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Hola, brainless water-bearing types! Last time we left you surrounded by a group of patriots, the Sons of Edward Longshanks by name, that was intent upon visiting their worst intrusions on your odious person, due to your ties with the ancient land of Caledonia.
This pretty pass had been arrived at for a variety of reasons, one of them being your inability to keep your opinions to yourself and thus prevent a bad situation from becoming worse. However, let it be said in your defence that you were suffering from the stresses of being an unfashionable failure, being impecunious in the extreme and having a serious case of knees to boot. What a woeful fate it is that seems to have befallen you. Let us consult upon the instant the vile and bitter prognostications for awful April to see if things can get any worse.
Generally, the principle that things will continue to get worse is the constant we rely on in a benighted universe ruled by insane gods. And, since ghastly planets fart in nasty aspect to begin proceedings, we are justified in cleaving to the faith of our fathers. The patriots come in so close you can barely breathe. They sweep you into their nasty clutches, with dark looks and steely arms. You fear the worst, my tiny tikes! And your fears are justified!
Great gods alive and dead! I can hardly bear to describe the frightful ordeal that is now visited upon you. Quelle horreur! There, in the public streets of Scotland, as the New Moon in arrogant Aries brings an eclipse to darken the confines of your solar third house, they force you to learn Morris Dancing. Eek! And, what's worse, as mischievous Mercury moves out of his perverse reversal, you find you enjoy it, for it brings miraculous healing to your knees.
'By all the gods, this Morris Dancing is a magical thing,' you cry aloud! My sainted aunt! Is there no shred of sanity left to garb the arrant lunacy of a naughty world and thus shield the humble watcher from its garish nudity!
Apparently not! For, as marauding Mars then conjoins in unseemly fashion with nasty Neptune, you are soon leading the dancing and the Sons of Edward Longshanks are your compatriots, boon companions and willing troupe of mummers and performers. All differences are put aside so all may serve the mighty cause of the Maypole and the Morris.
Ghastly planets cavort in cloddish Taurus and clash with cranky Chiron and you decide that Scotland is no longer home. At the Full Moon in morbid Scorpio, a Lunar Eclipse comes to your solar tenth house and you wind up the paltry remnant of your interests there. Then, with a small grant from the Longshanks charitable fund, you move to England and take up residence in Nottingham. Surrounded by new chums, you give traditional folk dance performances at local inns and in village squares. You purchase and learn to wash your own handkerchiefs for these are essential items for the dance. Your mother would be proud.
As mischievous Mercury clashes with jolly Jupiter and vamping Venus wrestles with nasty Neptune, you are inspired, my tiny twerps, by England's green and pleasant land where you now reside. You decide you will write another successful musical! This time it will be the tale of Robin Hood, a very English hero! You present this plan to your fellows, but hit a very nasty glitch straight away. These fellows want the Sheriff of Nottingham to be the tragic hero while Rob o' the Hood shall be the villain. And Guy of Gisborne and King John himself shall be more sinned against than sinning.
Eek! How ghastly and politically incorrect! How will you solve this awful dilemma? No wonder the month is known as 'awful April'. Click here next time and see what is to happen! Farewell, little loonies!
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