Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

“And so the King now retreats into his shell, not to emerge for a thousand years. Such a wonderful occasion.”

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Asking for ‘novelty penis pasta’ in Italy will get you laughed out of the restaurant. They’re called bellendini.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

You pursue excellence in everything you do. Catch it? Oh no, you don’t fucking catch it.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Keep your neighbours guessing about your stance on the Royals by serving them a beautiful dish of Coronation swan.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

A call centre operative takes off his headset, stands up, and places the call that was most important to him that day reverently on a shelf.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Why don’t bands do tours of oil rigs? There’s a captive audience. Someone like Kaiser Chiefs could clean up.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Always give up your seat on the train for someone if they look pregnant, particularly if they’re six-three and wearing a Millwall shirt.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Prince Charles is a Scorpio. Nothing big happening for you guys this weekend, unfortunately.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

15-year-olds in Friends T-shirts is like 90s teens going around with Dad’s Army patches on their jackets: fucking wrong.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

If you’re worried about AI taking your job, takes AI’s job instead. Answer every question you’re asked in a weird, stilted manner and stop saying fuck altogether.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

You can’t decide which festival to go to: Reading or Leeds. They both have such great line-ups!

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Cheat the cost-of-living crisis by nicking money and refusing to pay rent or any of your utilities. Also works in Monopoly.

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... top punk monarchist Nick cocking Cave

WAKING in a cell at Scotland Yard, under armed guard and being ordered to reliquish the neck of a broken bottle in my hand, I recall what led me here. 

Rehearsing for tomorrow’s ceremony in Westminster Abbey, I delivered a reading from Ezekiel 37. “One Kingdom, one King,” I orated.

“David, my servant shall be king over them, and they shall all have one shepherd; they shall also walk in My judgments and observe My statutes, and do them,” I continued, upon which officers of the Metropolitan Police thundered up the aisle, manhandled me from the pulpit and placed me under arrest.

“For fucking what?” I asked, reasonably, taking a swig from a bottle of rum I keep by my side for fortification.

“For open treason and declaration of intent to usurp King Charles III and replace him with one of your staff, this ‘David’, no doubt with a view to operating as the power beyond the throne.”

“It’s fucking Ezekiel!” I said.

“Ezekiel? Who’s he?”

“The bible, you gormless cunt!” I said, rather intemperately, raising my bottle arm and from there it is a blur. A swift call to the King and I graciously accept the abject apologies of the Met, a waiver of their discretionary anti-monarchist powers as relating to myself, and reimbursement for the bottle their officer’s head was clumsy enough to break.

Returning to the Abbey, I read that local council elections have gone poorly for the Conservatives, with chairman Greg Hands blaming Vladimir Putin and the spike in energy prices following his invasion of Ukraine.

Torment my tits with a soldering iron, are you fucking shitting us? The spike in energy prices, incidentally, that no other fucker in Europe suffered except us mugs? Why not blame Lenin for starting the Soviet revolution that set in train the chain of events that saw you lose every fucking seat going in the blue wall? Or blame the dogs outside every polling station for scaring nervous Tory voters away? Or, how about blaming your fucking selves for being a robbing, cheating, lying, racist, criminal and criminally incompetent, corrupt, clueless, rancid bunch of pigfuckers who the country can’t wait to see the back of?

Nick Cave, of The Birthday Party, has justified his intention to attend the coronation. He writes: ‘What I am also not is so spectacularly incurious about the world and the way it works, so ideologically captured, so damn grouchy, as to refuse an invitation to what will more than likely be the most important historical event in the UK of our age,’ adding that the Queen was ‘the most charismatic woman I have ever met. Maybe it was the lighting but she actually glowed.’

Jesus upside down on the cross for a fucking laugh, you fraudulent, lanky, greasy streak of flatulent verbosity, you’ve outed yourself as the absolute cock we suspected you were for years! Turns out you’re the Goth Nicholas Witchell! ‘The most important historical event in the UK of our age’ my arse, no cunt’s interested and I say that as a principal fucking player in events! Netflix will have a field day! As for the Queen, I met her a shitload and she had as much charisma as a halibut on an ice slab!

Noted historian Dr David Starkey has suggested that Prime Minister Rishi Sunak is ‘not fully grounded in our culture’ in a TV interview.

Well sure, he’s not grounded in our culture of wearing seat belts, giving a shit about other humans, paying tax, wearing trousers that actually reach your shoes, or matching statements about reality with actual fucking reality but that’s not what you meant, is it, Starkey? Senile, racist prick!

Finally, tomorrow’s coronation will feature a ‘homage of the people’ in which subjects will be invited to proclaim:  ‘All who so desire, in the Abbey, and elsewhere, say together: I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors according to law. So help me God.’

Holy fragments of the True Cock set into a Cock of Wales, they’re seriously gonna do this? What the fuck? Yes, I suggested it but only as a fucking joke! And that ruddy-faced, wheezy divot Charles gives it the nod! Tell you what, I’m fucked if I’m going to join in unless I’m seriously fucking pissed, and even then it’ll be in the spirit of Sid Vicious singing My Way! What is this, fucking 1322? Saxe-Coburg twats!