This is a message for the ‘palm readers’ who tried to scam me out of a few quid on the South bank recently. I did not give you the money because I believed you. I did not do it because I thought you were good. I did it because you have guts to be as fake as you clearly are, and if you carry on that way you’ll be rumbled within a week anyway.
First off, the first person who came up to me held out what I assumed was supposed to be ‘lucky heather’. Not only did neither of these people have accents that originated from anywhere near the usual heather-growing regions, this sprig was clearly the cheapest, most sickly plant they could find and was wrapped in tin foil.
I took the bait and gave the lady a couple of quid to placate her. Given the number of con artists in the area – and the guy on the bridge earning hundreds playing the game ‘which cup is the ball under?’ – I wasn’t too fussed over a few coins. She then asked me if I wanted my palm read, and out of sheer curiosity I said yes.
A man came up to me and asked me to hold the palm reading stone in my hand. I was uncomfortably aware of two things: 1) holding the stone was stopping me from leaving, and 2) it was quite obviously just a normal glass paperweight.
We went through the obligatory ‘clairvoyant bingo’ of vague and unconfirmable statements that could basically apply to anyone. I’m going to receive some unexpected money. My future is very bright and involves travel to other countries. I will go on holiday this year. My aura is good. The spirit of an older lady is standing next to me (…Nan?). A Capricorn is going to change my life. Why yes, I have been feeling stressed lately.
And then, I thought he’d finally struck gold. “Do you sometimes have pain in one of your legs?”
Yes! Yes, I do! I just pointed to the leg, hoping he was going to reveal his true powers and know that I’d hurt it in a teacup ride incident at a theme park last year.
“Mmm, it’s arthritis. It’s because you have a bad relationship with one of your parents.”
Wow. So not only did some minor ligament damage diagnosed by a doctor miraculously turn into a full-blown case of arthritis on a 26-year-old woman with no other symptoms, it’s because I hate my Dad. I should point out that I really don’t hate him, either. Up to that point I’d been playing along for a laugh – when he came out with that gem, I knew it was time to go before I laughed out loud.
I left after blowing on the paperweight and pretending to make a wish, and chucked my lucky cat-tails into the river. I will however be checking the star sign of everyone I meet in the next few months, just in case…
