Your astrological week ahead for September 27th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Jarvis Cocker really should have changed the lyrics of Disco 2000 to the past tense.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

You get a lot fewer prophecies these days than you used to, don’t you?

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

“I liked Vince Clarke, but after Depeche Mode and Yazoo he did nothing.” “Careful. That’s Erasure erasure.”

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

This week, as a nice treat, your inner monologue is guest hosted by Kristin Scott Thomas.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Late at night you have existential crises like ‘Am I a fake labubu?’

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

“Oh, well if you’re really passionate about his work, it just so happens I have a Banksy on my cock.”

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Weird they named gay women after somewhere that one of them lived. Could have easily been called Ipswichians.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Ploughing your way through Melody Maker still stuffed full of the NME with Sounds sitting there ready, your stomach lurching. Christ the mid-80s were grim.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Why not have a naming ceremony for your new second-hand Citroen Saxo by smashing a bottle of Kronenbourg 1664 on its bonnet?

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Sure, Andy Burnham’s done okay representing Manchester. But what about a place that actually matters, like Hay-on-Wye?

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

“Yes, well you know the Mandala effect? It’s like that, but I’m the only person who remembers Spearfishing With Helen Flanagan.”

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

To this day if you say ‘wild boys’ and Simon Le Bon doesn’t jump in with ‘wildboys!’ before you’re finished, he has to give you the publishing rights.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on… Corbyn vs Sultana for what's left of the left

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating that I consider deploying the self-assembled guillotine gifted to me by the Archbishop of Amiens, I reflect on the events of the last week. 

Following Nigel Farage’s statements about Sharia law being imminent, I had invited him for a private luncheon with two friends of mine from Kebab Boyz 4 Lyfe, an establishment I often come to in after a 12-18 hour blackout.

Mohammed and Amir looming behind me, I inform Farage sotto voce that Sharia had indeed been secretly introduced in London and I was now subject to it.

‘I’m afraid you are too,’ I continued, ‘and I regret that you are summarily charged with the crime against Islam of bearing false witness. That nonsense about immigrants eating swans. Allah’s sentence? Removal of your left bollock.’

Mohammed produced his carving blade, took hold of a struggling Farage, laid him out, pulled down his trousers and raised the knife aloft while the Reform leader screamed like a small girl. At which point I intervened.

‘You may be spared punishment if you promise never to divulge again the secret of Sharia Law in London,’ to which the craven dog readily concurred. With a wry smile, I take a light breakfast and read that the party, founded by Jeremy Corbyn and Zara Sultana has faltered before even beginning.

Oh shit on a Socialist Worker, the fucking last thing we needed! An excuse for chortling centrists to make shit jokes about the Judean People’s Front and The People’s Front of Judea! And worse, they’ve got a point! You’re both to fucking blame, but you in particular Corbyn, you and the phalanx of fucking factionalists you’re surrounded with! Fuck off and make jam, you absolute cocking liability!

89-year-old Woody Allen has published a novel called What’s With Baum? about a bespectacled Jewish writer caught up in a MeToo scandal.

You know what I loathe about you, you weird, sex-obsessed, boundary-less, imprisonable freak about to celebrate 60 years since you actually said or did anything remotely funny? Not all of that but your terminal fucking inability to look past your fucking self. Everything is fucking autobiography with you, you pathologically narcissistic little cunt! Go Baum yourself!

Finally, it seems the Labour Party is mired in difficulty. Lagging in the polls and facing a possible leadership challenge by Andy Burnham in the offing, hit by staff departures and dogged by accusations of undeclared funding.

Well, the end for far-and-away the most wretched, hapless, clueless, cowardly, amoral, obsequious, desperate, corrupt, lying, pathetic, vile, sweaty, honking, ugly Labour administrations in 100 years is fucking nigh! The staff are deserting like the obese fatberg-squatting rats they fucking are! A country bitterly divided in so many ways agrees Keir Starmer is an onanist of the first fucking order! The Kingdom is United again!