I like to move it, move it. I like to move it, move it. I like to move it, move it. I like to… watch something not moving for about an hour.

A friend of mine works in the art industry and takes me to openings now and again. The opening is usually a prelude to a night in the pub, and despite my complete lack of art savvy I’m usually happy to tag along. To her credit, the friend in question never outwardly shows her embarrassment at my scrunchy faces and whispered But-I-Don’t-Get-It protestations. She just lets me chug down the free booze and smiles benignly at my idiocy.

Last night she took me to see an opening at an old fire station in Marylebone. The place was decrepit and dark, decorated mainly with signs saying ASBESTOS! DEATH! DOOM! But it did have a pole, which somehow made up for the poison lurking around every shadowy turn. I don’t know why.

One of the artists had brought in a couple of mediums. They seemed like nice enough ladies, cuddly middle-aged delusionals who spent a lot of their time blessing people and telling us about protection spells they’d put around the place. Fred West and Hitler wouldn’t be ruining this party, no siree.

The medium session was rather fun. They announced a spirit wanted to make contact, giving vague enough details for it to have related to pretty much anyone in the room and then using all those Derren Brown-esque body language techniques to move things along once some sucker stuck their hand up.

“I have a woman. She’s a sister.”
*silence from room*
“No. She’s like a sister. She’s sisterly.”
*silence from room*
“Anyone?”
*silence from room*
“She wants me to talk to you (points at woman in front row). Had you a sister, or anyone who might be considered sisterly?”
“No.”
“Well, she says she felt sisterly towards you, so there.”

That was the general progression of things. Eventually they’d hit on something that rang true enough and they’d run with it till their luck disappeared (sorry, the spirit ‘moved off’). Brilliant.

Later on they held a séance in a tiny room downstairs. It was suitably creepy. The door creaked, they’d turned the lights off in favour of a lamp with a red bulb and there were a couple of flickery candles. There were even spooky noises floating through from the room next door, thanks to another artist’s piece that featured people in fire-fighter gear bumbling around a room and breathing heavily.

They were joined at the table by some right keenos who clearly believed very much in the whole thing. They laughed heartily at every nervous joke the mediums made to try and cover-up the fact nothing much happened. The planchett spun around a bit, the names Flnp and Tojgy were spelt out, and that was about it. Not exactly the ghostly experience I expect most people there (myself included) hoped might happen.

Let’s face it, if you go and check these things out there’s only a tiny part of you that doesn’t want something to happen. A ghostly visitation is far more exciting than watching a couple of mums bullshit about non-existent orbs and portals for an hour; we all like to be spooked, whether we choose to rationalise it afterwards or not.

Before the whole thing began, the mediums asked if anyone could feel their hair being pulled or their nose itching. If so, spirits were letting you know they were there. This was a fun little ruse, but surely everyone knows the power of suggestion when it comes to itchiness. You put the idea of an itchy nose into someone’s head and the nose will immediately become itchy. It’s just one of those things. They also said that there would be fluctuations in temperature, fluctuations that only the mediums themselves felt when they happened, strangely enough. I scoffed internally every time they whispered about feeling hot or cold. And then, right out of the blue, my own temperature began to rise.

At first I just cursed the room for becoming stuffy. Then the hot flush spread over my whole body. I started to tremble, my knees became weak, and things started to ripple in my vision. Nausea took over and I wondered what I would do if I did actually need to vomit.

Seconds later it passed. I felt normal again, if a bit shaky. Phew.

I realised straight after that I could read it two ways. Had I spoken up, no doubt the sickly spell would have been put down to some sort of spiritual intervention. Had I been a firm believer, I probably would have swallowed it and remained spooked forever. After all, on those ghost hunting shows there’s always *some* member of the crew who has a funny turn. I was haunted, right? My body was haunted. IT WAS DEFINITELY HAUNTED.

Except it clearly wasn’t. In truth, I had been stood very still for a very long time. It was getting on towards 9pm and I was tired. The room was very dark and it disorientated me briefly, helping the nausea, and the strain on my eyes from the poor light affected my vision. There was no way I could slip out without making a scene, adding to the edge of panic the feeling of imminent puke gives by default. And I’d only eaten a packet of prawn cocktail crisps all day. Oopsie.

It’s safe to say I came away from the experience even more aware of how suggestible a person is when they put themselves in that position. Derren Brown would have had a field day, truth be told. In fact, I went to see his show in London a couple of weeks back, and the second half was devoted entirely to old-school séance techniques. He did a bit of table tipping and it was bloody brilliant watching it float. I have no idea how he did it, but the whole thing was clearly not real. It was an illusion, an example of how easily people would have been fooled back in the day.

With my near-puke experience I can only thank my lucky stars I was able to rationalise the entire thing as it happened and not allow myself to get carried away with all the occult-dabblation* (which, admittedly, is a lot of fun when you’re a dirty cynic and can watch with a sardonic expression on your face and a ‘pfft, yeah, right, whatever’ in your head).

Otherwise, I would have looked like a right tit. And, as we all know, there’s no bigger tit than a tit at a séance.

*I think I made this word up. Feel free to take it and use it. It’s a gift from me to you. Enjoy!