Life Lesson: Number 1 and 2

1. boni pastoris est tondere pecus non deglubere
2. Learn Latin

Wicca'd Thoughts

Alas and pity Miss Orla - yes i'm succumbered.

Wicca spirits are taunting and cruel.

I was asked to a small prison in Iceland to evict and evoke the Criminal Wicca spirits out of the prison's upper class convicts.

You see I know and their families know that it's not their rich children breaking laws - but wicked lower class 'Wicca' spirits possessing their grown strong children.

So one by one I invited each of these polo shirted, floppy haired, arrogant, strong willed, muscular men into my borrowed cell (they found me a double ensuite near the prison kitchen).

Sitting them opposite me - with my hands running from their shoulders to knees - via their rugby thighs - murmuring the anti-wicca chants that my Aunt Mooomoo had taught me on a weekend in Alberta in '82 - I felt a niggling fire lite up. A fizzing and tingling in all my pointy bits.

Tip of nose, little little toes, pouting lips, stirring hips.

My tongue kept licking, the lips I kept nibbling. I blushed, I rappidly blinked, my heart raced, I giggled.

A mighty Wicca curse. I nearlly fainted. My assistant offered to sit with me, or take me outside. No - I shouted - I will over come.

Then the strongest of the Wicca Demons came in - the demon was hidden in Janak - a 24 year old blonde man with fire in his eyes.

I got permission to cover the glass panel in the door so we were alone. I forced that Demon out of Janak. Thrown around the room - I was locked in a flaming furnace of Flesh and Spirit. The demonic howls left both our bodies - building to a total eviction of SPIRITS.

Janak slept afterwards - the rattling echo of that Wicca spirit may never leave me - but I know I did my duty to the full and earnt my £18,000 rightly.

Overcoming Self Obsession by Meditation

Crime Watch Extra called me onto a particularly difficult crime reconstruction. It required two elderly lady actors, an ugly brutish male actor and 4 litres of wall paper paste.

The main issue for the Producers was the over-riding fear that came from the 'stars' regarding our location. When I say 'stars' I mean the actors. (If I used the word 'Star' in it's true sense I would just be referring to myself.)

I tackled their 'artistic' phobia of being in this Cavern - which luckily was the actual location of the original crime - aka Crime Scene.

Getting the 3 actors to press their whole bodies onto the curved wet wall of the cavern they began a meditation chant - you can hear this chant on my audio book 'Overcoming Self Obsession by Meditation' and read the chant words in my book ''Overcoming Self Obsession by Meditation pt 2' [Self Publication]

Once the actors had stop whimpering and were calmly breathing from their stamens the real fun began (of course I had predicted this turn of events however the catering truck staff were shocked into screaming like orphaned pups!!) .

Well as I took a large bite from a Fromage Baguette the spirits of the real Victims entered me in a whirlwind of choking dust and spit. My assistant described them as 'the singing embodiment of Macbeth's Weird Sisters - frothing at mouth, railing and raking. These granny demons sung maniacal hymns.

"...As surely as night follows day...." these two ladies who had been murdered - now brutally slaughtered these Holiest of songs.

- Ugly was keeping himself occupied with the Wallpaper paste - enjoying the variable viscosity/height differentiation of paste. An innocent pleasure that offered crew the gentle counter-balance to the horror of Killer Cavern and the Screaming granny Witches.

Half an hour after the Spirits tirade had stopped, and I was enjoying a good sup of tea - the Producers and I agreed - these women kind of asked for their brutal sleighing. Harsh perhaps. But if you'd heard their rendition of 'Little Donkey' you would understand.

Once again I have proved supreme - both in life and the after laugh.

Dear Lover No.9

Dear Lover No.9,

I have admired you from afar. Last night that Afar turned into Amen.

How lucky and how beautiful am I? Yes Lover - i'm that lucky and i'm that beautiful.

Adieu,

O

Is it me?

Terry Wogan's Togs may have coined the phrase 'is it me?' to describe the realisation that most people are smarter than the plebians in authority - however i'm talking about myself.

Is it me? Is it me? Is it me?

The answer dear reader.... No.

Singing Springstein Spirt is in an it's... i'm not going.

Confused dear reader? Well join the club. Ask yourselves punk... are you feeling lucky and 'Is it me?'.

It all began last night after an Ivy dinner. Sat with Russian Billionhairass - Plobdiv Sarah Shernburg and her crew... ooohhhh BORN IN THE USA, I WAS - BOOOORN IN THE USA

Credit Crunch - My £rse!

I'm richer than normal - in every sense - including my hair.

