What ho, little nitwits of the nipper! Before you say anything, I know I'm late with the forecast. But I have such difficulty waking up. And once woken, I keep falling back to sleep then waking up again. Ugh! In each returning moment of bleary consciousness and irritation, I scrawl my foul pontifications to each of the twelve, one by one.
It seems you are last on the list for my opprobrious opining in nasty November. I suppose I had better go on with it before one of us (myself, preferably) loses consciousness entirely (ah! sweet oblivion). Last time, you were the proud possessor of a model railway, bought as a thing to give pleasure and to compensate for bitter childhood hurts (god bless your ancient mater and her wicked ways). You sold your business interests, locked greedy family and relatives away on bread and water and began to play with a locomotive device over which you have total control (ah bliss!). We left you, firing up the boiler for an orgy of steam, preparing to speed through crossings (ding-dong, ding-dong), shunt into sidings and do all the things that happy engine-drivers do. Ah! How many blissful hours will there be on the railway at Castle Crab? We shall see.
As I'm late, you've missed the New Moon in morbid Scorpio where the loathsome loony light made obscene congress with the aging bones and wrinkled skin of mournful Saturn. You've also missed the first of a series of clashes between mischievous Mercury and Uranus, the idiot god. And, the passage of vamping Venus into the grim territory of the ghastly Goat also passed you by. Suffice it to say that you hired a servant to assist you with the menial tasks of railway maintenance and bring you your favourite foods on demand. The poor creature has no English and is grateful for the pittance you pay and the attentions you offer.
Thus, as ghastly planets cavort in nasty aspect, befouling the cosmic winds with life-threatening flatulence, we find you teaching your staff how to play the choo-choo goes into the tunnel. Your joint endeavours are so successful that you reward yourself and this new servant with gifts and a feast while your family and relatives are becoming increasingly svelte in form, locked away on bread and water in the upstairs library. Jolly Jupiter and vamping Venus are, off course, the offending bodies in the cosmic contretemps behind these events.
But what's this? By my sainted aunt, mischievous Mercury moves into perverse reverse in addlepate Sagittarius and your solar sixth house! Eek! What upsets will come as a consequence of the sting of this nasty little creature? You become peevish when your favourite signal won't turn green. There's a nasty upset when the points fail at a crossing. And you become quite emotional when your servant fails to replenish the coffee urn at the station café. And, of course, there's the language difficulty when you're shouting irritably about getting things done to a worker who simply doesn't understand what you say!
Life's just one damned thing after another, isn't it, odious seafood morsels! By the time the Full Moon blazes in cloddish Taurus, you wonder if life on the railway is the blissful idyll that you imagined. After all, it doesn't make you any money. And controlling little vehicles is not half as much fun as controlling people and taking sponging relatives to task (marauding Mars rubbing the wrinkled flesh of grim Saturn as loon Lady Moon blazes). As the great Sol Invicti rams his way into addlepate Sagittarius as mischievous Mercury once more gropes the idiot god, Uranus, you decide you had better get to work and try to earn some real money. But, by my sainted aunt, with both Mars and Mercury moving in perverse reverse, you don't actually know what you want to do.
Gadzooks, crabby nitwits! This is serious! As the cosmic aspects incline towards confusion and a certain whimsical idiocy, you wander in the streets in search of inspiration as you can't settle at the railway and have no interest in playing choo-choo in the tunnel for the moment.
Great barking backsides, little ninnies! An astonishing event then occurs in whimsical fashion. Mischievous Mercury re-enters morbid Scorpio via the back passage (eek) and you amble into a casino and stop before the roulette wheel, fascinated by its rotations, yet unwilling to risk your dosh on a mere game of chance. And yet, great belching bellies, you see a spooky thing, my tiny turnips! There's an eerie resemblance between the wheel and the circuit of your beloved model railway back at the manse. Egad! And, what's more, the zero catches your eye as it sits in the place occupied by your favourite station, the one you named after your mother (god bless her barbed wire brassiere and tiny little thumbscrews). Without a single stingy thought and in a flash, you hurl the dollars in your wallet on the nothing that is something. And, by all the trumpeting elephants the insane gods created, you win!
Gadzooks! How fortunate! How prosperous! But, as the great Sol Invicti gropes Uranus, the idiot god, the wheel man sets to spin again and you're in a quandary! Will you take your winnings and buy ten kilos of your favourite Swedish chocolate? Or will you let it ride and risk all for more? Click here next time and see. In the meantime, ave atque vale, my tragic crabby types!