Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Capricorn (22 DEC-19 JAN)
Silence around the Christmas dinner table as your uncle says he hasn’t seen that much meat stuffed up the same bird since he was in Bangkok with the Merchant Navy.

Aquarius (20 JAN-19 FEB)
You prove that nothing is impossible after achieving a thunderous orgasm in full view of the Queen’s Speech while your partner wears a pair of foam antlers and a red plastic nose.

Pisces (20 FEB-20 MAR)
The Sound Of Music, lashings of tinsel, quality time with your mum. So what do gay people do at Christmas then?

Aries (21 MAR-19 APR)
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening. And has been for about three weeks actually. Fucking piece of shit council can kiss my arse.

Taurus (20 APRIL – 20 MAY)
Get invited back next year by telling your niece that a pregnant girl who says she’s a virgin is what’s known in the trade as a ‘lying, two-faced scrubber’.

Gemini (21 MAY-20 JUN)
You’re running through the snowbound airport in your sweaty vest, AK47 blasting, and thinking ‘this is almost as bad as last year at the wife’s staff Christmas party’. Only this time there’s terrorists.

Cancer (21 JUN-22 JUL)
Your grandmother’s presents have always been educational and this year’s will teach you that Poundland does gift vouchers. Good old British Gas.

Leo (23 JUL-22 AUG)
He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows when you’ve been bad or good but apparently he doesn’t know you wouldn’t wear an M&S v-neck jumper even if it was weaved from Scarlett Johansson’s quim thatch.

Virgo (23 AUG-22 SEP)
Finding the shilling in the Christmas pudding backfires as you’re press-ganged onto a dreadnought headed for the Battle of Trafalgar. That could be quite sore.

Libra (23 SEP-23 OCT)
You finally have your fill of turkey when, on January 5th, your partner fashions a rudimentary sex toy from an off-colour drumstick.

Scorpio (24 OCT-21 NOV)
You’re on the phone to the Advertising Standards Authority on Boxing Day when your Iceland Christmas party pack turns out to be less like a cross between Moulin Rouge and Loose Women and more like the taste of hollowed-out, deep-fried despair.

Sagittarius (22 NOV-21 DEC)
You’ve given your nephew a toy drum and his own bodyweight in sweets, revealed the plot of Eastenders and told your sister-in-law what happened on your brother’s stag do in Prague. Time for a well earned sherry.



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Your problems solved, with Holly Harper

Dear Holly,
It’s once again time for my work Christmas party and this year I have vowed to ensure I don’t go home alone. I have my eye on a couple of prospects: Sheila from accounts whose husband recently died, and a woman called Maria who works on reception and has some manner of palsy. Neither of them is particularly young or good looking, but when you’re as desperate as I, you have no choice but target the weak and the lame. The only problem is that sad old women like Sheila and Maria tend to go home early from these types of things, before you’ve had a chance to slip anything into their drinks. Can you suggest any clever techniques for holding someone against their will without leaving any visible marks?

Dear Victor,
If your office party is anything like the Christmas disco at my school, I can see why Sheila and Maria would want to make an early exit. Try to envisage 150 small children, all simultaneously experiencing a prolonged and intense sugar rush whilst dancing vigorously to Agadoo. Coupled with the narcotic properties of fairy cakes, everyone is so incredibly over-excited about the fact it is nearly Christmas that all manner of mayhem can occur. Last year, Tracy Slater got so worked up about the prospect of sitting on Santa’s knee that she urinated lavishly all over the dance floor in the school gymnasium, causing mass panic and several nasty injuries – a scenario made all the more terrible by a persistent strobe light and the Birdy Song playing at full volume.  Plus Oliver French was up to his old tricks, hiding in the Christmas tree with his winkie hanging out like a sorry piece of old tinsel. I’m not sure if it was this novel interpretation of yuletide decoration, or the enormous amounts of jelly and ice-cream consumed in a very short space of time with a plastic spoon, but whatever it was, it prompted at least three individuals to be violently sick in the PE cupboard, and I’m sure one of them was a teacher. Ultimately, if you value your sanity, I would forget about Maria and Sheila and just go home to bed. However, if you insist on going to the party, I’d recommend bringing a spare pair of pants, just in case, and steer well clear of any weird, flesh coloured Christmas baubles.
Hope that helps!