

"Sioux" I said.

"Well I would," he replied, "but if exaggerating wildly and talking pish was a criminal offence, I'd have prosecuted Boris and his lot years ago!"


Sarcasm. It's not clever. But goodness me, I do enjoy it.....