Just finished reading Dr Dot's self-help book; "I'm Great, What's Your Problem??" and it rang so many bells.

It all began last night at the Ritz Carlton, where I performed for a small private group in the Louis XIV suite.

After being forced out of a Reggae Chanter by King Solomon - just as Solomon was recanting what Porac Burat (Host's 'Lover') should do with a baby to determine paternal ownership.... yes Solomon was slightly contradictory on what he had suggested 'back-in-the-day'...

Jennifer Jeezer shook my shoulders and screamed... "But the Banks will only secure £50,000 and i'm a millionairess... with expenses... Where should I put my money? What should I do? WHAT SAYETH THE SPIRITS?”

Well I couldn't feel sympathy... she smelt of Gin and obviously enjoys the pleasure of loose morals.

So I took a deep thought, pressed my temple and 'Huka'ed' her. Māori Moment. Straight from Ranji.

Translated into Pidgeon English she was informed that Credit Crunch 'Don Fect' soul, but ‘Now Soul is Red For Cept Mor' (basically invest more in enriching your life/soul with Knowledge and Wisdom)

The upshot was - She gave me 10,000 shares in Microsoft and a 5 year contract with 6 figures to give her a monthly sing-a-long-a-longally session.

Everyone's a winner.

BBC Employment - 'yes' - it's that good.

Miss Orla... you've surprised yourself! A rare feat for a Psychic!

Acquiring a 1 month BBC contract - commissioned by BBC Executives to channel 'others' to inspire and teach.... them.. well - i'm godsmacked.

TVC (Television Centre) is a maze of 1970's inspired grey/brownness. None of your 80/90/Noughties attempt at slick/glamour. Yet it exudes glamour, entertainment, quality beliefs.

I'm hidden on the 3rd floor - in the Entertaiment corridor. Ok toilet/kitchen is the same thing and water/damp stains decorate the walls, floor and ceiling - holey building trinity... But i'm soaking up atmosphere - excitment- the past dreams and successes of so many people/souls - aiming to teach and entertain and inspire the masses - regardless of war, recession, life stuff...

Now i'm part of it/them... well i've always been, in this and my 'other' lives.

The commune of the place - everyone milling around, together - talent/workers/techies/suits.

I'm one of them - I aim to straddle them all,

Must dash - Singing Pyschics are anathenema to R&R (acronyms are law here)

Bob Hoskins - Not as small as you think

Well it happened again. I was amazing.

As depicted in Ghost Busters, the spirits erupted from me in a multicolour rainbow of good and evil.

Was I scared? No! Of course not. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I became the conduit for the ‘Other’.

Perhaps the spirit world was getting slightly rowdy after receiving its latest soul.

Bob Hoskins had organised a private function – everyone was masked – so who knows what greats and good gods were milling around.

The 'stage' was in the round – A dirty big hole 6ft deep. I stood alone – being bear'ed down on. Entering the trance was a relief.

Like hundreds of Opera Phantoms – the crowds chanted my favourite arcane sutra. ‘A string of Pearls from the mouths of damned love’ - the literal translation from the Egyptian Saite (never fails to trigger my ‘Other’. Bob had done as instructed and ensured everyone knew the Saite tune).

Carol – my trusted aide – tells me I became Blakey from the Buses. Through that human creation ‘killed’ off by TV execs I moved through spirit rainbow, meeting and fleetingly entered by Gengis Khan, Bo Derek, Jarvis Cocker, Mr Coca Cola and Mary Magdalene.

The personal revelations cannot for be specified – due to the bounding contract. However ‘Blakey’ singing Funk warned CERN enthusiasts to stay away, not to try the experiment and the next eclipse will be advent.

To book me for Wakes and Work Functions/Outings - contact the usual address.

Singing Food

Hannah Glasse, the first Domestic Goddess - came to me.

What a frightfully aggressive woman. She forced me to sing Rock.

I was asked by Diane Abbott to an ‘Organic Food in East London’ seminar. I was the ‘After Dinner Speaker’ to over 400 delegates.

On finishing this so called ‘Organic’ ‘Dinner’ I was sucked into a Hannah Glasse trance (of course unbeknownst to me until exiting said trance).

Hannah Glasse was a Victorian cookbook writer – she wrote a cookbook that could be used by normal people (ie Middle Classes).

However on this evening Hannah Glasse had a vehement message – I was informed that the song Hannah Glasse got me to sing can be most likened to a mix of Def Leopard and Guns’n’Roses with a heavy dose of Gordon Ramsey.

