Seeking some self-improvement in her life, journo, consultant, blogger and mentor, Chantelle Fiddy (tries to) find a life. This month: Meet A Psychic…

When you tell some people you’re going to see a psychic they totally freak out, shouting about voodoo curses and other madness. But I made the decision to try something that had always fascinated me, despite being a little apprehensive: I didn’t want to be disappointed by getting lumbered with a fraud. I’d also heard about psychics who were, let’s say, a little too real. Some things just shouldn’t be spoken about.

With that in mind, I waited until a good recommendation came via Mumsy dearest and she made the connection. The lady psychic in question lived in a non-descript house in Norfolk. A Londoner for most of her life, she was a cross between Pat Butcher and Dot Cotton (except she used words like ‘piss’ and ‘bastard’). Taking my watch in her hand she started by telling me my uncle was laughing at how many notes I’d be likely to take. “He had a bad heart… wasn’t that old…” My uncle had actually passed away just a few days before and matched the description. Beginners luck perhaps.

“You’re surrounded by words and graphics but you don’t like it when people mess with your work.” Damn right, that’s a straight parrrrr. Given she didn’t know my name let alone anything about me, I’m baffed that she’s clocked I’m a journalist.

As our hour together continues we cover ex-boyfriends, a potential stalker I apparently escaped, more dead relatives, friends, Martine McCutcheon (“I don’t know why but she keeps coming up”), my good ear for music (“when you hear a track and get that gut feeling, trust your judgment. You have a very good ear for music and don’t get it wrong…”) and some stuff that’s so deep I can’t even repeat it. Put it this way, my girl knew things. I mean THINGS.

On leaving, I became oh so slightly emotional, shedding a few tears strictly for good (i.e. typical female) measure. Immediately I wanted to go back and ask loads of things I’d forgotten to cover (we didn’t talk much about the future), but I’d had my shot. While I’m glad I ventured into the unknown, I’m going to try and leave the rest to chance. Given my obsession with coma’s, getting hit by cars or crossing between any sort of parked vehicle for fear of a bomb going off, I don’t want to tempt fate.

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