Barbara seems to think we have only two options here: number one is that we accept that imaginary creatures who we’ve never seen, and for whom we have exactly zero evidence, will save our bacon, and number two – ‘the other side of the coin’ – is that we blow ourselves to smithereens. The way I see that picture is that we may as well kiss our asses goodbye right now.
And, y’know Barbara, even if the aliens do exist, I’m not too sure we are advanced enough to handle their presence. In all likelihood, if they set their saucers down on Planet Earth – especially in the good ol’ US of A – they’re likely to get a cap popped up their oviducts. In case you missed it, I’ve aired my views on the aliens-visit-humans scenario previously on TCA and I’m not too sure about being all palsy with them.
It’s less a case of food for thought, than the possibility of us being food for them.
But heck. Congratulations anyway to The Sun for its reporting of UFOs. Someone has to do it.
(Oh, I just noticed that Barbara says ‘They have never harmed us in any big way’… I guess she’s covering her ass, here, so to speak – some people aren’t real happy about the anal probes.)
One area of hokum into which I’ve not ventured much here on the Cow(i) is the murky depths of the profession known as ‘psychic mediumship’ – or, by those at Cow Central as ‘despicable emotional opportunism’. This morning I saw on my friend Dr Rachie‘s Facebook page an ad for a purveyor of this nonsense, one Lisa Williams,(ii), who is, it would seem, currently plying her wares on my turf. I thought it might be time to turn the eye of the Cow onto things clairvoyant.
According to her advertising, Lisa Williams is apparently ‘TV’s top medium and psychic’, but as I rarely watch tv I can’t speak to that claim. All I can say is that I’ve never heard of her, so she’s obviously not as famous as people like John Edward or Sylvia Brown. A Search™ for ‘tv’s top medium and psychic’ also tends to throw a little doubt on the assertion since people like Michelle Whitedove, June Field, Carla Baron, Colin Fry and Sally Morgan – along with numerous others – purport to hold similarly lofty distinctions. In fact, the search returned so many names that the full scope of this industry put me on the back foot slightly. Psychic mediums are astonishingly big business it would seem.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by that – it just confounds me that, here at the cusp of the 21st Century, people are still being sucked in by the same sort of flimsy trickery that has been around for millennia.
Lisa Williams’ website is a veritable library-full of addled waffling and nutty feel-good advice. I will allow here that there is a vanishingly small chance that Ms Williams actually believes all the stuff she says, but it should be clearly understood that the ‘gift’ she so often talks about in her writing makes her a packet of money. And while I say there is a chance, I’m being very generous. Quite frankly, I think that Lisa Williams, like so many of these so-called spirit mediums, is a fraud.
Ms Williams features on her site a page called ‘Messages From Beyond’ – or, more accurately, ‘Messages from Beyond®’, for it seems that she has successfully registered this fairly common phrase as a legitimate service mark. How this kind of thing gets through the US Trademark office completely boggles my mind. Pretty soon you won’t be able to write an English language sentence without paying royalties.
There are a couple of videos on the this page and these are what make me think that Lisa Williams is less a dizzy self-deluded fruitcake than a cynical opportunist. Watch this one and we’ll talk about it:
Oh boy. Well, the very first thing that happens revealing: “Fantastic, I think this is it,” she says outside a hotel door. As if she’s ‘psychically’ arrived here. This is a small thing, but it sets up the tone of what’s to come. Lisa Williams is already hiding facts (things she previously knows) under the guise of flakey absent-mindedness. It’s so ingrained that it’s a habit.
What follows inside the room is a classic – albeit heavily edited – cold reading (although, for all we know it could have been a ‘hot’ reading – we have no idea what Lisa Williams knew about these people before she arrived. She could have had someone assemble a complete dossier on them).(iii) This is nothing more than a performance. Personally, I find it so offensively manipulative and cynical that I was almost inclined not to embed it. Taking advantage in this way of bereaved and emotionally fragile people like Joanna, the young woman in the video, is, in my opinion, despicable. Putting the video on your website in order to attract more business is the lowest form of exploitation I can think of.
