|Best tea bags in the world but hopeless for fortune telling|
|blessed by a winged messenger|
Of course, there are always the omens. My whole family needed a healthy daily dose of soothsaying omens. My mother and her sister would often see shapes in clouds or interpret the cluck of a chicken or growl of a dog as a guiding word. Richer people had psychoanalysts and stockbrokers to advise them. My aunt was once struck by a huge squirt of pigeon poo as she walked into the Bingo Hall. She won the regional jackpot that night and bought a colour television. She loved it so much she hardly left the house again. Needless to say, the winged excremental messenger never chose her again.
|The hand of the Universe strokes me|
Imagine my feelings today as these memories flood back. As I walked to the shops a sight greeted me from the pavement. It was a supernatural and inexplicable omen. There on the pavement was a dice, face up showing a score of six. Come on guys - tell me that is not an omen! How did the bloody thing get there?
I picked up the dice and of course it will always be with me. I needed to cross the road and for once there was no traffic. As I scampered across the tarmac a great dollop of bird shit splattered on my tracksuit bottoms.Tell me that the Universe has not twisted itself into position to show me these omens. I just know that in the next little while something astounding is going to happen. Perhaps I'll sell a book or someone who isn't a spammer will read this blog. If this be not an omen, never was there fate nor no bird ever shat. (Apologies to the bard's sonnet 116).
Emma Thinx: Before you chance your arm - arm your chances.