I'm out with the death-doula, couple of glasses of wine on the East Shore, Crawford Bay. An empty pub, the bartender sets up the Karaoke and begins to sing for us...

We move outside.

We talk, a lot of similar beliefs, although we express them differently. Different life histories, different stories, and then the conversation turns. The New World Order, her experiences with UFO's, her experiences with ghosts, with her ex-husbands, international assassins, she doesn't drink - really, or do drugs, but clearly she doesn't need them, the staring blue eyes, lucid on the surface, presentable for sure, but she's completely fucking bat-shit crazy...