As I said, this clip is quite obviously edited, and we simply can’t tell what was removed. We can be totally sure that we’re only seeing the things that we’re meant to see – no bad guesses, no flubs, no ‘fishing’ for hits. Even so, there are some telling moments:
“I see a wedding picture on the wall”, says Lisa, a punt which Joanna immediately contradicts. She had a wedding picture, but she took it down. Lisa Williams makes this seem like a hit, but it just plain isn’t. It’s a complete no brainer to guess that a person who has been relatively newly married will have a wedding picture on their wall somewhere, but in this case it’s actually a miss so Ms Williams swings around for “Oh, he [the husband] ‘interfered’ with it”. Whoa. That could mean just about anything – and sure enough, Joanna looks for an explanation. Cold Reading Basics #1: be general and allow the mark to fill in information for you. I’m sure this is what fills up most of the stuff that ended up on the cutting room floor, but for some reason, this one survives – probably because it’s rectified so favourably.
If you think I’m being unfair here, take a look at the second video on that page.
This one features some stuff from a live show, and the major observation I can make is that if this is a portmanteau of Lisa Williams’ best stuff then her usual show must be appallingly transparent. Watch her fish for a rube with this one:
“I see a little girl on a scooter… riding up and down… with a cat in a basket. She’s got one sock rolled up and one rolled down and she’s waving at you…”
All the time she’s scanning the audience… but no-one’s biting.
“She’s showing me that she’s, like, your grandmother, or your mother, or…
OK, she’s now expanded the possibilities from ‘little girl’ to include ‘mother’ and ‘grandmother’ and ‘or’. Remember here that a large number of people that make up Lisa Williams’ audiences have come to hear their dearly departed make contact, so in this case we’ve cast the net so wide that really the only females not specifically included in that kind of description are young women who haven’t had children – the least likely part of the female population to have recently died, and, of course, they were little girls once, so that’s covered too. And there’s the hugely all-encompassing ‘or…’. That little girl could be ANY female. I’m sure that with some deft footwork Lisa Williams could get transgender folks in there too.
…it’s like a red scooter… And I want to say there’s a connection to the name Mary. And her feet blew up.”(iv)
“Come on, help me out here,” pleads Lisa Williams to an audience frantically trying to find relevance in their own lives to her vague fishing. The happy little girl on the red scooter means bugger-all to them.
When she does get a response, you get the distinct feeling that it’s more out of sympathy than for even a small shade of accuracy. It’s a young woman who obligingly feeds our ‘clairvoyant’ more information to be recycled as ‘psychic’ insight. Once Lisa Williams cottons onto the fact that the mark is Eastern European (the woman has a pronounced accent) all manner of opportunity presents itself. It appears that the ‘departed’ in question is the woman’s grandmother. Ms Williams runs with it using lots of hand gestures to help make generalised visual impressions. The grandmother wears ‘some kinds of rags and mismatched clothing’ which apparently explains the socks from the first fishing expedition. There’s ‘something about vinegar’. Oh please – there’s probably also ‘something about’ potatoes and pickled fish. This stuff is banal and offensive. Somewhere along the line the little girl riding a scooter with a cat in the basket goes by the way. Somewhere along the line the name ‘Mary’ is completely forgotten. In fact, that picturesque image first conjured up by Lisa Williams – a feisty little girl called Mary with odd socks and a happy wave, riding on a red scooter, has been deftly supplanted by a manky European babushka with bad teeth and appalling table manners. It’s truly audacious swindling.
I won’t go on. Watching the two videos above is so distasteful to me, that I almost abandoned this post several times. I find it terribly hard going to see people being hoodwinked so blatantly and so callously – and, more troublingly, so easily and transparently.
The main content on the Lisa Williams’ Messages from Beyond® page features another riff on the Law of Large Numbers. It is in fact a psychic win/win scenario. Here, Ms Williams features from time-to-time a ‘message from the other side’ that has come to her while on the toilet or picking her nose. It’s a great con. She can put any old shit here – being 100% wrong has no negative consequences whatsoever. All the lame waffling will go unnoticed for the most part, but should anything happen to ring true with someone who reads her website – Bingo! She’s a psychic! And you can bet that Ms Williams will make sure everyone knows about it.
