Cold reading in June – Part 4 (Edinburgh)


The spirits must have known I was coming to Edinburgh tonight as they sabotaged my Sat-Nav and got me hopelessly lost after the Forth Road Bridge. Added to this a brake cover rusted off its bracket making my front left wheel squeal and squeak with every revolution. This noise was magnified ten-fold in the echo chamber of the multi-storey carpark, so any possible prospect of stealth was destroyed.

Tonight’s venue is a Unitarian Church which is an actual church although it looks like a simple, Georgian townhouse from the outside. Inside, there are several, banks of wooden pews arranged in the usual semi-circle around the pulpit and stage. There are Unitarian Church and Conan Doyle flyers on the wooden pew tables but no bibles, no crosses on the walls or stain glassed windows, the overall effect is still churchy but without the usual painful iconography. I’m confused by this meeting of Spiritualism and Christianity, not so long-ago mediums would have been ostracised by all churches, further back they were tying similar heretics in sacks then throwing them into rivers. Tonight’s event has been organised by the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Centre. Arthur Conan Doyle is famed for creating the famous Victorian detective Sherlock Holmes who championed reason and scientific method. However, Conan Doyle was also a committed Spiritualist who claimed to frequently converse with the dead and who was fooled into believing that fairies were dancing at the bottom of a garden by two mischievous schoolgirls.

I take a seat four rows from the front then scan the room seeing many mystic looking crones of which around 20% are male. There are many retirees, a surprising amount with either blue or pink tinted hair. I’m pleased to recognise the blonde Elvira from the Perth event while Karen Docherty is several rows behind, stony faced and studying everyone intently. A youngish couple are sitting in front of me looking worried and tired, I decide that they have probably lost a child and maybe hope to contact him or her tonight.

The room has slowly filled to around three quarters full when an older woman grabs the mic and addresses the audience introducing herself as the Conan Doyle Centre Chairperson. She starts rambling on about all the various courses, seminars and workshops that the centre provides then finally introduces tonight’s medium. Lisa Williams is a bone fide ‘Celebrity Medium’ having presented a popular US TV series and made many chat show appearances across the globe. Although born in Birmingham she now resides in the United States: the epicentre of all thing’s spiritualism and evangelical. It’s fair to say she’s achieved the kind of success that all mediums aspire to. According to the flyer provided she claims to communicate with the dead, investigates haunted houses, conducts other spirit-seeking activities and is descended from a long line of English mediums and spiritualists.

Williams struts onto the small stage and is greeted with an enthusiastic burst of applause and a couple of woops of delight. She looks a little more frayed than her photoshopped website pictures and a touch heavier around the torso. She’s wearing a stylish, white blouse with blue, floral patterning and black trousers giving her an overall ‘soccer mom’ appearance rather than celebrity.

‘Can you hear me okay? I wasn’t sure if my microphone is working,’ she says. ‘It’s so lovely to be here. How many people have never seen this type of thing before?’

She identifies two people raising their hands and thanks them especially for attending.

‘How many here are practicing mediums?’ asks Williams. A mass of eager hands reaches for the sky like clubbers at a rave. There must be about 30 mediums, all sitting in the front pews. I turn back and notice that Karen Docherty isn’t raising her hand in solidarity.

‘Own It, own it,’ calls Williams. ‘How many people are here to do Forensics? We’ll be working on real life cases.’ Again, the front two rows all raise their hands.

Forensic mediumship is the following day’s workshop taught by Williams in the Conan Doyle Centre. The course claims to show how to breakdown evidence supplied from spirits and extra sensory perception which aids police in solving important cases. This type of claim demonstrates mediumship at its most opportunistic and callous. Every highly, publicised missing person or abduction case attracts mediums like flies to a rotting carcass. Mediums are always keen to draw attention to their involvement in these high, profile cases while the Police rarely acknowledge any of their involvement.

I’m struck by William’s confidence in front of a large crowd, she’s clearly at ease in front of an audience and instantly builds a rapport.

‘I’m going to explain how I work,’ says the medium. ‘I personally like to blend English mediumship with American mediumship which I have a love hate relationship with, in that’s very message based. Of course, my English accent isn’t put on, so I try to connect more with my English mediumship abilities. I like feedback, so If you relate to anything please let me know. I never get offended by “No”. I delve into that “No”. If something resonates with you after the event come back to me later Facebook. Also, I’m very, very much spirit based and spirit centred. I want to make friends with the spirit’.

‘Now, I need you to hold the microphone like an ice cream and make sure I hear you as I am partially deaf and I don’t have my glasses to see you, so help me with the microphone. If I give you a name and it’s close, think outside the box, involve all the audience. Let’s communicate. And basically, that’s it. I wander around and give people messages. I like to have fun. For everyone to be relaxed’.

She goes on to joke about the American sense of humour and Donald Trump, then describes her recent visit to Mary’s Close, a haunted alleyway used in Edinburgh’s many ghost walks. She stresses the importance of accepting any sort of link with the messages she receives no matter how tenuous, explaining that her spirit connections can often get muddled.

‘Ok, are we good?’ asks Williams to the audience.

‘YES’ bellow the audience like a pantomime crowd.

 ‘Ok, let’s talk to some Dead people. Now, I have a young girl that is coming through. Actually, she’s not a young girl, she’s a teenager, she’s 16. She’s showing me a car accident, or she got hit by a car. A friend of yours?’ Asks Williams to the overall audience. ‘I’m getting a school friendship link also s giving me, I might be wrong so don’t take a definite, I’ve got Amanda or Mandy and I’m being drawn directly in front of me.’

Two people in the front pews raise their hands to signify recognition. A woman recognises the girl but not the names so is discarded in favour of a middle aged, bald man in a blue checked shirt.

‘You recognise the name?’ asks Williams to the man.

 ‘Yes, the name and she was the daughter of my school friend, my old neighbour,’ replies the man.

‘And she passed in a car accident?’

‘She walked in front of a car.’

‘Perfect, got it. Sometimes we get double messages. I know the name is very strong. She makes me aware that you were like an Uncle?’


‘The name is very strong. She’s very noisy. So, what does Alan mean?’

‘Oh, ehm, Yes.’

‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll leave it with you. Now I’m getting felt pens, remember that smell? It’s giving me a bit of a headache.  And I’m getting a connection to a letter in purple writing that may be smelly?’

‘Thank you darling’ answers Williams to the spirit. Unlike the other medium’s Williams chats with the spirits as if they are standing on the stage, she then relays these messages to the sitting audience member.

‘She just told me there’s also a Birthday coming that is significant?’ asks Williams to the man.

‘That’s my Mum’s,’ replies the man.

‘But she’s not crossed, she’s still with us, yes? She wants to say Happy Birthday. I’m assuming that she knew your Mum?’

‘Well my Grandma was like a Mum to her.’

 ‘Ok, I understand love,’ says Williams to the spirit of the child before turning to the man.

