"THE SPIRITUALIST" Brings you Psychic Gossip from Hollywierd

THE TRAIN TO SELBY  The Meaning of Life Whether It Be Fact or Fiction… There are meetings which are arranged. There are meetings which are accidental. Then there are those exceedingly peculiar encounters which seem to have been arranged by someone who has neglected to leave either their name, address, or forwarding instructions. This was one of those. It began at precisely half past three on a wet November afternoon beneath the magnificent iron and glass roof of St Pancras Station. London was behaving exactly as London generally does when it wishes to remind everyone of their place in the universe. It was raining. Not, dramatically. Not, romantically. Merely, persistently. The sort of rain which does not inspire poets but does ruin hats. Steam curled around the platforms. Porters shouted. Doors slammed. Whistles shrieked. Ladies hurried beneath umbrellas while gentlemen pretended not to notice that their trousers were becoming wet around the ankles. Some...