FOR some reason, I was nominated to host a tea leaf reading evening for my friends with an elderly lady called Jean, who apparently could read them.

 

For the life of me, I just couldn't get my head around how someone reckoned they could map out your future by reading tea leaves, (or any kind of leaves for that matter).

So, in the run up to her visit, I decided I would attempt to read my own tea leaves.

After all, how difficult could it be?

I searched the internet and discovered the art of tea leaf reading is called Tasseography.

I was surprised there actually was a name for it.

I wrote down the step-by-step guide and gathered together the bits and pieces I needed to prophesise my future.

Step one. Boil the kettle and use a light-coloured cup.

I dug out an old pink-coloured china cup and saucer which I rinsed before cutting open half a dozen tea bags.

Step two. Steep the tea and quiet your mind.

So, after pouring the boiling water into my cup of magical tea leafs, I attempted to 'quiet' my mind by staring at my kitchen walls.

Soon, after giving into sheer boredom I looked for step three. And there it was.

Step Three: Sip the now cooled tea and focus.

Apparently, if I was right handed, I had to lift the cup with my left hand, and, if I was left -handed, I had to lift the cup with my right hand.

I shook my head at the absurdity of there being any likelihood that it actually would matter which hand I lifted my cup with.

But I went along with the instruction anyway.

I sipped the tea and concentrated on emptying my mind.

I read more instructions.

"Focus on a stubborn re-occurring thought which will be the subject of this reading," it said.

But the only re-occurring thought I had, was one of a room full of very loud, very tipsy females with a glass of wine in one hand and a half empty cup of tea in the other.

Step four. Swirl the tea three times and dump.

So I swirled and swirled and swirled the nearly empty tea cup, poured out the tea, turned the cup upside down on the saucer, took three deep breaths and thought how glad I was that I was home alone, otherwise I might have been carted off in a straight jacket.

Step five. Translate the symbols.

According to this instruction, I had to read the cup clockwise from the handle, decide if the leaves were at the rim, middle or base of the cup, and then simply look for an abstract pattern.

And now on to the interesting bit, I thought to myself, as I was now eager to decipher the code of tea leaves.

I put on my glasses for a better look as I lifted the cup up to the light.

I turned it every way possible.

I squinted my eyes.

I tried my very best to focus.

But somehow I couldn't see any so-called symbols.

Eventually I gave up. All I could see was tea leaves.

A few nights later it was the big tea-leaf reading night at chez Janice, and the girls were impatiently waiting to find out what the future had in store for them.

All was in full swing until Jean, the tea leaf reader, decided she needed a cigarette.

Karen, who was last in line for a reading and who had been waiting hours for a smoking buddy, piped up: "I'll nip outside with you."

But, as I passed the slightly ajar patio doors, I couldn't help overhear Karen chatting to Jean the tea leaf reader, who was listening intently.

"Yes, I am tired," Karen admitted.

"I'm on nightshift at Monklands Hospital later, and to be honest, I think it's time for a change."

Jean silently nodded while drawing on her cigarette.

"And what with mum being laid up at the moment with her bad back," Karen continued, " I'm struggling for time to organise my twins' birthday party next week."

I glowered at Karen, to no avail, who was unwittingly giving Jean all the tea leaf reading information she needed.

Right on cue, Karen emerged from her mind-boggling tea leaf reading beaming from ear to ear.

"She was spot on with so many things," she gushed.

Karen couldn't wait to spill the beans to her audience.

"She saw a cake which means a celebration ... and the twins are three next week."

"Then she saw an ant which signifies hard work and a gate which is the symbol of an opportunity ... so maybe I'm finally leaving Monklands Hospital."

"Then there was a needle - which refers to pain," Karen explained to us as if she'd now been given some great insight into all this malarkey.

"And you know what my mum's back has been like."

Karen was amazed. But, to be honest, I didn't see the point in bursting her tea leaf bubble.

After all, like many others, she had faith in the mystical powers of the tea leaf.

So, who knows? Perhaps I might just put the kettle again on and give it another go.