The Wild Carpet Ride by writer Paul Carter
by writer Paul Carter
Apart from a little stage fright before I begin each session, I have really enjoyed doing the live fireside readings from my latest book. Until last week that is when the sound went all wrong and, instead of entertaining the thousands of listeners with my usual dulcet tones, I produced fifteen minutes of unpleasant crackling. My brother, who was a TV producer for many years, always used to say that making pictures was the easy part, but that it was getting the sound right which divided the amateurs from the professionals. And I felt very amateur indeed.
What caused the problem is still a mystery, which is why, for a few days, I was very nervous about the next reading. I mean, what if it goes wrong again and nobody loves me anymore. So I have spent a few days being a pain in the arse, which is why Gilly went out and bought a scalp massager.
I had never come across one before and, to start with, I was a bit sceptical its healing powers. Then Gilly told me to sit down and stop acting like a child, and with the very first touch on my head, I was a convert. And a convert who went into a trance-like state and had tingles going all the way down their spine.
‘So what do you think now of that recording stuff up?’ Gilly asked after a few minutes.
‘What stuff up?’ I replied as I started flapping my arms like a chicken.
I have no idea whether the massager works as well on heads that are covered in hair, as I am not in a position to do a peer-reviewed study, but on bald, it feels like a cross between a display of the Northern Lights and a ride on a magic carpet. Not that I am in any position to make that judgement either really, never having seen the one and never having had a ride on the other.
The massager is not without its disappointments, however. Gilly went out shopping later in the day, and left to my own devices I decided to try the massager for myself only to find that it doesn’t work nearly so well when self-applied. There were no lights in the sky and my feet didn’t leave the ground, so I put it aside and simply waited for Gilly to get home again.
Gill has given me a few sessions now, so come tomorrow I will be as loose as a goose and completely stress-free. And if it all goes wrong again and everyone finishes up laughing at me, and withdrawing their affection, and going back to watching Netflix instead, then so be it. I will still be a happy chicken.