‘She’s drawing my attention to her shoes, asking me do you like my shoes? Her shoes are important. And her clothes are very connected and important to her?’

 ‘Yes,’ replies the man. ‘Her mother still has as the clothes that she was knocked down in.’

‘Thank you,’ says Williams to the spirit. ‘Ok, so you understand there’s an elderly woman with her and that must be your Grandma?’


‘Now she’s telling me that she realises that your Mum may not believe in the woo woo world but it’s important that you do. In fact, you work in the mediumship world, don’t you?  And you took her through and crossed back over, yes?’ asks Williams.

‘Yes.’ replies the man while chuckling.

‘She’s bringing me a gin and tonic, I’m not sure why and I’m not sure if it’s you that drinks the gin and tonic or your mum. She’s letting me know that she’s having a great time, and everything is okay. She’s saying your car needs cleaning and there’s lots of seeing chocolate wrappers inside. Somebody is supposed to be on a diet but there’s chocolate wrappers in the car?’

A woman next to man laughs and admits, ‘That’s me.’

‘Well, all I can say is, BUSTED’ replies Williams sparking the whole audience into laughter. ‘Is your father in spirit?’

‘Ehm. Grandfather.’

 ‘Now he’s just come in and put his arm around your grandmother and I’m getting the sense that you were close to him?’

‘Yes, very close.’

‘He was a quiet man? He used to shuffle around but a gorgeous guy. I’m seeing tobacco on his fingers as if he was a heavy smoker and I’m getting a strong, strong smell of smoke.’

Clairalience or clear smelling is the supposed ability to smell a spirit or characteristics associated with them.

‘He just wants everybody to know that he is okay and that he has got her. So, I’ll leave that with you.’

‘Yes, yes, thank you.’

‘Now, just one more question I have a fire fighter in spirit, does that mean anything?’

‘No, not really’, answers the man.

‘Ok, I must be switching over to the next spirit, so I’ll leave that with you darling.’

A spontaneous round of applause fills the room to signify a change, so I join in.

‘I want you to clap as it cuts the energy,’ instructs Williams to the audience. ‘It’s very hard getting the message but sometimes a clap raises vibrations and changes the energy. I don’t care if you clap for me or not. is that okay?’

‘YES’ bellows the audience.

‘Ok, so all this is a bit strange to me as they usually kick me out of churches. I’m seeing those Cadbury’s chocolate eggs and somebody here tonight was eating them on the way here tonight. I’m a Vegan so not allowed to eat them and it’s one of those things that I miss the most. I’m still connected to a fire fighter or somebodies Dad who was in the forces or the military or in uniform.’

I resist the urge not to scream ‘Cadbury’s cream eggs are only sold in Easter months’ and instead sit back and admire the William’s deft combination of both Piggybacking and Shotgunning.

 ‘Ok, my love’ says the medium to a spirit before returning to the audience with, ‘I’m getting pulled to the back of the room this time’.

A woman at the very back of the church raises her hand and the microphone is passed along.

‘Ok, so this is your Father?’

‘Grandfather,’ answers the woman

‘And your grandfather was in the forces? And you like Cadbury’s eggs or he used to give you these eggs for Easter?’


‘He’s is a funny guy and he lost weight by the end. He was quite a stocky chap. Do you understand a tattoo on the arm?’

‘No, that is somebody else.’

‘That person with a tattoo is still with us?’


Williams stops to listen to the spirit then returns to the woman.

 ‘Did he have a brother?


‘Was he in the service?’


‘Now, I’m getting a tattoo of someone in spirit, maybe somebody with your Grandfather maybe called Fred?’


 ‘Or Arthur?’

‘Hmmm, yes.’

‘Ok, I think I’m getting messages mixed up, let’s get back to your Grandparents. Now your Gran is in spirit too?’

‘That’s right’

‘She’s a character, a great laugh but also a bit of a busybody. I love her, I call these nosey people curtain twitchers.’

Williams has got a far more evolved stage presence and appears far more experienced and refined in her interactions with the audience. She keeps the performance upbeat and interesting, interjecting jokes and humorous comments despite often wandering off her chosen subject and person.

‘Ok I hear you darling,’ says Williams to the spirit before returning to address the woman.

‘Now, she’s saying that something in your life means you need a pick me up. And she wants you to know that it’s all going to be okay and when you look up to the sky at night and you see the stars twinkling that’s her winking down to you. Now you can’t see (to the audience) but she’s getting a little bit emotional at the back but it’s good to have a cry. Now she’s mentioning a ring that is very important and she’s warning you not to lose it,’

‘Yes.’ answers the woman snivelling.

‘And she’s referencing a boy. Do you have a son?’


‘They want you to know he’s a credit to you and you’ve done a fabulous job of being a Mum to your boy. They’re both proud of you. And do you have a dog in spirit?’


‘Well, the dog has just come through to say hello.’


‘And with that I think that we’ll leave it with that, okay.’

As recommended applause meets the end of the connection. I’m baffled by the mix of spirit, medium and audience member in the conversation. It’s impressive to witness William’s ability to measure and captivate a crowd but there’s little psychokinesis to be marvelled at.

‘So, I’ve got a feeling this new gentleman was a medic or a nurse? Oh, come on darling. I’ve got a woman now, pushing her way into place. So, I’ve got two people. He was a medic in the army but had an awful bedside manner and she was also a medic. Does this make sense to you?’ says Williams to a middle-aged woman with her hand raised.

‘Yes. I worked with him,’ answers the woman.

Williams admits that she knows this audience member and that she is one of the following day’s students and an aspiring medium. Unsurprisingly, the woman is perfectly accommodating and goes on to answer every question with gusto. Everybody in the front three rows are gobbling up William’s performance like teenagers watching a boyband. At one point a woman in the corner seat turns around and faces the audience, I’m struck by her Bambi eyed look of satisfaction as if she is watching a guru master at work. I begin to ignore the medium and become entranced by the acolytes collected faces in the first row only being snapped out of my interest by another round of applause. Williams goes on to link with other spirits with waiting audience members, she highlights more subjects such as shoes, medical ailments, pets and household ornaments. Each pontification seized upon like ducks eating bread.

‘So, I’ve got a younger guy and believe he rode a motorbike, or he died suddenly on a motorbike?’ asks Williams to the audience.

A tubby middle-aged man in a middle row raises his hand to claim the connection. Everybody waits as the microphone is passed from one side of the congregation all the way to the other side.

‘Yes.’ proclaims the man in a deep voice.

‘Now, he became very excited when you took the microphone and he’s saying, “He’s your boy”.’

‘Well, he was like a son to me, I used to take him fishing.’

‘And he’s been through from the spirit world to meet you before? This isn’t the first time?’


‘I’m not sure, but I’m getting a birthday soon?’

‘That would be the wives.’

‘Now, he’s so grateful to you both for all you did for him.’


‘He’s telling me that he knew he wasn’t going to be long on Earth. Now, he’s also telling me he knows that there was something wrong with the bike that caused the crash?’

