The Death Card
My ceaseless search for programme ideas has led me into some strange places and explains how I came to be in a Galashiels hotel and sitting in front of a fortune teller as he flipped over a tarot card to reveal 'Death'.
The Reader - for that is what these dealers in destiny are called - assured me that this card rarely predicts an actual death. It was more likely to signify the end of one life-chapter and the start of the next. Having just moved from Glasgow to the Borders, I told him that this seemed like a credible explanation. I was trying to be polite.
The next card - The Hanging Man - seemed to excite my Reader a lot more. It prompted him to ask me all sorts of questions about my health and he left me with the advice that I should listen to my body. By this he meant two things. The first was almost literal. I should listen out for coughs, wheezes, creaks and cracks. The second meaning was all about acting on instinct and following one's conscience. He took it for granted that I had such a thing, but that's always been open for debate.
This all happened many years ago, but I got to thinking about this episode last Sunday night when I was on a crowded train from Inverness to Glasgow. An encounter with four pony-tailed nedettes had left me a little stressed. To cut a long story short, one of them was occupying the seat I had reserved and all four were loudly exchanging stories about some wild party they had attended the night before.
"I started puking about three in the morning, but you were worse than me."
"Oh aye and then you went in the bedroom and snogged big Fergus."
"hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!"
I don't want to sound aloof, but they didn't look like they were in the mood to discuss the finer points of ScotRail's seat reservation policy, so I shuffled past, dragging my suitcase-on-wheels, and finally got sat down on one of those twin-seats next to the luggage rack. I tell you, wee Jimmy Krankie would have complained about the leg-room.
I was hot, bothered and slightly claustrophobic...and that's when it happened.
My heart stopped.
At least, that's how it felt. A strange flutter. No, more like a sinking feeling. A skipped beat. A palpitation.
Then it happened again. Then again. I started listening to my body the way you listen to the football commentary when your team is one goal down in the final and you're into injury time. Anxiously.
And then the next weird thing happened and I swear this is absolutely true. I noticed that I had something sticking to my shoe and it began to annoy me even more. I reached down and peeled it from the sole and do you know what it was?
A playing card.
The Ace of Spades, in fact.
The Death Card.
On my very soul....well, sole.
So here's the thing. I don't believe in the supernatural and I don't believe in fortune tellers or tarot. But tomorrow morning I'm at the doctors for a check-up.
Sometimes you just can't ignore the signs.
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