What triggered last night’s episode was the priestess’s name at the top of my inbox. (Actually she has two names, an English one and a Chinese one, which is pretty damn grand in my book. And the Chinese one is the stuff of which fairy tales are written, or maybe ballads for voice, erhu and guzheng. But I digress…)
So I wrote and told her, and now I feel embarrassed. No doubt she will put my experience down to either a worrying psychosis or the effect of Newcastle Brown Ale combined with a couple of scotches. Priestesses can be terribly pragmatic when a cold wind is whistling through Sydney Harbour Bridge.
And I omitted to mention to her that one of the messages did become clarified like ghee in a Delhi deli. It said: 'She is definitely in charge.' Silly me.