‘Well, he was riding a bike that his Father bought him, but it went off the road and hit a lamppost and he was killed instantly.’

‘Now, I’m getting another dog coming through, and she’s Pitbull or a mastiff, one of those lockjaw dogs. She used to jump on your lap and slabber all over you?’


‘She just put her paw up to say hello.’

This latest connection seems completely ridiculous. Not only can Williams speak to the dead but also dead pets. I ponder if Williams understands barking or if the dog is speaking English to her. Any of my deep consideration however is obliterated by profound sense of stupidity for attending such a farce and for parting with my hard-earned cash then driving two hours down the road. I get the impression that Lisa Williams could say anything to this crowd, and they’d suck it up, I however have had enough, and I begin to zone out. The last thing I recall is a cat spirit being invited on stage and a woman who accepted a connection with the claim: ‘My Aunty Mary’s Dad was a lorry driver and his friend lost a leg’.

Again, I’m totally unimpressed and unconvinced despite this medium being one of the most celebrated and famous in the field. William’s has an amiable style and she builds a convincing rapport with her audience, but all her intuition is achieved through wide guesses and a cooperative audience. She simply inundates her audience with questions then picks through the reactions. There’s no supernatural ability bar the capacity to talk, talk, talk then roll with the answers. She reminds me of one of those butchers working out of a caravan at a market or a salesman hawking knife sets, egg slicers or miracle cleaning fluids. ‘A Yap’ as the locals say.

On the way home My Sat Nav refuses to update its signal in time, so I miss important turn offs and end up in the south of the city, extremely lost. It’s well past midnight until I finally pull into my driveway, shattered.


The following Friday and I have the night off but I’m attending ‘An audience with Ally McCoist,’ a charity event where a famous, old footballer entertains a large, drunken crowd about his career.  On the journey down to Dundee I mention to my co-passengers that I have been attending the medium events in the previous weeks and so far, I’ve been unimpressed with the results.

My friend in the back of the car is as sceptical as me but the driver (another pal’s father) is far more believing in the subject. He tells us that he thinks there are a certain amount of people who have genuine psychic gifts and possess the ability to speak to spirits of the dead. He then describes how he and his close family (sisters and mother) used to get regular readings from a local mystic called Madame Rosa. In these readings the gypsy styled medium revealed deeply personal details that the sitter had never previously shared to anyone and passed on insightful messages from long, dead relatives. I try to appear ambiguous while explaining the methods the mediums use and the psychology of piecing this altogether, but he is still convinced of the Madame’s powers. The conversation tails off with some daft remarks and shared laughs so that nobody is offended by the differing set of beliefs and we return to reminiscing about Ally McCoist.

This is an opinion that I have met regularly i.e. ‘I don’t believe in any of that rubbish, but there was one time my mum/sister/aunty/uncle went to a medium and ….’ Every time I have shared my attendance of these events people are initially scathing in response however eventually, there is always a caveat of a personal, supernatural anecdote or passed on tale.  It’s easy to shoot holes in any of these shared stories and douse the embers of supernaturalism with the cold, wet logic of science but this in turn also ruins the imaginative entertainment of storytelling.


As a gardener you often have cut down many types of trees, one of these being the Rowan. The Rowan is a very beautiful tree with its feather like leaves, silver branches and bright red berries but for whatever daft reason there’s a lot of superstition around them. Last century, Scottish householders would often plant a pair of Rowans at each side of the entrance of a garden to protect both the house and its’s inhabitants from evil spirits and malevolent entities. Whenever a customer chooses to have a Rowan felled my Dad (who is also my boss) suddenly becomes very superstitious despite normally being a very practical man. By his reckoning a relative once cut down a Rowan tree in his garden and was dead within days due to some sort of curse or the removal of the tree’s spiritual protection. As a result, the Rowan tree remains standing and left for another less scrupulous gardener to come and cut it to the ground. Its wild nonsense of course, total hokum yet there’s always a little squabble over this clash of superstition and reason. If my Dad is not around the tree will be cut down and nothing will ever happen but if he’s in that garden we let him rule the day not because of any respect for superstition but rather that its less hassle and squabbling slows the day down and makes the workday exponentially harder. This is how superstition and the supernatural become generally accepted, not because the belief holds any credibility but it’s easier to feign tolerance and carry on with your day.

Cold Reading in June – Part 3 (Perth)


My next night of mediumship on Saturday night in Stirling had been cancelled at short notice so I had to scramble for another within the next week. Luckily, there was small show at the Salutation Hotel in Perth which is only half an hour down the road from my hometown. I called up the Hotel and found that you could pay at the door so drove down after work.

Tonight’s medium is called Andrew Lindsay. I recognise him from his website when I enter the small events room. He looks about 30-35 and is small, thin and wiry with a curly mop of ginger hair. He’s wearing a smart suit and polished shoes and cheerily welcomes everybody into the room, calling the majority by their first name. There is another raffle tonight but at a pound for five tickets it’s not as shameless a ruse as Docherty’s draw in Dundee. The prizes: a bottle of pink gin, a bottle of wine, a bag of chocolates and an envelope marked ‘from Andrew’ are displayed on a table that doubles as a reception desk. I buy 10 tickets, pay admittance and take a seat in an empty row at the back of the room. There would be better view of the medium and audience interaction at the front but as I’m a 6’4’ lump, I’m always paranoid about obscuring people’s view.

The small events room is clean, tidy and mundane with around 30 chairs lined in several rows. Again, the audience mostly consists of middle-aged housewives, some with their daughters. Everyone is relaxed and chatty with around half slurping long vodkas or gin and tonics.  There’s a few splendid hairstyles on show, the best of which is a distinctive mullet style like an 80’s Austrian footballer: curly on top but straight down the back and sides, a bit like Elvira’s but blonde. I also recognise a couple of other psychic/mediums as they walk into the room, they embrace and chat with each other before taking their seat. There seems to be a lot of cross pollination between different mediums and their audiences. I remove my jacket and settle into my chair instantly feeling like an outsider in this small but dedicated gathering.

The woman who was selling raffle tickets doubles as compere and steps up to address the audience, there’s no need for a microphone in such a small space. She gives the normal warnings about mobile phones, asks permission to take some photos then welcomes the medium to the front. Lindsay reintroduces himself then asks the audience of this is anybody’s first time at this type of event. A middle aged, bald man two rows directly in front of me tentatively raises his hand. Lindsay jokes at the newcomer’s expense then with the audience, easing them into his performance. He stresses the importance of the people responding with a clear and loud voice and not mumbling or simply nodding affirmation then adds that he is conscious of his rapid talking style explaining that he has just returned from a tour of America and had to slow his speech down as a result.

