The Priestess Survives.

I don’t think I mentioned that my foolish fears for the welfare of the priestess were quite unfounded. She was neither taken by the cold spirit of the mountains nor consumed by a hungry yeti. She sent me a short email from her phone to say that she was relaxing in a lakeside town where the temperature was 21°C.

I should have known, of course. Priestesses take risks and survive. It’s a sort of coming-to-earth-for-the-experience thing.

It pains me sometimes to think that one day I’m going to have to leave her here while I move on. No doubt I will do my best to engage a reliable medium with enough spiritual acumen to faithfully transmit ‘JJ says…’

And did I ever mention that a medium in New York once told her to come to England and be with me? She didn’t, of course, because priestesses never do what mediums tell them. I suppose it’s a status thing. And I’m so glad she didn’t because she and I must never meet in this life. It would spoil everything. When she did come to England for six months, she was steadfast in her resolve to keep well away from me. That’s priestesses for you.

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I think I would quite like to adopt a donkey. There’s an ad on YouTube offering donkeys for adoption at the knock-down rate of £24 a year. Everybody loves donkeys, don’t they? I do, so it’s tempting.