Well, it isn’t as if it wasn’t the ‘I have’ syndrome that turned Java on to the ‘pick-a-vital clue’ game from the dark bespectacled chap with his bock wurst, potato wedges and Yorkshire pudding that followed the haggis starter wolfed down earlier. But it is, because it was the same bloke that, earlier in the evening, had sprinkled saccharine in his beer – just to watch it foam over the brim of the mug and add that sickly sweet popsicle flavour to titillate his rather extreme taste buds.

Java had returned from one of his astral jaunts, visiting Wanda The Midget at her now luxurious digs located quite close to her old pad in the red-light district of Amsterdam, then to Kincardineshire and finally to this pub in the English countryside. It was here that he encountered the waif – a wispy little thing – who insisted on doing a tarot reading for him. Java said she looked like she was straight out of that Woodstock era, with flowers in her hair and all that good stuff, but what he didn’t realize was the trip that she would take him on.

I’m tellin yo maan, before I even knew it she had dose cards laid out – straaange fuckin deck maaan – she say it be a ‘Far Sight Tarot’ deck an it have dese faaar out images on dem – not like da Waite deck dat you be usin in dem long gone days. Dese have names like ‘Gaia’, ‘Youngblood’, ‘Genius’ an sheet. Aanyways, she do dat readin an tell me all bout what I be doin dese las few days – right on da ball she be too. An den she say I be goin to run into som reeal good luck – which I don be mindin one lil ol bit. So da readin be done an I get us som lager an do me a roll-up an she start to tell me da story of her life. Her name be Maya an she say her hippie parents be into all dat philosophical sheet an so ‘illushun’ came to be her mishun. She say she be into all kindsa magic too – make me flash on Wanda an her illushunist. But she don show me anyting dere. So we finish our lagers an she aks where I be crashin an if I be likin to go over to her pad for a bit.

We walk out of dat pub an down dat cobbled pavin, down a coupla blocks make a right an dere we be. Maya open da gate an we go up dis garden path bordered by all sorts of flowering plants – poppies, nasturtiums, hollyhocks an sheet like dat – growin profuse an in no kinda order or nuttin, but lookin reeal nice. Her pad look like a quaint lil ol country cottage an be furnish in a very hip-seventies style, wit rugs an cushuns an frilly drapes wit lil bells hangin from some of dem. Dat smell of incense also be comin thru an dat vibe be groovy, dig? She put on som sitar music, we sit ourselves down an she gets her stash out, tells me to roll a number or two an goes off to get som herbal-tea.

Java pauses for a bit to change the music, replacing Pat Metheney with ‘Ragas Midnight and Spring’, with Bismillah Khan and V.G.Jog – perhaps in an attempt to revive the vibe he had experienced. He lights up as well and gets on with the tale:

So we have dis tea she make – Chamomile an Mint, she say – an we get into da music an dat smoke, da incense makin dat scene complete. Nex ting I know, she get me to take my shirt off an lie face-down, den she straddle ma back an give me dis massage dat transport me to heaven maaan. I musta fallen asleep an when I wake my ass up, I find myself back in dat pub. Dat’s right, blew ma fuckin mind maaan! I be sittin dere on dat stool, brew in hand, watchin dat dude get into his bock wurst and wedges – da same one dat put dat saccharine in his beer. So what I couldna figger out was where did all dat time go? Shuure as shheeet I weren’t dreamin up dis stuurrf, but I did’n try findin dat lil ol cottage to confurm nuttin.

Java was clearly flabbergabbed and I didn’t want to enhance his confusion, so we both got into the music and the day drifted by.