Unlike Docherty or Francis, this medium first picks a member of the audience, then designates a waiting spirit to them. It’s a daring approach with a greater chance of failing however I soon get the impression that the first woman chosen is well known to Lindsay and his unusual method. She is middle-aged, tubby and has long white hair and cheerily welcomes Lindsay’s invitation like a Granny cooperating with a child’s magic trick. He explains that he is in contact with a father figure then immediately changes this to a grandfather named John to which the woman replies with a single yes. He then describes John as a private man who loved his large family and lived in a small tenement building, to which the woman also replies yes. Lindsay then jumps spirits to the woman’s sister who he feels is very concerned about her, he then claims to be seeing a birthday in November, to which the woman also replies yes. Lindsay informs the woman that both her sister and grandfather like to visit her house regularly then says that her sister was alone when she died, and that her family was not around at the point she crossed unto the spirit world. The woman recoils at this statement replying ‘not really’ while shaking her head, clearly upset. I’m confused why he would risk offending an eager audience member with such a loaded comment, condemning his opening connection to a premature and awkward conclusion.

Lindsay then moves around the room, picking several more eager participants and questioning them in his strong Perthshire brogue. Each time he follows his method and uses the same awkward technique: assign a spirit to a person, bombard them with questions or general statements, demand immediate answers, then question again. There’s guesses of months, dates and Birthdays, some statements about photographs, ornaments on a mantlepiece, a motorbike accident and a vision of a ‘medic or nurse’. Nearly all these speculations fail to hit a direct bullseye of recognition but are vague enough to have some resonance to the chosen person. Any complete misses are quickly ignored by the pace of interrogation and whenever he appears to be faltering, Lindsay interjects a little joke or daft comment to recoup the rapport and trigger uproarious laughter from the audience. At times I feel like I’m lugging into private conversation between people waiting at a bus stop or to a blathering hairdresser entertaining a customer. There’s no substance in his statements, holding no more resonance than idle chit chat. He reminds me of a gobshite school friend you knew talked absolute nonsense, but you tolerated him because of his entertaining, storytelling style.

Then Lindsay suddenly points to a woman in the row in front of me and tells her ‘I know you are here to get in touch with your son who’s passed to the other side, but he is here beside me tonight’. The woman nods her head but doesn’t answer. She is part of a trio of women who have been giggling with each other laughing along with all tonight’s proceedings. Lindsay tells her that her son was with them during their journey to tonight’s event and had been listening to them ‘carrying on’ in the car. He communicates that her son is ‘’always watching over her and she should not stress and worry about things so much’. On the face of it’s an impressive hit but her quiet response makes me feel that this isn’t the first time both have conversed on this subject, as if she has been preheated or prepared.

His method of interrogation starts to bother me, and I begin to feel uncomfortable, dreading the possibility that he may choose me next. There have been some wild opportunist casts of which the majority caught nothing. Each miss contributes to an awkward aura in the room which is only punctured with a whimsical joke or remark. His devotees however are quick to pick up on these remarks and respond with roaring laughter and overenthusiastic applause like parents watching their kids in a school play. Inevitably, Lindsay gets around to the bald man in front of me who is attending his first event. The man answers quietly in an English accent and appears confused and uneasy at being put on the spot. He half acknowledges some of the guesses and accepts the diagnosis of a gum ailment but is generally manoeuvred around the conversation by Lindsay. The medium ends the connection by assuring the man that he will be going on a journey ‘down south’ very soon which given the man’s obvious accent it’s not as much of marvel of prognostication as others in the room believe. Half time comes as a relief and I’ve had enough. Tired and unimpressed I decide to leave before I am picked out, interrogated then manipulated into Lindsay’s act. On the way out I give my raffle tickets to the trio of women who were sitting in front of me then exit the hotel into a bright, summer evening.

Overall, I found Andrew Lindsay’s performance to be underwhelming and amateurish, closer in style to David Francis’s unrefined and scattergun approach. Both chuck out random but commonly shared information into the audience, receive an enthusiastic response then run with it until they hit a brick wall and destroy the connection. There’s been no convincing evidence of spirits and even less proof that the mediums can contact these spirits. I can remember being similarly disappointed when I first watched a full baseball match as a kid. Before live TV coverage I’d only seen baseball during its greatest moments via highlights and the movies, and each time those clips made you feel that home runs were a regular occurrence. However, in general you’d be lucky to see one homerun per match as they are all short taps and runs between bases with lots of swings and misses in between.  Similarly, the two medium shows have been the same: lots of swings and misses and precious few homeruns.


I work with my brother which can range from hilarious to dreadful on any single day. On the Wednesday afternoon following the Perth event, as we drove to a customer’s garden, a black crow clipped the top of our works van. We stopped the van to see if the bird was okay but there was no sign of it anywhere. It must have flown on, bruised no doubt, but uninjured. It was strange as neither of us had ever hit a crow before them being smart and agile birds. Pheasants are usually hit as they seem to be heavier and unable to dodge in time. The next morning while in a different garden a large black raven suddenly fell from the sky and crashed into a wall beside me. The poor beast seemed stunned and crawled under a parked car to recover. After finishing my job, I looked under the car then searched the garden, but the bird had disappeared. Again, hopefully it gathered its senses and flew away unharmed. When I told my younger brother about the second crow, he was shocked.

‘What does it all mean?’ he asked.

He then explained the importance of crows in Norse mythology and Celtic folklore. For him these events had to have some sort of mystical resonance, perhaps a forewarning or even a portent of doom. I put it down to coincidence. Some people who look for connections will eventually find them or invent something to that ends. The sceptics however look at the supernatural from a less imaginative an unromantic viewpoint, preferring to use cold logic, evidence and facts to find an explanation. I’m not sure if I’m convinced by either side.


Hot Reading is simply prior research by the psychic or medium, but it can take many forms and is evolving with new technology. Previously Hot Reading could be attained by mediums scouring local newspapers in the Library, by covertly listening into pre-show conversations or by the audience filling in pre-show Spirit cards which indicated who you were trying to connect with and why (what other information does a medium need?). In the most callous of example several mediums were caught writing down local gravestone details especially those of young children, expectant of grieving mothers to be attending their events. Nowadays, the internet has rendered these archaic methods as pointless, superseded by tools such as google search and social media archaeology. The internet-especially Facebook- provides all the details needed to provide a convincing report of every aspect of an audience member’s life. Your past trauma and existing grief lie open for everyone to peruse. Everything is widely accessible and thus susceptible to opportunists, lying exposed like an open wound.  A psychic or medium need only your name and address, both of which you usually provide when buying tickets over the net. The creation of false social media accounts called sock puppet accounts by sceptics regularly entrap mediums as fictional information is repeated verbatim during their shows. Added to this, it would be fair to assume that many of the event audience also elect for private readings from mediums. Private readings are a ‘one on one’ form of mediumship like a psychiatrist’s treatment of patient, with the same exposure of personal information. So, when a medium faces his or her quarry they will be loaded with a wealth of previous information on a healthy percentage of their audience.