It’s truly shameful.
And, if nothing else, the awful faux Comic Sans-style font in which all these revelations are proffered is embarrassingly childish. As is the appalling spelling. For the record, Ms Williams, ‘purserver’ is actually spelled ‘persevere’, it’s ‘feisty’ not ‘fistey’ and ‘hypercondriac’ is usually penned as ‘hypochondriac’. But I suppose it’s really the ‘spirits’ who can’t spell, right?
Well, excluding our interludes with Sister Veronica, that is. But I’m fairly sure you understand that as just silliness. [↩]
Dr Rachie wasn’t advertising it, you understand – she was holding it up to scrutiny. [↩]
Just to clarify, in case people don’t know these two terms: a ‘cold’ reading is where the supposed psychic fishes for evidence from the victim using vague catch-all language, and builds on any hits by emphasising the stuff that fits and de-emphasising or ignoring stuff that doesn’t. A cold reading also involves scrutinizing the mark’s body language and other physical signs such as accents, type of clothing being worn and so forth. A hot reading, on the other hand, is built on knowledge that the psychic has already gathered in some manner, and which is known to be true. This kind of information is often accumulated by accomplices who mingle with the audience before the show begins, pretending to be punters themselves and asking questions like ‘Ooh, have you lost someone too dear? I lost my old Uncle Gilbert – who did you lose? Was it long ago?’ etc. It’s a technique that is widely used by stage psychics and faith healers such as Peter Popoff. It can be astonishingly effective if you’re not aware of it. [↩]
This kind of language – ‘her feet blew up’ – is enormously useful in cold readings. This could mean the ‘departed’s’ feet could be swollen. It could also mean an accident, like a land mine. The first one is very general – I defy you to find a grandmother who hasn’t had, at some stage, swollen feet – but the second meaning might pay off on the very odd occasion, making it seem like a totally astonishing hit. If you are clever and do this kind of thing often enough, eventually you’ll get a very powerful payoff. [↩]
It’s been some years since we last visited the Eurovision Song Contest, so I thought it was high time we indulged in another Tetherd Cow Ahead Live Blog Eurovision Spectacular. Joining me tonight on the couch are Violet Towne and Vermilion as we wing our virtual way like magical butterflies to the Swedish city of Malmö where the festivities are in full swing. As you know by now, the host country for the annual Eurovision Song Contest is the country of the previous Eurovision winner. and last year, we saw Sweden take the trophy with the remarkable Loreen and Euphoria…
So that’s the standard that this year’s competitors must meet, dear Cowmrades. Can they do it? Well, with Eurovision you just never know what musical delights you might be served up. So. Are you sitting comfortably? OK then! Help yourself to some knäckebröd and kottbullar, top up your glögg and rack up the volume. It’s time for Eurovision 2013.
Right off the top, I have to say I’m in love with the host for this year, Petra Mede. She is a vision in eyeball-scorching pink, and launches into the proceedings with scarily enunciated posh English. In the rehearsals she referred to herself (admirably sarcastically) as ‘the Swedish Oprah’ and I really have to take exception to that – if Oprah was this funny and talented, I’d watch her show every day. Who’s up first Petra?
Aha. Looks like it’s France. Dressed in a frock made of black licorice strips, Ms France is evidently channeling Courtney Love, only not very well. She seems to like running her hands down the licorice. It’s unsettling. The song is featureless and boring and it ends not a moment to soon. Petra senses the possible abandonment of the telecast by a million viewers and wastes no time in ushering Lithuania onto the mirror-finish black glass stage.
The Lithuanian entry is called ‘Something’ but a few chords in and it’s pretty obvious that ‘Nothing’ would have been more appropriate. It sounds like an awkwardly-phrased version of a bad New Order song. And then the chorus comes:
If you don’t know, I’m in love with you
When summertime falls, it becomes untrue
Because of the shoes, I’m wearing today
One is called love, the other is pain
No, I haven’t a clue either. It is possible that the last line was ‘One is called love, the other is Spain’, which doesn’t make it any more understandable, but at least it adds a level of surreality. The song is ultimately dirgey and Mr Lithuania retires backstage to drown his sorrows.
