Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Someday there’ll be a blue plaque outside the house where you grew up. And it’ll say ‘That wanker lived here’.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

This week your romantic hopes will be dashed, you’ll be betrayed by a friend, a new love will blossom and you’ll be exposed as a cheating arsehole. You knew the deal when you entered Love Island.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Imagine if every person you met had their own complex inner life, hopes, dreams etcetera? Good thing they don’t and they’re just minor characters in your enthralling story.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

All my tattoos mean something. For example, this one means I’d been drinking all day in a pub next to a tattoo parlour.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

To be fair anyone catching a tit in the wringer had pretty pendulous tits already.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

You heard kids should master a language and a musical instrument, but you fucked up. Now your 14-year-old plays the Spaniard and speaks fluent bassoon.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Take the blue pill and stay in wonderland. Take the red pill and see how deep the rabbit hole goes. Take the pill with the little Mitsubishi logo on and find a new appreciation for drum and bass.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You follow one of those Out of Context social media accounts for your favourite TV show, but you already know the context of every single line. So it’s a charade just like your relationship.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Your prostate is the size of a lemon! screams the email. Sure, but sometimes you wish women would like you for your personality.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Nothing makes you feel happier than when a hotel folds the towel into a little swan. And nothing makes you feel sadder than drying the crack of your arse with its beak.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Watching other people play videogames on Twitch is how you relax in the evening. And that’s not weird because you were the youngest of three brothers in the 1980s.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Scotland having a unicorn as their national animal is taking the piss. Might as well have the Gruffalo or Johnny 5.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Bruce bastard Springsteen

WAKING after 36 hours of dreamless sleep, feeling well rested, I notice a fresh scar on my abdomen and realise I am missing a kidney. 

It all comes back to me: that chance meeting with those Romanian Orthodox priests, the gallons of overproof vodka we shared. Still, I reflect, after decades of vigorous use the kidney is near-worthless and its loss affords me to the opportunity to have it replaced with one harvested from an altar boy.

I make the necessary calls, take breakfast and read of a ‘critical incident’ as passengers travelling to France from Dover face six-hour delays.

You know what? Serves us, the nation of cunts we are, right. We fucking voted for a hard border with France, because Lord forbid they should come slithering over here with their hooped jerseys and frog’s-legs-breath as and when they pleased. And now we’ve got a fucking hard border and the gammon are roasting with indignation! Just glaze them with fucking honey and they’re done! Another Brexit bonus! Leavers didn’t take into account that England’s such a fetid tosshole its citizens are desperate to flee the fucker, did they? Now everything’s snarled up to buggery! Hahahaha, allez les French, make the fuckers wait!

I announce to parishioners at evensong that tickets for Bruce Springsteen’s forthcoming tour are now on sale, with some at over £400 thanks to Ticketmaster’s ‘dynamic pricing’.

Bollock naked Jesus on a flaming unicycle, never mind fucking oil extraction, piss extraction is where the fucking money is nowadays! Still, a fucking Springsteen fan and his money are soon parted, eh? Fuck me with a broken chair leg, you’d have to pay me ten times that to watch that turgid fucker sweat and croak through his back catalogue! If you sang properly, your meathead fans wouldn’t have thought Born In The USA was a Reagan anthem! ‘Hwwwooggh grroough – fffroooaggh mmmm, I was – born in the USA!’ I mean, the fuck?

Rishi Sunak and Liz Truss are the final candidates to be prime minister with both pledging to continue policies including tax cuts and deporting asylum seekers to Rwanda. Truss seems most likely to prevail.

Holy Immaculate Cuntception, is it too early to say Bring Back Bunter? This is how it’s been since 2010, isn’t it? Each regeneration of the fucking leadership worse than the fucking last, and so it’s destined to continue, worse and worse, madder and madder, until we end up with the fucking ghost of General Pinochet running the fucking Tories!

Finally, the heatwave has brought out the stoicism in the Royal family: from Prince Charles in jacket and tie at the height of the heatwave to Prince George in a formal suit as temperatures hit 40 degrees.

What the fuck is wrong with you masochistic psychos and the massed morons who cheer you on? Is this to show how much fucking better you are than the commoners? This is all you’ve got? The ability to self-suffocate in raging heat? You know what I’m wearing under this cassock? Fuck all! I’m dangling like a pair of fucking monkeys in the treetops! One gust of wind, that cassock rides right up and you’d fucking well know all about it! Bollocks to you all, one and all, yes, you too Missus, take a long fucking look!