Cold Reading in June – Part 2 (Dundee)


I arrive at the Queens Hotel around 6.30 pm with an hour to spare so I park up around the back. It’s a balmy night and the concrete buildings and tar of the road are drying in the evening sun. Pedestrians and commuters file up down the streets making their way home or into the few bars.  I leave my car and check its locked three times then I turn to recognise tonight’s main medium, Karen Docherty, step out of the back of a five-year-old Toyota Yaris (a small, boxy run-around favoured by old people and city dwellers). I’m surprised by the unostentatious choice of transport, I expected her to be transported in a new, BMW or top of the range 4×4. Her basic website and social media channels detail frequent tours of the United States and UK while fans leave gushing testimonials giving the impression of accomplishment in her trade.

The hotel lobby is clean and spacious with an art deco design. A plaque on the wall tells you that ‘Winston S Churchill stayed in this hotel on many occasions between 1908- 1922’, an historical piece of trivia which probably means nothing to most of its clientele. I order a pint of coke, take a seat in the bar and scan the room for an indication on possible show attendees. Strangely, there’s no music playing and the TV’S are off so I can easily lug into the surrounding conversations. A pair of Irish women are cheerily discussing their coming travel plans in the corner and there’s groups of office workers gossiping over their drinks near the bar. A couple of single men stare into their phones and sip at pints while an older couple pick at their fish teas. I try to interpret if the bar patrons are attending tonight’s show but every time I decide they are, they rise, leave the bar and pour into the street. At 7.15 I decide to go up to the events room upstairs. I stop in the toilet and click on my audio recorder and slot it into my chest pocket of my jacket. On every step up the wide, carpeted stairway the nerves jangle in my stomach, I’m not sure what to expect, or if I’ll be welcome as an outsider. I’d heard that some mediums and their devotees can be overly protective of their faith in Spiritualism. There’s a long queue for the foyer bar so I walk straight into an adjacent room that’s buzzing with chatting people. I realise that by switching my phone off I’ve hidden my e-ticket from use so have to hang around the reception table until a seated man ushers me into ‘any seat’ which means any seat up at the back, as the room is already three quarters full. The room’s walls are covered by plain, cream wallpaper and a trio of large chandeliers hang from the white ceiling. On two sides of the room are large Victorian windows which invite the evening sun into the room. It’s a big room, elegant and well-maintained, perfect for a large meeting but not grand enough for a wedding. There are six rows of around twenty comfortable chairs which are facing two further chairs and a table that form a makeshift stage. The first five rows are already crammed full of middle aged, round women who natter like birds and sip on their drinks. I feel like I’ve walked into an aviary. The remaining chairs are quickly filled so extra chairs are pulled from next door and positioned in any available space. I count around 200 people sitting with me tonight, of around ten are men and half of them seem to have been brought against their will.

A pair of excited women sit beside me and chatter like chipmunks. I overhear mentions of previous visits to Docherty’s shows. When one of the women leaves, I turn to her friend.

‘Excuse me, do you go to many of these things?’ I ask.

‘Oh aye, I’ve been to see Karen 5 or 6 times, she’s very good, has a good way with the audience,’ she answers.

‘This is my first time to any psychic event, I’m not sure what to expect’.

The woman mistakes my inquisitive question for apprehension and says ‘Ach, it’s not that bad’.

She then turns to her pal who’s returned.

‘This is this guy’s first time,’ she says with a chuckle.

Before I can ask another question, Karen Docherty rises from her chair and addresses the audience through a microphone which hushes the many nattering conversations to silence. Docherty is around 45, small and chunky. She has should length dirty blonde hair and is wearing a simple black blouse and pair of plain black trousers. She doesn’t look like a psychic, more like your typical Scottish Mum or Aunty. I immediately consider that she must be confident to stand up in front of 200 people and hold court. She welcomes everybody with a simple ‘Hello,’ pauses to let all the stragglers return from the bar then says:

‘We were supposed to be welcoming another medium from Denmark tonight but unfortunately, we just found out she has an illness which means she couldn’t fly, so instead we have David Francis, a fantastic medium from Ireland who’s based in Glasgow.’

Her local accent intrigues me as I’ve only ever heard the American or English accents of TV psychics. Foreigners would likely categorise her accent as broad while Scots would instantly recognise the Dundonian drawl. Docherty asks everybody to switch off their phones which ignites a chain reaction of rustling, murmuring and many beeps of handsets powering off. She then asks if this is anybody’s first time to a medium show. I reply by raising my hand and scan the room to see very few doing the same.

‘What you’re here for …’ she stops to acknowledge the noise of a busker well below who’s rendition of Wonderwall is seeping through the gap of an open window. She jokes that the wailing isn’t the sound of the spirits, but she would be delighted if it was. The audience laughs as she silences the intrusion by closing the window.

 ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s your first time, doesn’t matter if you’re not sure, it doesn’t really matter if you decide this is not for you. Whatever happens, the spirits are her because they love you,’ she says.

‘Obviously, by the time you leave we have given you something to think about, if you’re on the fence about it, enjoy the experience, the spirits don’t want to come in and make us sad or upset. They don’t want to embarrass you. Don’t be sacred to talk back. Don’t be like a rabbit in the headlights. Nothing you don’t want mentioned in public will be said. As a medium I speak from the spirit world to you. They know you’re coming before you know you’re coming. It’s them that have brought you here. Keep an open mind no matter what. Some people are dragged long and get frightened, don’t be. If any chairs start floating about, if people start levitating don’t be jealous.’

I’m comforted by her local accent. It’s like listening to a local nurse or primary school teacher. She holds the microphone with her right hand but is very expressive with the left and she seems to be aware of the importance of hand and body gestures.

‘I’m going to get started now. I can feel the spirit world building up. When I come and talk to you please talk back and take the microphone. Don’t just hold the microphone like an ice cream, it’s important that you answer back in loud, clear voice. The spirits know your mind and your thoughts,’ she says.

Then she jumps right in.

‘Okay, I have an older lady and feel this lady had a bleed on the brain, or injury to the head or a brain tumour. I feel the symptoms. She was not elderly. 50, too young to pass into the spirit world, maybe a bit younger than that. Over this side, not entirely sure, I’m getting a three of a family connected to her or a three. Anyone up the back?’ she says.

An older woman sitting five seats along from me raises her hand.

‘Does that mean someone to you?’ asks Docherty.

 ‘My sister, and her mother’ answers the older woman while motioning to a younger woman sitting next to her.

‘So, brain tumour and three?’ She had symptoms, not instantaneous? Did I get the age correct?’ asks the psychic.

The woman next to me also puts her hand and identifies a brain tumour and mother but she is ignored in favour of the pair of women.

‘Okay, can we get the microphone along,’ orders Docherty to the man from reception table. The microphone is passed hand to hand like an athlete’s baton along our row.

‘Sometimes we get people with similar stories. Now, you would understand she wasn’t worrying about things, but she kept somethings to herself. Not make a big fuss or deal, does that make sense? asks Docherty.

The woman now holding the microphone nods.

‘She was quiet, private lady. With a great personality?’ asks Docherty.

‘Yes’ answers the woman.

I’m torn between watching Docherty and the reactions of the woman.