Now it’s Moldova‘s turn. Ms Moldova is a striking redhead with a most unusual hairdo. It looks like someone smothered it in gel and then got her to stand with her back to an aircraft engine. If Eurovision was in 3D, we’d be ducking every time the camera came in for close-ups.
As you know, all the artists in the Eurovision Song Contest must perform their vocals live and this really separates the wheat from the chaff. Ms Moldova has a nice tune, but in some places she decides to sing it a few microtones lower than the one the band is playing. It is most unfortunate. Her choreographer has evidently sized up the possibility of this happening, though, and implemented a tried-and-true tactic: distraction. Ms Moldova is on fire! Well, not literally (and especially not figuratively), but some kind of fancy projection system paints her skirt with flames. She looks like a volcano! The spectacle becomes even more volcano-like when she starts to rise into the air, her dress spreading into a conical mountain beneath her. Up and up she goes! At any moment I expect her to be expelled from the top like a lava plug.
I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and never expect to again anytime soon. Which only goes to show that you shouldn’t attempt to anticipate the future when watching Eurovision.
I’m not quite sure how they got Ms Volcano off the stage, but they evidently did because now Finland is rocking on up. Oh my, oh my. This irksome pop number is about as twee as one can get before falling off the end of pop and landing in a dumpster full of plush teddybears and message balloons. It reminds me as nothing so much as a peroxided reanimated zombie Tony Basil number, only without the same level of profundity in the lyrics.(i) The song is a plea by Ms Finland for her beau to ‘Marry Me’ which is a rather prosaic set up for what is intended to be the we-got-you-with-that-one whammy at the end: a girl-on-girl kiss. Only, this is the third time this has been done on Eurovision, so it looks like nothing more than a lame grab for the gay vote. Where’s my nerf brick?
Spain is on next with a song called ‘With You Until The End’. The haunting strains of that familiar Spanish instrument – the bagpipes – propel a nervous Ms Spain into her number. Dressed in a golden yellow frock, she is pretty as a daffodil – with about the same level of musical talent as one. I wish I could say I was with her until the end, but she lost me on the first tuneless verse.
Information Break: Lest you think I’m being overly harsh on Ms Spain and Ms France, let me just outline here a little something that I didn’t know about the Eurovision until this year. As you are probably aware, the Eurovision Song Contest is fiercely contested, and the process for selection of the acts begins many months before the actual finals. Each country has competitions and heats, and then there are several playoffs to choose the best of the best from each country’s offerings. Unless, that is, you are one of the ‘pre-qualified’ countries – the Big Five, as they have become known. France, Italy, Spain, UK and Germany automatically make the finals. Why? Because they are the biggest contributors to the European Broadcast Union. In other words, they buy their way in. This is just jaw-droppingly outrageous (but, of course, oh-so-European). The downside of this, though, is that the Big Five don’t get the fierce and relentless training for the stage that the other countries all must endure, and so tend to perform awfully on the big night. Tonight is no exception, as we shall see…
Anyways, Ms Spain tries her darndest but it’s not enough. She struggles through to the finish and some fireworks go off by way of compensation.
Petra does her schtick and Roberto from Belgium takes the floor. I quite like Roberto. At the very least he can sing in tune. His song is called ‘Love Kills’ and he delivers it with aplomb. Unfortunately, whoever choreographed Roberto’s act didn’t get the memo about not upstaging the star. Two dancers flank his every move with the oddest routine I’ve seen in a long long while. I am so distracted by their spastic head wobbling and jerky gesturing that I become transfixed. What will they do next? They’re framing their groins with their hands! Now they’re feeling themselves up! Miming splashing water on their faces! Swinging baseball bats! It really is MOST peculiar. I don’t know how Roberto is staying in tune. I know my own voice has gone up several octaves in pitch in sheer disbelief. But the crowd seems to like it all and Roberto finishes up with style. I think he’s got a chance.
