Why do Brits seek Eastern spirituality when they have so much of their own?

I used to hang around a group of friends who worked for a British events company. Their boss was a keen follower of Buddhism and all things Oriental and, since the course of business never does run smooth, regularly consulted a feng shui practitioner. The practitioner, who wanted to be called Jampa, gave advice on everything from the setting up of a branch office to the placement of a goldfish bowl. He charged £500 a visit, with the viewing of two floors in an office counting as two visits.

Jampa’s real name was something like Trevor Stevens, and in the days before he started donning the saffron robes of an eastern monk he was more often spotted in the crimson cloth of a Liverpool FC supporter. But a stint in southern India brought about his spiritual transformation, and he turned from steak-lover to meat-loather, tippler to teetotaller.

Thanks to Jampa’s guidance, my friends often found their office desks in peculiar locations like a stairwell or — once — a large cupboard.