‘I feel that’s she’s very strong and she wants to boost you up. Very strong, confident. It’s okay if you disagree,’ says Docherty.

‘She was, but she was also quite shy at times,’ answers the older woman.

‘I am getting that she is confident, very strong but whether she’s giving you that to give you piece of mind. I mentioned there’s three of a family but there’s a boy she was really close to, one boy?’ asks Docherty.

‘No’ answers the woman.

‘But your saying there’s no three or there’s no boys? There are no boys, no grandchildren?’ presses the medium.

‘No. Oh yes, there’s a boy, a grandson,’ answers the woman.

‘I just feel she has to talk about a boy and there’s three of a family? She wants to be around her family, but she feels she hadn’t done everything she could of while she was alive. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, yes’ answers the woman.

Docherty then directs her attention to the nervy looking woman next to the older woman, so the microphone is passed on.  I quickly evaluate the situation: the spirit that Docherty is channelling is both the older woman’s sister and this younger woman’s mother, so these two women are aunty and niece. Before I can bathe in my outstanding method of deduction, I’m back into the spirit world.

‘Now she definitely wants to acknowledge you’re here. She didn’t say things or do things that she should’ve. I’m not saying that because she’s ashamed but feels she should say that just. Do you understand this?’ asks the medium.

‘Yes’ croaks the younger woman.

I also understand there’s alcohol connected to her. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘I can smell the alcohol now. Now she’s saying she is comfortable to talk about the alcohol now as a part of healing. She’s bringing an apology. She’s well aware that you’ve been very strong, and that you’ve been keeping the family together?’

The daughter nods her head in reply.

‘I know you have a couple bits of her jewellery. She’s also mentioning a butterfly and Christmas, or some birthday around Christmas?’

The daughter acknowledges the remarks although she is not assured.

‘She wishes things could’ve been better or she had been better. Don’t worry if I’m wrong, I’m getting a Christmas that was not good and she wishes things hadn’t gone so wrong?’

The daughter converses with her aunty then says, ‘Could’ve been just before she passed.’

‘She has really come through tonight to provide healing. She sees her child name linked. She sees that child?’


‘This isn’t about what she brought in. She is in peace where she is now. Did you miss her passing? Don’t worry about that. That last 5 minutes means nothing.’

Suddenly Docherty rises her intonation and calls out ‘I’m getting Jemma or Jenna or Jem or Jen. Does that mean anything?’

‘No, nothing’ replies the daughter.

‘Okay, let me hold it. Okay, I think the ladies gone but I leave you with her love,’ says Docherty.

The daughter squeaks ‘thank you,’ while snivelling back some tears. The audience sense an ending to the spirit connection and enthusiastic applause fills the room.

The massive ‘Jemma or Jenna or Jem or Jen’ guess has just fallen flat, like a boxer’s haymaker that misses completely and leaves the puncher clawing the air before tumbling to the ring canvas. Docherty, however, has expertly, dodged any embarrassment by ignoring the miss and continuing forward. I’m also struck by the amount of questions that come from the medium. It’s not so much inquisitorial as cross-examination by relentless bombardment of questions. After each enquiry there’s an acknowledgement of a positive or negative answer then a related question straight after. The audience member doesn’t have much time to think and must answer on the spot. This pressure must be multiplied tenfold when in front of a crowded room of 200 people that are watching intently and hanging on every word.

Docherty intimates that a new spirit is attempting to connect then crosses over to the other side of the room to involve that side of the audience.

‘I have a new man, a road traffic accident. A motorbike. And I still have John or Jem. He seems like quite a cheeky chap and impatient. He’s a younger man that has passed to the spirit world. Not a car but feels more like a bike but if you don’t recognise a John or Jem don’t worry about that part?’ asks Docherty to the room.

A woman at the at the far part of the room puts up her hand and acknowledges all the details. The microphone is passed along.

‘Has there been an anniversary or birthday recently? He feels people have been talking about him recently. He is bringing in a lady related to you. Its wasn’t a sudden passing. Somebody maternal but not necessarily your mother. Do you understand this sweetheart? The lady is well missed. She is talking about two children or two grandchildren. Problems in the abdomen? If it’s no I’m fine with that.’

‘No’ answers the new audience member.

‘I’m sensing a link down south. She is listening to this conversation. I think that there is a link to a man with body problems?’ asks Docherty.

‘No, not really,’ answers the woman.

The conversation peters out with a selection of missed queries until Docherty offers:

‘Okay, I’ll leave you with this lady’s love,’ which is the trigger for applause and the end of the connection.

I’m baffled by this last conversation and scan the room to gauge other people’s reactions. Everybody is transfixed by the medium’s display and staring at her captivated. Before I can properly process the scene Docherty quickly moves on to another spirit and possible connection with a waiting audience member. There are several of these types of conversations: questions to the room, which are answered by the flimsiest of associations. Any weak linkage is seized upon by the medium, relayed back to the audience member until the conversation pitters out to nothing.

‘I don’t know I’m getting a Grandad or Dad. I feel a strong sense of using hands. A mechanic or fixing engines or cars. John or James?’ asks Docherty to the audience.

I think to myself that my Grandad and was a mechanic, loved his cars and my Dad’s middle name is John although he is alive.

‘Anybody?’ asks Docherty to the room.

About twenty people put their hands up which brings a ripple of laughter around the audience. It’s not surprising that many recognise this plea as many people’s male relatives work with their hands and more specifically cars.  Psychologists call this ‘The Barnum effect’ which ‘is a common psychological phenomenon whereby individuals give high accuracy ratings to descriptions of their personality that supposedly are tailored specifically to them, that are in fact vague and general enough to apply to a wide range of people.’ (Wikipedia, 2019). Docherty picks a young man at the back of the room. He seems overdressed for tonight with grey suit and purple tie and is sporting a black cockatiel style quiff. There’s a tattoo crawling up his neck and many studs and rings in his facial features. He looks like a pirate going to an office job interview. Docherty waits until the microphone is passed along the room like a church collection bag.

‘You were close to you Grandad, weren’t you? He was like a father?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’ replies the man.

‘Your Grandad didn’t like being in hospital but had a great sense of humour. He says he knew what he had but it kept coming back, is that right?’


‘Who was James?’

The young man pauses to think then answers, ‘He was my Grandad’s best friend.’

‘And has he passed onto the spirit world?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Oh, okay well we won’t send him there.’ (A joke is made to cover a big miss and the audience respond with a choral chortle) ‘He says he left some sort of writing. Also, I feel like he was the man that has shown you through life?’


‘He wants you to do the all the things you want and to do the things he didn’t get to do. He was worldly wise. Are you married? Are you getting married?’


‘He is talking about someone getting married.’

‘My sister was going to get married.’

‘Not anymore?’

‘I hope not,’ answers the man sparking another burst of collective laughter.

‘Now, I can sense someone in the family is having a baby?’ asks Docherty.

‘I don’t think so,’ answers the man.


