In a Pub at Glastonbury, it was suggested I may be interested in Paulo Coelho. It was more or less inevitable.

"He says, right there in the opening page, that the language is symbolic, so you can't take his stories for their face value. But they're books crammed in with revelations and lessons and he does deal a lot in stuff that you're interested, the bizarre, the occult."

"Sure, sure. But I can't read Paulo Coelho," I excuse myself. "It's like having sex with a hooker. No matter how good it is,  you'll never look at yourself the same way."