Estonia is on now, with the tv cameras going to black & white for the opening verse. No idea why. Don’t care, because the song is dull and forgettable. Maybe the black & white is an expression of how colourless it is. Belarus erases the musty taste somewhat with sprightly Ms Belarus springing enthusiastically out of a giant mirror ball and launching into a boppy South American-style number. It’s rather too calculated for my taste though, so I am happy when it winds itself up and Malta takes the stage.
Mr Malta serenades us with a little ditty about ‘Jeremy who works in IT’. It’s done with infectious light-heartedness, and I can see Malta being strong in the finish. There’s not much to remark about though, so we’ll move on to Russia. Ms Russia’s song is dreary. Russia does dreary very well. It’s called ‘What If’. It should be called ‘What Ever’.
Now it’s Germany‘s turn. Like the other ‘pre-qualified’ countries, no-one here tonight has seen this entry ‘in the flesh’. Will she be able to stay on pitch, or is pre-qualification a guarantee of tunelessness…? (You only need watch the first thirty seconds)
Well, I guess that answers that. ‘She has no grace,’ says Vermilion, and never a truer word was spoken. It’s an ungainly and rueful performance, with a song that’s nothing more than a shameless awful clone of last year’s winner ‘Euphoria’ that you saw above.
Now it’s Armenia‘s turn to shine. Uh-oh, it’s a band with an eco-message. Now, worthy save-the-planet pleading has never been much at home in this frothy celebration of cheesy pop, though many have tried. These guys think their Tony Iommi co-penned number might just break the curse… but they are deluded. With more denim in one place than I’ve seen since the 70s, they earnestly deploy some of the worst lyrics I’ve heard in many years in an attempt to convince the audience that ‘we can stop it’. Please do, chaps, it would be best for everyone.
Are we even half way through yet? NO! But because I endured it, Faithful Acowlytes, so must you.
The Netherlands delivers up Anouk with a song called ‘Birds’.
‘Birds falling down the rooftops,
Out of the sky like raindrops’
It’s weird plaintive song that changes from one minor key into another – way too humourless for my liking, but Violet Towne thinks it’s a contender. We shall see.
It’s over soon enough and Petra calls forth the next aspiring star. Now this is the kind of moment we wait for in every Eurovision spectacular. Romania‘s entry in the 2013 Eurovision Song Contest is the inimitable Cesare. Can you conjure an image of the devil channeling Count Dracula doing a Klaus Nomi impersonation in a disco? Excellent – that’s Cesare’s performance. Offered up in a flaming red set bedecked with giant condoms, Cesare – like Ms Moldova earlier on – rises up into the air on his expanding cloak, propelled, quite certainly by his ever-ascending falsetto.
Say what you will about him, Cesare is committed. I want him to win because… well, dammit, just because he should. Man, where can we possibly go from here?
Petra show us the way! OK, looks like it’s the United Kingdom with Bonnie Tyler. Yes, you heard that right. Bonnie Tyler, the 1980s songstress better known for floating dresses, doves and unseemly relations with glowing-eyed school boys is Old Blighty’s 2013 offering. What can I say about Bonnie’s performance but oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Like walking in on your parents having sex, it’s something that it’s best you try to unsee. Let’s just shut the door and pretend it didn’t happen.
Quick, wheel out Sweden. Oh my god it’s not much better – an ex-wrestler in a straight jacket. VT and Vermilion thinks he has what it takes, but I can’t see us coming back to Malmö next year.
Now Hungary comes on with a hipster dude that just about out-hipsters every hipster I’ve ever seen, in attitude, appearance and performance.
He’s so introverted that I’m worried the digital broadcast signal has dropped out and the image stabilization on my TV has substituted a freeze frame. But no, there’s a slight movement on his left foot. His weird half-spoken delivery is kind of appealing though, so I’m not prepared to throw him on the EuroTrashHeap just yet. He finishes with an awkward shuffle and then it’s Denmark‘s turn. A bare-footed hippie girl is plonked centre stage in clouds of floaty hair and chiffon. Petra tells us that Ms Denmark is 19 years old, and is this year’s Eurovision favourite. The song ‘Only Teardrops’ certainly has all the requirements for a Eurovision win, and floaty Ms Hippie really knows how to work the audience. The irksome contrived catch in her voice notwithstanding, she delivers a faultless performance and it’s plain that the audience loves her. I wish her and her precociousness and her hair would take the accompanying tin whistle marching band and just fuck off and leave the stage to someone else.
