Open door

It’s believed by some that the town we use for shopping has something therapeutic in the air. Those who have looked into it go further. They say that the town stands beneath an intersection of ley lines, which subtly energises the inhabitants. This belief that occult energies permeate the town attracts to the area people who are well off, educated even, but permanently tired, dissatisfied with themselves and assailed by minor illnesses. They come in search of that spiritual key, pin number or magic word that will restore them to health and imbue their lives with significance.

Last week a philosopher came to town, name of Freke, and I went along to hear him. The venue was a Tudor period meeting room in the High Street, not far from the King Bill pub. The time, early Friday evening. By and large I get all the philosophy I need by reading the advertisements on the London Underground. But Freke sounded intriguing. In the local paper’s preview of the event, he described himself as reviving the ancient tradition of the itinerant philosopher spreading enlightenment from town to town. Further down the piece was an endorsement from someone calling himself Ram Dass, which sounded to me suspiciously like a schoolboy joke in the Ben Dover tradition. ‘Tim Freke’s work,’ gushed this Ram Dass, ‘is an open door inviting one and all into the Mystery.’ I reasoned that I would go along, find out what I’m doing here, then go to the pub and get hammered, as usual, and be able to claim afterwards that I’d spent an improving evening.

It cost £4.50 to get in. Under the elaborate, bowed, plaster ceiling were about 40 chairs, which soon filled. More people pressed in. Extra chairs were brought in from an adjacent room and distributed. One was passed over my head to a thin, pale young man who took it as if it was the most dangerous thing he’d been party to for a very long time.