Advice Part 100- Psychic coffee

I can hardly believe I have reached 100 posts on this blog, which started out as a way for me to fill in a Saturday night when I was home alone. I was going to do something "special" for the centenary, but a complete lack of motivation and creativity has unfortunately put paid to that. But hey, it's not every day you reach the big 1-0-0!

Anyway, enough of that....

Today's post sees us return to the psychic realm, a sphere I visited on a previous occasion. I would like to report that this particular visit was more illuminating. But that would be a lie. With this in mind, my advice to young players is that if you are offered a "psychic coffee cup reading", approach with a good dose of skepticism. If you approach at all.

How do I know this? Read on....

Yesterday afternoon, I was a bit bored, and so I decided to go on a little excursion to Newtown. I dandered along south King St, and resolved to partake of a coffee in a cafe I have visited previously, and rather enjoyed.

All was going well until I took a seat, and was approached by the psychic coffee cup reader, who apparently has a regular gig at the cafe on a Sunday afternoon. Said psychic offered his services. I declined. But...well....

• I was the only person in the cafe. 
• The psychic was bored. 
• So was I. 
• He was offering a cheap rate. 
• He has a 90% success rate (ho ho ho....I must have been in the other 10%). 
• And (perhaps most tellingly) Air was playing. On vinyl. Say no more.

One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was on the psychic couch, coffee cup upturned, spirit guides being summoned.

So. What did the psychic see? A variety of things....

1. That I work in a job "with a lot of paper and filing." Wrong. I USED to work as a filing clerk, but that was 8 years ago, and I'd hardly call it a "momentous experience."

2. I am "very close to my younger sister." Wrong. I don't have any siblings. The psychic tried to salvage this erroneous inference, by asking if my mother had had a miscarriage of a female foetus. Right.....

3. I am single. Wrong. Been in a relationship for 2 years. Although I guess the fact that I was in the cafe by myself on a Sunday afternoon might have given that impression.
4. I am a lesbian. Wrong again. Although he wasn't the first to make that mistake, as I've mentioned before. He tried to backstep here by saying that my partner must have "a lot of feminine energy." "Do you mean long hair?" I asked. This remark was not looked upon favourably.

5. My vitamin intake is inadequate. I didn't realise that spirit guides also offered medical advice! And there was I, stupidly consulting doctors for years!
6. I am going to marry a man called either James or Nick. I'm not sure how this fits in with me apparently being a lesbian, but I let that slide. The only Jameses I know are my uncle (let's NOT go there) and my friend's husband (or there, either). And I don't know any Nicks. But I do recall that a friend wanted to set me up with a guy of this name....Perhaps I missed my chance?!

So there you go. I am most intrigued to see what happens. And if your name is James or Nick, I would advise you to run.

Advice Part 99- Driving with restraint

Aah, the open road! The sound of wheels upon the asphalt! The wind whistling through the window! The soft hum of the engine! The beautiful scenery encompassing you as you motor past! Or, as Mr Toad says "When I'm messing around in cars, the world is apple pie."

Certainly, some people (and toads) may love driving. However, I can loudly proclaim that I am not one of them. Hence, my advice for young players is that if you are looking to go on a roadtrip, I am probably not the best person to ask along.

Let me elaborate....

Last week, my companion and myself embarked on an 800km journey to the wilds of Tasmania. Because said companion does not drive, I was given the role of "official chauffeur."

At first, this newfound responsibility seemed quite exciting- I could choose where we went! I would be in control! But as the days went by, some little frustrations started to gnaw at me.

More precisely, why is it that....

• On the first day, a bird decides to leave a "calling card" on the windshield, which cannot be removed via wipers/squeegee/scrubbing, and so your view of the road for the next six days is perpetually interrupted by an unfortunate splodge in the centre of your field of vision?

• Your travelling companions' choice of music is absolutely dreadful? We had a grand total of three CDs for the entire trip, consisting of Mercedes Sosa (an Argentinian folk singer who is good in SMALL doses), Tom Waits (if I hear "Big in Japan" ONCE MORE, I think I will scream), and Frank Ocean (my choice- we listened to 3 tracks before it was deemed "too boring").
• When a road is narrow, windy and treacherous, (preferably with a sheer drop on one side, and a rock face on the other) you will invariably face a plethora of B-double trucks hiding behind the corners, and rollocking out at great speed just when you're trying to take a sharp turn?

• No matter how fast you go (and, in my case, this isn't very fast), the idiot in the car RIGHT BEHIND YOU wants to go much, much faster, and does his best to let you know you're going too slow by sticking his proverbial nose up your backside? (sorry for the colourful metaphor, but you get my drift....)

• By the time you finally reach your destination, you're so buggered from dodging the trucks and crazy other drivers that all you want to do is lie down on the bed and go to sleep, rather than admiring the sights you've driven halfway across the island to see?
• The only petrol station you can find when you need to fill up the tank is in the backwoods of the back of beyond (pretty far back, in other words), and charges far more than any other station? 
• When you try to open the petrol cap at said station, you can't find the lever to do so (because only REALLY old cars have levers, as I discovered), and you need to ask the patronising yokel who runs the station to assist you? Cue snide comments about "city lady drivers." 

If anyone wants to drive me around on a trip, be my guest. But in future, I will be firmly ensconced in the passenger seat.