‘Ehhm, Oh yes. My friend’s wife.’

‘I don’t know, I think it’s somebody closer.’

‘I was trying for a baby.’

The audience let out a collective ‘Awww,’ as if a big, furry kitten has entered the room.

‘Your Grandad knows all this. He is a funny man and a good man, and he is right by your side.’ With that Docherty accepts the rooms applause and hands her microphone to the next medium.

David Francis is a small man of about 30 and is nattily dressed in three-piece suit with tweed waistcoat. He’s been sitting on a chair out front, cross legged watching the audience intently until being introduced.

‘Good evening everybody,’ says Francis in a thick Irish accent which he jokes about.

‘I’ve got a lot of images tonight. In my mind’s eye, I’m getting an older lady maybe 60 or 70?’

There’s little response to this initial spirit connection so he jumps ages and gender.

‘And also, I’m feeling a connection to a young man. A man overwhelmed by life. He was brought down the wrong path by others. He is fully responsibly for his actions bringing his death. He damaged his physical body but had a beautiful soul. Taking his life by his own hand. Does anybody understand this?’

A middle-aged woman with long, blonde hair woman in the front row raises her hand and claims recognition.

 ‘He was in his low 20’s when he passed, and an older woman has brought this young man tonight. A lost child?’ asks the Irishman.

‘Yes,’ replies the woman while accepting the microphone.

‘I’m getting a patchwork blanket. He is a very loving guy who is sorry for the last years of his life. He wasn’t connected to his family in these last years?’

‘Yes, yeah’ replies the woman.

‘Now, he had a temper and would lose the rag easier than others?’

‘Sometimes, but not very often,’ replies the woman.

‘I’m also a getting dark haired man, not a track suited lad but wearing jeans and t-shirt. I’m getting problems with depression and anxiety. I don’t mean to be personal but he’s showing me these memories, mirroring them. Would you understand? I see a connection to divorce. Lifestyle habits led him to be the way he was. Interaction with the Police. Do understand this?’ asks the medium.

The medium seems to confuse the woman with his bizarre statements and relentless questioning. The conversation stumbles into an awkward finish but before anyone in the room can digest the strangeness of this connection, he immediately jumps on to another dead person in the spirit world. There’s no applause from audience. I trace the room and see many bemused and unimpressed faces. Francis is beginning to take the form of a man that’s walked into a swamp and while he may only be waist height in the mire, he’s sinking, fast with every awry pronouncement. He’s less skilled in judging the audience and lures audience members in before destroying the connection with needlessly, personal and negative statements. I also get the feeling that he doesn’t appreciate that many of his negative, personal assertions reflect badly not only upon the dead person but also relatives. The audience has become more hesitant and distrustful as a result.

‘Now I’ll open up the room,’ says Francis while making a screwed-up face of concentration. ‘I’m starting to see a hospital or red cross. Normally this means a nurse or carer. Also, a problem in the torso?’

 Francis seems to identify the ailments of the spirits by physically feeling them himself. This psychosomatic diagnosis is referred to as clairsentinence or clear feeling and is as scientifically verifiable as the tooth fairy. He rubs his chest and stomach in circular motion to highlight the area of pain, pinpointing every single vital human organ in the process.

‘It could be a nurse or a carer or somebody who was in hospital? I don’t want to say cancer outright. Margaret or Mary. Anybody? Asks the medium to the crowd.

There’s no response at all. It’s a big miss and quite startling considering he’s targeted a massive chunk of Scotland’s population in one singular sentence. People start exchanging bewildered looks and shakes of the head. A woman volunteers that her mother was a nurse, but the linkage soon dissolves into the wallpaper. He continues in this same way, criss-crossing the audience with general statements that everyone in the room can possibly identify with. However, there’s a no rapport, no humour and when a connection is made Francis gives little opportunity for audience members to interact properly. Unlike Docherty, he has no information to work on. He is saying too much. Sensing that he is struggling Docherty jumps in to give a half time break. She informs us that there is raffle at the desk at £5 a ticket which wins a personal reading from herself as the sole prize. It seems like an extortionate piece of business yet there is long queue to buy the tickets within seconds.

Everybody rises from their chairs and either begin to file out to the toilets, slope to the bar or crawl downstairs for a smoke.

‘What do you think, so far?’ asks the woman sitting next to me.

‘Yeah, it’s quite interesting, not as weird as I’d thought.  I think she was better than the Irish guy,’ I answer.

‘Oh, yeah, he’s terrible isn’t he. We’re not impressed by him at all.’

After twenty minutes and when everyone has settled back into their seats with fresh drinks, the second half of tonight’s show begins with Francis again who wastes no time in working the room.

‘Now, I’m drawn to a lady over here,’ says Francis while pointing towards a group of four women sitting in the middle of the second row.

‘Now, I’m getting a strong person, authoritative. In the forces, may I say the RAF?’

‘Yes, yes, that was my brother’ answers a woman in a thick, Texan accent. She is quite large, in her 60s and has a streak of dark purple running through a short, grey haircut.

 ‘I’m getting an aeroplane and maybe an ejector seat. He’s a very strong person, an energetic person but very stern. Do you understand being mean or stern?’

‘Well, not really’ answers the woman.

‘Okay, but he was in the RAF and he gives me the impression that he saw action, he wasn’t just flying over mountains?’

‘Yes, he was a rear gunner.’

‘Well, he’s very concerned about you and he knows you will be going on a long journey very soon’. (If she had turned around and asked me, I could have also predicted this and probably even the airport she was flying into).

The medium then scours the room for his next target until an older woman in front of me claims recognition of her mother.

‘I feel like this lady was lonely before she passed over. Had she recently lost someone close and felt alone, very alone?’ asks Francis.

The woman is offended by his guess and immediately cuts him off with a terse ‘No, nope, not her.’ Francis tries to rescue the faltering connection, but to her credit this woman is having none of it and waves off the conversation off with outstretched palm and shake of her head. It takes all my willpower not to roar in laughter. The Irishman has pushed his luck and annoyed someone with his brash, unrefined style and is now floundering. 

‘Now, I’m going to the back of the room and somebody in line with where I’m standing’ says Francis.

Francis stands directly in front of me only 5 rows down. I like to think as myself as unremarkable but at 6’4 and 19 stone, in this crowd I’m about as inconspicuous as Tony the Tiger at a panda party

 ‘I’m getting an old man with facial hair and I’m trying to be polite, but he has a receding hair line, not completely bald but short, short hair. I’m seeing a figure like this in my mind’s eye. A father or grandfather figure. I’m drawn to somebody that looks likes this man. A big man who’s a bit overweight?’ says the medium.

He is describing me: a big lump who’s long lost a battle to retain his once curly locks. Naturally, he’s assumed that I look like my long dead Grandad or my very much alive Father and tried his luck. I refuse to make eye contact or respond to his advances as I do not want to be badgered in front of a room full of strangers. Luckily, there’s one of the few men of the audience sitting directly in front of me and he accepts the connection as his father.

