Caveat: I am not known for my spirituality. I tend to have a rather cynical outlook on life. It’s not that I don’t want to believe that the ghosts of the deceased are floating around - who wouldn’t? - but no one has convinced me yet. So, when I decided to review “Britain’s best-loved psychic”, Sally Morgan, my suspicions were that she would be a fraud capitalizing on desperate hopes, and that I would deduce her method step-by-step. And, with a couple bizarre exceptions - which I shall try to explain - I feel assured that anyone who has spent time studying her ‘shows’ could put on a persuasive imitation.

Morgan appeared amidst a maelstrom of glitter, sparkle, and enormous screens showing images of past ‘hits’. After a brief life story,, Morgan began.

Does anyone in the 1,500-strong audience know a “Joyce”? A lady confirms. “Was Joyce lonely?” “No.” “Did she pass on her own?” “No.” “Is there a Paul in your life?’ “No...”

Not the best beginning. But names were hard for Sally to pinpoint because the dead person at hand was only mouthing a name to her.

In Sally’s defence, she correctly informed a man of his brother’s suicide, and told a lady the name of her mother. She knew that many people’s relatives had died in December, and, it being January, I understood why: most present were that recently bereaved.

I feel obliged to inform readers of the glass sphere on stage, full of cards upon which, pre-show, members of the audience had written names of those lost for Sally’s inspiration. She would often move in front of the box and spin around - how difficult to resist a glimpse inside.