Tonight was all about the spirits, drinking them and contacting them. Gin and clairaudience. Unfortunately in that order. After 12 days of hiding in a cupboard and being gently shaken, yesterday my gooseberry gin emerged for its first nip. It was eyewatering. So this evening I dealt with it properly.
On opening the jar, the contents smelled mostly of the rubber seal, but the whack of gooseberry that came after was strong enough to make me cough. First I sieved, then I funnelled, and now I have a tub full of boozy goosegogs, and a bottle full of wee coloured gin. It tastes obscenely good. Gooseberries definitely for the gin win.
Although in hindsight, the gin probably should have remained undrunk until after my psychic ability test.
According to The Psychic’s Bible, there are four types of psychic ability, each one prefixed with the word clair: voyance (seeing), sentience (feeling), cognisance (knowing) and audience (hearing). As previously demonstrated, my psychic abilities leave a lot to be desired. But one indicator of the possession of clairaudience is hearing things when there’s nothing there. All I’m saying is Shakin’ Stevens, Green Door, and a very long car journey in the summer of ’81.
TPB gave two examples for testing my clairaudient powers. One involved holding a giant shell up to my ear for twenty minutes. I don’t have a giant shell, but I do have an empty pickle jar. That didn’t appeal. So I went with option two, wearing the headphones I use to stop the torture of all around me when I play the same three bars of Tiny Dancer on the piano for an hour.
The trick is to ground yourself, envelop yourself in a protective bubble (for some reason I envisioned mine as a lilac colour tonight), close your eyes, tune into the white noise in your head, and listen to what comes through for the next twenty minutes. Apparently, clairaudience has a TARDIS-like translation circuit, so it’s not a problem if someone speaking a different language decides to communicate.
I tried really hard to tune in, but having seen the sheet music for Tiny Dancer on the piano, that’s all I could hear for at least the first five minutes. This segued into Everything I Do, I Do It For You, because I heard? thought of the words ‘listen to your heart’. Then came the original theme tune to Grey’s Anatomy as I’d literally just finished watching an episode before opening the gin. And I ended with Katy Perry’s Smile for reasons I can’t understand, unless I was being contacted by the spirit of a builder wanting to give me some ‘helpful’ advice.
But the white noise was always there skulking in the background. Mostly it remained at eye level, but sometimes it pitched as low as my chin, or divided to sit next to each ear, or lurked behind one brow, much like a migraine chasing round my skull. The only words I remember hearing not associated with the songs were ‘shoulder’ and ‘Markus’. Which mean nothing to me.
So while I didn’t quite live up to my psychic expectations, on the plus side, my nose inexplicably unblocked, I’m ridiculously relaxed, and I guessed the length of 20 minutes to within 30 seconds. I might have even managed a very brief nap. I’m blaming the gin. Obviously.
And thanks to everyone who’s signed up for a chance to ‘win’ a handwritten postcard from me to celebrate World Letter Writing Day on 1 September. The deadline isn’t for another 15 days, but best get your entry in early…
Struthers, J. (2007) The Psychic’s Bible, London, Octopus Publishing Group Ltd