Hanna’s anger seems to stem from her disappointment at our lack of decent food in this country – no doubt triggered by that evenings rawness of the vegetables, the complete lack of tasty offal, dry burnt steak, dreariness of pudding, burnt coffee, dried old cheddar and COMPLETE LACK of a good Claret or even Ale.

Only on finding myself in M&S 24hr being charged £29 for a slither of Salmon, bottle of Claret and Macadamia honeyed nuts did Hanna Glasse exit me.

I had my agent send Hanna Glasse’s apologies to Diane Abbott – who subsequently booked me for Boris Johnson’s ‘Welcome to Hackney’ party.

Spirits Enter me – Come and See – Try it for youself.

Last Night in Glittering Stone Henge

Disciples,

At the auspicious gathering at the Druidic Stone Gallion I called upon the great spirits of Wind: Anemoi . As usual in late Spring Zephyrus quickly gathered around us, gathering the scents and souls of my guests and early Summer.

Singing at Maggie Biggerswaite who recently lost her cat, we got her aunt Violet Biggerswaite to give the exact location of the moggie – Boo Boo. Violet,dying only last July, was surprisingly vivid for one so soon departed. My experience tells me it takes a good 3 years to pass through the Terrestrial Kingdom especially for divorcees. Perhaps her charity work helped.

Doreen Letterworth made contact with her father. He died before she was born however the Song he sung for her mentioned key ornaments in Doreen’s house which only he would have known about. While in my SINGING © trance I did get a sense that her father had a wicked sense of humour. He was keen to make everything rhyme with a certain function. I gently warned Doreen that her father could be mischievous and probably hid keys and TV remotes. “That explains so much” she nodded back.

Craig Fnarley of Woking got an unusual premonition from a future spirit. (This is a Spirit that has yet to choose a mortal form.) Through a form of Belly Dancing and Rhythmic guttural singing, the spirit – known as a child of Loviatar – told Craig that his hair would affect future job prospects. Hopefully hippy Craig takes head.

Welcome

I am Miss Orla, the worlds GREATEST Singing Psychic.

I have become a musical vessel for the spirit world. Soul, Choral, Jazz, Oriental, Rock, Bel Canto, Blues, Folk... this worlds and the 'other' world's music rises forth within me and with it the words and wisdom of your loved ones.


My Story

As a young child I had the ability to communicate with people from the past by simply touching a loved item or someone very close to them. I saw it gave comfort to others and I enjoyed channelling advice and support (and sometimes even betting tips!) from the ‘other’ side.

I thought at that time everyone had this gift.

As I developed into a woman, I realised what I could do was rare. I got scared, self-conscious and overwhelmed by this gift and blocked it from mind. Wishing to be ‘normal’.

But then my father was taken from me suddenly. I’d had premonitions but dismissed them as waking nightmares ‘DayMares’. I couldn’t believe that my loving father would be taken – but he was.

He hadn’t told my mother where his Will was. His business partner began taking money from my fathers company. The bank had told my mother they were repossessing the house. My mother and I were scared. Not only were we stricken with grief, we were also losing everything.

I decided that I had to call upon the gift I was born with. The gift that had been passed down, through our family for hundreds of years.

Surrounded by my father’s favourite items: football shirt, adored Mug, The Who album – Odds and Sods. Plus my mother holding my hands – I called to my father.

When I was a young child, when I spoke to the ‘other’ world, a warm feeling would pass over me and a translucent shimmering door appeared. From that door spirits that took a human shimmering form would come, sit before me and talk. They didn’t have mouths, just waves of warmth and understanding would enter me as they spoke to me.

But now, when calling for my father, my heart full of sorrow and my face covered in tears – nothing came to me. I just felt hollow and alone.

I rested my head on my mother’s lap and cried. My mother stroked my hair and hummed. My sobs became subdued and I began to hum with her.

The hum turned into words. The same words my father would speak. His same accent and the way he spoke.

My mother and I smiled at each other. I sang his words. It was as if he was speaking through me. I sang tales of when my father had scored the winning goal at school, and the first time my father had seen my mother.

My mother suddenly laughed and froze – she called out “How do you know that Miss Orla?” Later I discovered that only my mother and father had known that secret about their first kiss.

My song responded to her, as my father always did and then I sang of the exact location of the Will. My mother rushed to the Pantry and sure enough in the Christmas Cake Tin, on the top shelf was the Will and Business/Bank account details.

To cut this long and happy story short I will just say my mother and I kept our house and my mother now runs the business successfully.

I went on and repeated this singing gift, accidentally with my friends and family.

Through word of mouth the demand has become very high.

So now I have been persuaded to bring this gift to everyone at my Psychic Singing gatherings.

Keep posted for upcoming dates.