‘Now, do you recognise the description of this man?’ asks Francis.

‘Yes, although my father was always clean shaven,’ answers the man.

‘Ok, now did he have heart problems near the end?’

‘Well, not really. He died of an aneurism.’

‘Well, maybe I’m getting mixed messages from the spirits.’

The swamp water is now up to the medium’s nostrils, so he grasps for help and returns to the quartet of eager participants in the second row, he’s on safe ground with one of this crew.

‘Now, I’m getting drawn back to this part of the room and I’m getting an older woman coming through,’ says the medium while motioning to the four women in the second row. Every time either of tonight’s mediums have linked with a spirit at least one of this quartet has shot up their hand like a teacher’s pet. The woman who accepts the microphone is smaller than her chunkier pals, with greying black hair and appears timid and mousey. She squeaks an affirmative answer back to the Irish medium’s relentless questioning. The audience watch with a mix of deep, fascination and creeping, embarrassment as the medium goes about emotionally, dismantling the woman.

‘Yes’, replies the woman whimpering.

‘She is trying to highlight the things that are bothering you. Your mind is at a million miles per hour and you have hundreds of thoughts. Take a step back and stop worrying about others. You have no idea how you are affecting others. The lady is reiterating that. Be selfish,’ says the Irishman.

‘I cannot be selfish,’ squeals the woman.

‘Take time for you’

Her final humiliation is complete with the wail, ‘Why didn’t she tell me that she loved me when she was alive?’

‘That’s unfortunately something I can’t answer’ replies Francis.  ‘However, I do believe this lady has seen the ripple effect of her actions. I assure you of that. We have a beautiful journey to take in crossing over, but she realises how she acted. She has a hell of a lot of love in her heart’ continues the Irishman.

The wailing woman appears broken and is weeping into her hands. The audience however bursts into a round of applause in joyful appreciation of the medium’s public evisceration of the woman. This is what they’ve come to see. Francis has just dragged himself out of the quagmire at the very point of drowning and now takes his leave amid rapturous applause. I half expect him to take a bow before he takes his seat. Karen Docherty meanwhile has been sitting stony faced throughout Francis’s performance, and probably feeling upstaged by his finale, decides to jump back in and round up the night.

‘Now, I’m still getting the names or Jem, Jen or Jemma coming through but also Ellen or Helen, I’d like to offer this up to the whole room?’ says Docherty.

Another middle-aged woman at the far end of the room raises her hand and the microphone is passed along again.

‘Do these names mean anything to you?’ asks Docherty.

‘My best friend’s Aunty was called Helen, but she was like a grandmother to me,’ replies the woman with yet another tenuous link.

Probably sensing that she cannot top Francis’s performance ending she rounds up the night with advice on how to book her personal readings then thanks everybody for attending.

As I get up to the leave the room, the woman beside me asks me, ‘Well, what did you think?’

‘Aye, it was quite good, and he pulled it out of the bag in the end,’ I answer while trying to hide my disappointment.

It always takes me a day or two to process an event and I’m never able to properly evaluate something as it happens. Fortunately, as a gardener I’m afforded the opportunity of deep reflection especially during June when I’m trawling up and down lush lawns every day. Overall, I was underwhelmed by my first medium show. The mediums appear little more than comperes who coax and cajole their audience into believing that their general suppositions have more profound meaning. I was prepared to be astounded and expected much more than the disappointing exhibition of fluky conjecture combined with an audiences’ eager desire to link details and please the medium. I hoped to witness some sort of compelling evidence for spiritualism or mediumship but saw nothing. Despite this, apart from Francis’s cruel exposure of the emotionally vulnerable woman the event is also not as malign or malevolent as I’d previously assumed. By and large, the audience are enthusiastic participants and willing to be used as part of the performance. Also given they are only spending £20 on each ticket there doesn’t seem to be much greedy deception on display (apart from the raffle).  I hoped to witness some devious examples of underhand tactics or audience subterfuge, but the reality is far more banal and unsupernatural. However, with a bit of research I was able to untangle some of the methods and sly tricks used by mediums to deceive the impressionable.


Cold Reading is the ability to gather information from an audience member without that individual realizing that they are providing the information themselves. It is referred to as ‘cold’ as the medium needs no previous knowledge of the audience member. By carefully observing an audience member’s characteristics and behaviour through a series of deductive or general guesses together with the general ‘Barnum statements’ a medium can give the impression of having supernatural abilities. Everybody uses cold reading in their daily life, sometimes to build understanding, often to create prejudice. We judge people by their choice of clothing, the newspapers they read, cars they drive and even their race, sex or age. Mediums finetune this ability to a science, enabling them to identify characteristics and psychological hang ups from a few choice questions and reactions.

James Underdown from Centre for Inquiry and Independent Investigations Group says, ‘In the context of a studio audience full of people, cold reading is not very impressive.’ and explains cold reading from a mathematical perspective. ‘A typical audience (alike the Docherty event) consists of about 200 people and a conservative estimate assumes each attendee knows around 150 people’ (Wikipedia,2019). So, when Karen Docherty suddenly asks, ‘Who’s Jenna or Jemma?’ she is hoping there is a Jenna or Jemma related to the chosen audience member. However, when she reoffers this to the room the chances are multiplied by the 200 people in the audience and the 150 people known to them, creating a pool of 30,000. Would it be surprising for there to be a dozen Jenna’s or Jemma’s in such a large sample, especially both being a common name? The only surprise to me was, nobody took the bait.

One of the most crucial elements of a convincing cold reading is a subject eager to make connections or reinterpret vague statements in any way that will help the reader appear to make specific predictions or intuitions. While the reader will do most of the talking, it is the subject who provides the meaning.


Shotgunning is one of most used cold reading techniques and is named after the way a shotgun fires a wide spread of small missiles so that there is a better chance of finding a target. Docherty and Francis both depended on this ploy in choosing the general subject of health. Health can be expanded to mean hospitals or pharmacies and all the professions therein (the NHS for example is Scotland’s and the UK’s biggest workforce at over 1,500,000 people). Everybody has either worked for the NHS or is related or knows someone who is or has worked in the NHS or health industry. Also, this subject could also be expanded to a hospital or doctor visit, treatment received in a hospital or even an illness someone has suffered or even perished as a result of. You’d be hard pressed to find somebody that does not connect in some way to the universal subject of health. It’s neither supernatural nor scientific more common sense and simple maths.


When a psychic makes a pronouncement to an audience member and it’s a miss, they will sometimes claim the information was meant for someone else in the crowd and that the spirit messages are being muddled. This technique allows the medium/ psychic to fish the rest of the audience for a match. So, when Docherty insisted that she was still receiving messages from or about a ‘Jenna or Jemma’ near the end of show she is not only saving face from the previous miss but reinstating her apparent psychic abilities to the audience. You could say that she is feeling her way to the truth, even hedging her bets but in truth it’s straightforward cheating and about as supernatural as predicting the football pools two hours after the games have finished.

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