Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Finding out that Panic! At The Disco has split up has got you Not Caring! In Your Third Floor Flat.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Once again the Best Picture best picture nominations are dominated by films. When are we going to see one for the tennis girl scratching her arse?

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

If there was a great footballer called John Smith you couldn’t do that chant about how ‘There’s only one John Smith’, because there’s categorically, definitely, more than one.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

You love that new car smell but hate that new car taste.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

You only get drunk on days that end in Y, and also on all the different Eves. Plus Easter.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

We’re going to be hearing Kevin McCloud say ‘the build was going well and then – lockdown’ for the next 15 fucking years.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Who you choose in Mario Kart says a lot about your personality. Mario? Steady and reliable. Luigi? Happy to play second fiddle. Yoshi? Lizard.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

AI might be capable of writing, but can it feel? Can it love? Can it truly relate to the human experience? No. And that’s why it’s perfect for a job at The Daily Mail.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Wait. Why does an organ grinder even need a fucking monkey?

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

We regret to inform you that Willy Wonka Confectionery’s Yorkshire subdivision, manufacturing Penny Twats, Chewy Cunts and Right Daft Ha’porths, has ceased trading.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

‘That’s not a tortoise,’ you say to the mugger holding a puny six-inch Hermann’s, before pulling out your 800-pound three-and-a-half foot Galapagos saddleback. ‘That’s a tortoise.’

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

‘It’s Oscar season, baby!’ you told your friend Oscar over the phone, so it’s weird he seemed surprised when you hunted him down and shot him later.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Frank Lampard getting the f**king sack

WAKING face down in the green by Salisbury Cathedral, spattered in viscera, I dimly put together the events of yesterday evening. 

Next to me lies Aled Jones in a state of distress, with injuries consistent with having fallen from a considerable height. We had filmed Songs Of Praise – it had gone well, with only a few isolated incidences of violence – after which we went on a pub crawl.

Finishing atop the spire with a bottle of Polish vodka, I urged him to prove his oft-repeated claim that he was able to walk in the air, reassuring him that as a faithful servant of the Lord he would not be allowed to come to harm.

And so we took our leap of faith and Aled plunged to ground with a repugnant crunch while my cassock inflated like a parachute effect to place me daintily on the earth. Having put in a call to the relevant medical authorities, I return to my chambers where I read that Jeremy Hunt has called for ‘optimism’ regarding the future of the British economy.

Joseph’s scrotum nailed to a carpenter’s bench, ‘optimism’? Is that all you’ve got? Do we have Mr Micawber for a fucking chancellor? There’s fuck all grounds for optimism with you in charge of the fucking purse strings! You can’t ask for a fucking coffee without looking like a clueless, weird-eyed cunt! The only people with grounds for optimism are your fucking crony mates who’’ll carry on seeing unearned income flow to their enormous, inert piles on the Cayman Islands while you venal fuckers are in charge! In 30 years time, the C-word will have disappeared, replaced entirely by ‘Jeremy’!

Andrew Gullis, the Member for Stoke-On-Trent North, made a vocal intervention when the issue of child asylum seekers being abducted and trafficked in the UK was raised, heckling that they ‘shouldn’t have come here illegally in the first place.’

Holy fucking Christ, you’re a piece of scum and a waste of a beard, aren’t you? You think it was the kids’ idea to come here, putting out to water for an adventure like the Famous Fucking Five? Face it, you’re not even trying to be an MP any more, are you? Because you’re surely, surely too arsehole even for Stoke-On-Trent North, which is fucking saying something! So every stroke you pull like this is an audition for GB News, a gurning little shit-flinging clockwork troll-monkey beating your pathetic little tin drum of ‘political incorrectness’ for peanuts. You cannot fuck off too soon! 

Former Chelsea and England star Frank Lampard has been sacked as manager of Everton FC following a string of disappointing results.

There’s something you never fucking see – a Tory getting sacked! Whoever told you you could manage? Did you think that because you learn more from losing than you do from winning – and let’s face it, golden generation England did a lot more losing – that you’d be one of the brightest footballing brains on the fucking planet? Never mind, the Tories look after their own. There’s a vacancy coming up for chairman of the Conservative Party, you’ll probably be put up for that!

Finally, on Laura Kuenssberg’s BBC show Boris Johnson’s fearlessly impartial sister Rachel sympathised with embattled Tory chair Nadhim Zahawi, agreeing that ‘tax forms are hard to fill in’.

Yes, the humble likes of Zahawi are too cash-strapped and have enough time on their hands not to use accountants. They sit down, download the forms and do it them fucking selves! I suppose you immediately shot down this fucking nonsense, Laura? Or did you just mentally scribble it down because every time you’re confronted with a Johnson you turn into fucking Boswell? There’s news broadcasters in North Korea watching this and taking notes about how to get away with any old slavishly partisan shite!