voice welcomed him to Manchester's 'Girl Next Door' line. It then told him that his call would only be charged at £1.17 a minute, almost ten pence cheaper than most premium-rate lines. The voice asked him to press '5' if he wanted to proceed with the call. Next he was asked to press ‘1' if he wanted an intimate chat with a horny babe from right up his street or '2' if he wanted to have his horoscope or tarot cards read. Rubble pressed '2'. A voice then told him that, if he knew the extension number of the particular astrologer he wished to speak with, please press it now. When he did nothing, the voice said he would soon be connected to an expert in the art of horoscope readings. The noise of wind chimes clinking in a ghostly breeze started up.
After about a minute the music faded and a voice that was strangely accented said, 'Hello caller. My name is Sylvie Claro, would you like a horoscope or a tarot reading?'
'I want you to read my fortune,' replied Rubble with unnecessary force, trying to hide his shyness.
'OK, my child,' replied the voice. 'First I would like to know the year of your birth.'
'Is it your picture in Karn Age?' Rubble suddenly blurted.
'Sorry my precious?'
'The advert in Karn Age. Is that a picture of you? Am I speaking to you?'
The voice faltered. 'Describe to me the lady in the advert.'
Rubble started awkwardly, 'You've got long dark curly hair. Um - and your finger nails are very long.' He dried up, unable to describe how beautiful he found her face.
'And my eyes,' the voice whispered seductively, 'what colour are my eyes?'
'Brown. Very big and brown,' he said in a small voice.
'Yes, that is me.'
'And your name is Sylvie?'
‘That is my name. Now my child, what year were you born?'
Rubble frowned. He'd been asked this question on previous calls and couldn't answer it then. 'I know it was on the sixth of March.'
'Gracias - and the year?'
‘Dunno.’
'You do not know the year in which you came into this world?'
'Nuh,' Rubble grunted quietly.
'OK, let me see.’ The voice paused and he could hear vague sounds of paper being moved. 'It shouldn't be a problem - it will just take me a few moments longer to draw up your horoscope. Do you have grey hair?'
'No.'
'But you are not a youth?'
'No - Mr Wicks told me I was over twenty-one, but that was a few summers ago.'
'Stay with me. To see which stars were ascendant in that period, I must look at my charts. Please wait, they are up in my observatory.'
Clare took off the headset, walked slowly to me supervisor's office and popped her head through the door, 'Keep my line open will you Brian? I've got a punter on - I'm just off to look up his charts.' She winked and headed across to the kitchen. Inside were a couple of women she'd chatted a bit with before. She dropped ten pence into the tin, and as she filled her cup from the kettle, said, 'Hey girls, I've got a right one on at the moment. First, he thinks I'm the actual woman from that advert.' She pointed at the poster on the wall. 'Second, he's ringing a horoscope line and he doesn't even know which year he was born in! I've told him I'm in my observatory looking up his charts.'
'What - he's on your line at the moment?' one asked incredulously.
'Yup - he's buying everything I tell him,' replied Clare.
From the doorway an accusatory voice hissed, 'You're a disgrace to the astrologer's art.'
They all turned round to look at the purple-haired woman who had silently entered the room. Her round form was sheathed in a long black smock, over the front of which hung an enormous pentagram on a silver chain.
She held up a hand and pointed at Clare with a ring-covered finger. 'I hear you filling up those callers with rubbish. Speaking about things of which you have no knowledge. Take note: you are flirting with dark forces by doing it.'
Embarrassed, Clare looked down at her mug of tea.
One of the other women butted in. 'Well I am sorry, Gypsy bloody Lee, we can't all be members of the
After about a minute the music faded and a voice that was strangely accented said, 'Hello caller. My name is Sylvie Claro, would you like a horoscope or a tarot reading?'
'I want you to read my fortune,' replied Rubble with unnecessary force, trying to hide his shyness.
'OK, my child,' replied the voice. 'First I would like to know the year of your birth.'
'Is it your picture in Karn Age?' Rubble suddenly blurted.
'Sorry my precious?'
'The advert in Karn Age. Is that a picture of you? Am I speaking to you?'
The voice faltered. 'Describe to me the lady in the advert.'
Rubble started awkwardly, 'You've got long dark curly hair. Um - and your finger nails are very long.' He dried up, unable to describe how beautiful he found her face.
'And my eyes,' the voice whispered seductively, 'what colour are my eyes?'
'Brown. Very big and brown,' he said in a small voice.
'Yes, that is me.'
'And your name is Sylvie?'
‘That is my name. Now my child, what year were you born?'
Rubble frowned. He'd been asked this question on previous calls and couldn't answer it then. 'I know it was on the sixth of March.'
'Gracias - and the year?'
‘Dunno.’
'You do not know the year in which you came into this world?'
'Nuh,' Rubble grunted quietly.
'OK, let me see.’ The voice paused and he could hear vague sounds of paper being moved. 'It shouldn't be a problem - it will just take me a few moments longer to draw up your horoscope. Do you have grey hair?'
'No.'
'But you are not a youth?'
'No - Mr Wicks told me I was over twenty-one, but that was a few summers ago.'
'Stay with me. To see which stars were ascendant in that period, I must look at my charts. Please wait, they are up in my observatory.'
Clare took off the headset, walked slowly to me supervisor's office and popped her head through the door, 'Keep my line open will you Brian? I've got a punter on - I'm just off to look up his charts.' She winked and headed across to the kitchen. Inside were a couple of women she'd chatted a bit with before. She dropped ten pence into the tin, and as she filled her cup from the kettle, said, 'Hey girls, I've got a right one on at the moment. First, he thinks I'm the actual woman from that advert.' She pointed at the poster on the wall. 'Second, he's ringing a horoscope line and he doesn't even know which year he was born in! I've told him I'm in my observatory looking up his charts.'
'What - he's on your line at the moment?' one asked incredulously.
'Yup - he's buying everything I tell him,' replied Clare.
From the doorway an accusatory voice hissed, 'You're a disgrace to the astrologer's art.'
They all turned round to look at the purple-haired woman who had silently entered the room. Her round form was sheathed in a long black smock, over the front of which hung an enormous pentagram on a silver chain.
She held up a hand and pointed at Clare with a ring-covered finger. 'I hear you filling up those callers with rubbish. Speaking about things of which you have no knowledge. Take note: you are flirting with dark forces by doing it.'
Embarrassed, Clare looked down at her mug of tea.
One of the other women butted in. 'Well I am sorry, Gypsy bloody Lee, we can't all be members of the
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