Psychic Marmalade Jar Readings
Who is Marusan Mu Chicki Chicki?
Greetings, I live here at Marmaland where I am put to work as the Marmalord's right hand man. Generally that means keeping the Golliwog's in order - but what I really love to do, is perform psychic readings from the vibes I get when I hold peoples old marmalade pots.
Growing up as a young boy in Bury St Edmonds the local playgrounds soon became the arenas of my torture, I was regularly ridiculed due to the size of my gigantic hooter. But it was later when I relocated to London in the Psychedelic Seventies that I first realised I had a very special gift.
Little did I know it would take years of rehab and therapy before I would eventually be able to put my gift to a more positive use here in my spiritual home, Marmaland.
What does he do?
Sometimes when I hold a marmalade jar, I am overcome by the spirit of its original owner. I feel a sudden sadness followed by euphoria and then for a matter of moments I am that person, and I am in their time.
A reading like this can be exhausting for me and I usually only perform two a week, often the Golliwogs will have to prise the jar from my cold but clammy hand and carry me back to my chambers. Only later will I be able to commit my visions and findings to paper.
How can he help you?
If you have a marmalade jar of some age or interest, and are interested in finding out about the person or people who may have feasted upon its original contents, then drop me an email with a photo of your pot to email@example.com
Below are a couple of example readings from some Museum pots I have recently handled.
Pot 1: Miniature Frank Coopers -
"I am smartly dressed, and sitting at breakfast, I can feel my facial hair. I am hairy and the world is wobbling. I am confused by something that the young lady in my company has said to me, I appear to be on a large ship in troubled waters. The silverware is rattling and as I steady the small marmalade pot, for the first time fear strikes me like a mallet".
Pot 2: 2lb Glass Chivers Jar -
"An apron tied around my waist, I am a woman, I must be 40 years old, a post war housewife. I stand on the step at the back of my terrace house, I look down at my big arms they are like two sides of ham and my hands are like shovels. There are children playing in the cobbled street with spinning tops and a terrier dog"