Like Iceland. I mean, Iceland, right? Björk. Sigur Rós. Múm. This is a whole country of great musicians with unpronounceable names. They’ll deliver. And they do! It’s a Viking in a tuxedo: Eyþór Ingi. It’s a good start with the name! He’s the lead singer in Deep Purple cover band apparently, but tonight he has a haunting ballad which he manages to execute with admirable conviction. And I don’t mean ‘execute’ in a metal way – he actually can sing. I have no idea what he’s on about, but Violet Towne is already preparing our divorce papers. No question who she’s rooting for.
I do agree that he’s very likeable, but I’m not sure he’s winner material. Mr Azerbaijan might be, though. His choreographer should certainly get an extra plate of fiskbullar at the afterparty. It’s a truly amazing routine (and I’m not being sarcastic, for once) with an interesting bromantic overtone. It’s further enhanced by an explosive eruption of rose petals and the arrival of a vision who is part woman and part red-carpet. And the song is good too, as is Mr Azerbaijan’s performance. I like him for a contender. Well done Mr A!
Greece takes the stage with their entry ‘Alcohol Is Free’. Ha! I’m predisposed towards them from the get go…. but the song starts off disappointingly – please, not a folksy traditional offering. And then, ka-blam! Wow, it’s a Greek ska band. I have no clue what they’re singing about except when every chorus goes to English for ‘Alcohol, alcohol, alcohol is free HEY!’ That’s pretty unmistakeable. Their enthusiastic bopping and wild prancing is infectious. I’d go to these guys’ gigs! Alrighty, they have my vote for the winners of the 2013 Eurovision! Unless something better comes along. I am slightly concerned that winning could be problematic for them though – staging next year’s Eurovision might finish off Greece’s economy for good. I’m glad I don’t have a formal vote – the ethical dilemma would be too horrendous.
We’re nearing the finish line folks,(ii) as Ukraine fronts up. Oh dear. Ms Ukraine is delivered to the stage by a giant. Yes, an actual giant. He dumps her onstage and goes off to deal with his beanstalk as Ms Ukraine warbles a song about gravity. I think.
I’m like a butterfly
I’m like a butterfly
and I should have stayed up high
It’s stronger than me
It’s all very wispy and Enya-ish, and Ms doe-eyed Ukraine yields it with every ounce of her being. The official video of this song on YouTube features not one but two unicorns and a literal truckload of butterflies. There isn’t enough gravity in the entire cosmos to bring it down to earth. But this is the kind of thing that sometimes gets the big vote here at Eurovision, so I’m a little worried…
The last of the pre-qualifiers, Italy, fronts up a dashing gigolo who can at least hold a tune. Not a memorable tune unfortunately. It’s over with as much panache as starts it – which is to say not much. Off he sashays backstage to try his luck with Ms Denmark in the green room. The stage is reset for Ms Norway, with ‘I Feed You’, making an outside bid for the fetish vote. Both VT and Vermilion like this one too, with her Dothraki hairdo and split-to-armpit white Game of Thrones dress. I’m underwhelmed – there aren’t enough dragons for my taste.
Only two more to go now, Georgia and Ireland, and they are both tedious. Ms Georgia wafts around with her boyfriend in dry ice fog. ‘I’m sailing on a sea of clichés’ she sings – or at least I think that’s what it was. They sail off into anonymity to make way for Mr Ireland who is a cross between Justine Bieber and Bono. The muscle boy bodhran players who leap around in the background are an unashamed last ditch effort for a sliver of the gay vote.
And then, just like that, it’s over.
