Your astrological week ahead for May 30th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

The council sends you a lengthy explanation of why Marty McFly’s parents never questioned that their son is identical to a young man named Calvin Klein who helped them all those years ago. Ah. Turns out you did accidentally demand they fill plot holes.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Is it possible for our actual King to get checkmated? Have we set up precautions against it?

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

“Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen is not an acceptable defence Mr Bundy. We’ve been through this before.”

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

‘No show without Punch,’ they say. Well I’ve just watched Les Miserables and he wasn’t in it once.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Half a league, half a league, half a league onwards, and eventually Lord Cardigan’s Light Brigade FC reached the Championship.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

What do we do in the Take The High Road fandom? Oh, the usual: persecute the creators, hate each other, create art of Fiona Cunningham and Mary Mack having BDSM sex.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

And did those feet in ancient time, get one of those fish pedicures?

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Despite being delicious, useful and easily wrapped and transported, Britons remain peculiarly reluctant to give ham as a gift.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

22 years ago, my father went out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back. Mind you we’re an uncontacted Amazonian tribe 3,500 miles from civilisation so it was always going to be a bit of a quest.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

“So no, in answer to your two minute and forty second question in the key of E major, I have never fallen in love with someone I shouldn’t have fallen in love with.”

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Don’t shoot the Messenger. Shoot the WhatsApp.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

“And this one’s of me and your mother in 1994, doing a ram raid. Well, it was the fashion then.”

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on… who's up for three hours of Sting singing about ships?

WAKING with a hangover so intense it raises the room temperature from 33 to 38 degrees, I sip down several gallons of water and reflect on another notable week in my pastoral career.

I was contacted by a publisher specialising in theology and religious affairs, who asked if I would be willing to contribute to an anthology of theirs titled Reflections On The Power Of Prayer. There would be no fee, they said, but my essay, if published, would gain me invaluable exposure in the Church of England.

Resisting the temptation to invite him to shove his exposure up his swindling fucking arse, I agreed, by return of email. I said, however, that my contribution would not be a lengthy one.

‘That is most welcome. Brevity is a virtue!’ he replied. I then sent him my submission, in full.

‘If there was anything to the fucking power of prayer the orange cunt would be fucking dead and buried right now! But he fucking isn’t, so save the fucking wear and tear on your knees and stop wasting your fucking time!’

Still awaiting a response, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Tony Blair has made one of his rare monthly interventions into British politics, urging Labour to abandon net zero, support Donald Trump and shift to the right.

Yeah? Well, suggestions noted, you mad-eyed, dictator-arselicking fucking war criminal and fucking mullet-headed nutjob! Abandon net zero? Open the fucking window, you cunt! Is 34 fucking degrees in May too chilly for you? Shift further to the right? If Labour shifted any further to the fucking right they’d fall into the fucking Channel! As for Donald Trump, I know you’re so far up his arse your head is peeping out of his mouth, but every sane person, and a lot of totally batshit ones too, realise the fucking game is up with that fuck!

Former health secretary Alan Milburn has also been in the news this week, echoing Blair’s criticisms of Labour and warning of a ‘lost generation’ of youth due to unemployment.

Fuck my dead dog with my dead cat, they’re wheeling out this piece of twat? A former health secretary who makes fucking Wes Streeting look like Nye Bevan, who made his name outsourcing fucking health services and now makes millions advising private companies profiting from his health ‘reforms’! Almost as big a New Labour cunt as Blair himself! Yep, all the people we least fucking need are all over the shop this week! Oh and fucking hell, they’ve dug up Harriet Harman too!

Sting has spoken up this week, asserting that the loss of manual jobs is driving the culture of toxic masculinity. He also has a musical about the decline of the shipbuilding industry, The Last Ship, returning to the West End.

Yes, of course, because we all remember how back in the 50s and 60s, the days of widespread industrial labour, how non-violent and feminist men were as a result of working in the shipyards, steelworks and down the mine all day! Sit down, you ridiculous fuck and muffle the fucking orifice you talk out of; the value of what you reckon is about the same as the value of the Deutschmark in fucking Weimar Germany! As for your fucking musical, I presume it’s the usual stuff about knackering manual labour giving you dignity and whatnot. If you’re that fucking keen on it, Gordon, there’s nothing stopping you getting a job in a fucking warehouse! 

Finally, BBC Question Time this week devoted itself to the topic of AI, inviting the following guests: Darren Jones, Labour MP; Julia Lopez, Conservative; Mo Gawdat, ‘AI pioneer’; Laura Gilbert of The Tony Blair Institute; and Victor Riparbelli, CEO of Synthesia.

O-kay, let’s go through this cavalcade of cunts one by one. Darren Jones is a fucking known AI booster and deep dweller in the rectum of Tony Blair. Julia Lopez, well she’s a Tory so she’s guaranteed to be full of shit. Mo Gawdat – we’ve a feeling an ‘AI pioneer’ will be in favour of it, somehow. Laura Gilbert – another Blair flunky working tirelessly to fucking foist AI on us. And Victor Riparbelli, another fucking AI bossman! This panel is about as balanced as a see-saw with five Sam Altmans on one side and no cunt on the other! Could they seriously not find anyone to make the case for the landscape not being carpeted with the skulls of humanity for our remorseless AI overlords to fucking stomp across?