We hang around for the voting, and it’s a close jockeying between the predictable Ms Hippie Denmark, the spacey Ms Ukraine and the more worthy Mr Azerbaijan. Our favourites, the effervescent Greek ska boys, and the besuited Icelandic Viking don’t even get a look-in. Before long, it’s clear there’ll be teardrops before bedtime and we’ll be heading off to Copenhagen in 2014.
Before we start on today’s observations, Faithful Acowlytes, I want to remind you of the century in which we currently find ourselves. It is, of course, the 21st Century, where humans have walked on other worlds, routinely fly in marvellous metal contraptions from country to country on a daily basis and communicate instantly with other humans on the other side of the planet.
Got that? Good. Try and keep it in your mind as we move on.
The Australian reports this week that people who live near Saint Thomas Rest Park, on the North Shore of Sydney, are demanding that the local government install floodlighting because the park is ‘spooky’ at night.
Saint Thomas Park is the site of one of Sydney’s oldest cemeteries and residents who are accustomed to walking their dogs there “are quick to scurry home at sundown, when the area becomes a bit eerie”, according to Australian correspondent Leigh van den Broeke. They scurry, dear Cowpokes, not for fear of the threat of muggings or attacks from dropbears, but because “There are rumours the park is haunted”.
The Daily Telegraph, another of Sydney’s stellar media outlets decided to investigate the claims, and did what any good journal should do and called in some rational, level-headed folks with scientific training who quickly dispelled the stupid rumours.
Hahahaha. No they didn’t! I’m just joshing! But I had you for a moment didn’t I? The Telegraph is a scurrilous and worthless rag, so what they actually did was consult a ghost hunter, of course. At the invitation of the Telegraph, Janine Donnellan from SOul Searches Paranormal Investigations(i) turned up at the park with her ‘electromagnetic energy measuring equipment’ and pronounced (surprise surprise) that there was a restless spirit hanging about a particular cluster of gravestones.
Said Ms Donnellan:
“It’s a male in his 30s or 40s. I saw him at one stage crouching behind one of the graves and then over to another. He noticed me and I was trying to get him engaged in conversation but he was very reticent to do that.”
Personally, I think Ms Donnellan has gotten a bit overly-excited here by her first encounter with your average garden-variety Sydney goth.
Ms Donnellan, according to the Australian, has ‘a certificate of Advanced Achievement in Parapsychology from the Australian Academy of Applied Parapsychology’. You know how fond I am of an accreditation, loyal Cowmrades, so I thought I might just look up the AAAP (as is fairly easy to do with the 21st Century internet-type technology available at my fingertips). Unsurprisingly, the only online presence I can find for the AAAP is a Facebook page which has exactly no information on it, other than offering a claim to be a university. A university? That should be very easy to check. What’s this – they don’t appear to be on the register of universtities kept by the Australian Qualifications Framework, but that’s surely an oversight, right?
The Sart Local business directory has a page for the AAAP though, even if it does give a street address that resolves at the same premises as the Australian College of Hypnotherapy, an establishment that offers courses in a veritable treasure trove of woo (including NLP and EFT(ii)) Parapsychology doesn’t appear to be on the listing.
So far Ms Donnelly’s credentials are looking about as impressive as her goth detection skills.
Continuing down the Australian article, which is as brainless as it is vague, we find that one of the local residents, a Ms Sue Hamparsum, claims that ‘phantom children’ also inhabit the park: “Three different families have taken photographs of their children at the playground and two little girls appeared in the photographs, but they don’t remember them being there.”(iii) Because we always remember everyone who appears in photographs we take, right?
Thankfully, the local council has comprehensively quashed the call for the park to be floodlit (citing, rather disappointingly, the impact on nearby properties instead of simply saying ‘Please stop tying up council staff with your superstitious hysteria you dimwits’).
There is a kind of breathtaking stupidity behind the request in any case. I wonder if you spotted it? That’s right: unless Ms Donnelly’s ghost hunting antics and the families photographing their children all took place at night (and it doesn’t sound to me like that’s very likely), then the ghosts mentioned in this article all appeared in the daytime. WHAT MAKES ANYONE THINK THEY WOULD THEY GIVE A TOSS ABOUT FLOODLIGHTING?!!!