Odds bodkins! It's you, my misbegotten ninnies! I'm late with the forecast but that's only because I overslept, dreaming up a new and nasty adventure to inflict upon you addle-brained types! And so I have. Let me tell you about it!
It begins in the usual manner, with my dire warnings about vile and bitter prognostications, for doleful December in this instance. And I think we ought to get on with them while a smidgen of the month remains to us. First, I shall fill you in on recent events. Mischievous Mercury turned backwards, in nasty aspect to miserable Saturn and you were back in the Copenhagen nightclub, at work as a successful transvestite entertainer and impersonator, your recent round with the devil already a fading memory. You had money and sexual fulfillment, though the latter was largely confined to co-workers and customers in your dressing room, to save time and also to save money on laundry for domestic linen, domestics never being a strong point of yours. This, of course, is due to the unseemly rutting of vamping Venus and marauding Mars in morbid Scorpio as they clash with narcotic Neptune.
But then, great gods alive and dead, what's this! The Heavens are alive with sound and fury (signifying nothing as usual, but it's always an impressive spectacle). The New Moon comes in loony Sagittarius, clutching the perverse, reverse motion messenger to her heaving bosom in your solar seventh house. You're in love, my tiny brainless things! You fall head over heels as you're introduced to a new cast member of the show, an uncommonly agile acrobat and aerialist, with fetching limber muscles, unwrinkled skin (your favourite kind) and flashing eyes. 'This is Icarus the Great', you're told, though the voice comes distantly, dwarfed to a mere whisper by the ringing in your ears and the pulsing in regions located somewhat closer to the ground.
As vamping Venus enters silly Sagittarius there's entering of another kind taking place, from every imaginable angle. As Venus then clashes with the idiot god, Uranus, you're feeling feelings you've not felt in some time, even though you've recently had intercourse with a demon! By my little brown bottle, this must be the real thing, my empty-headed misfits!
Mischievous Mercury goes direct while miserable Saturn clashes with cranky Chiron and you and your lover decide to fly away on a wild adventure! Thus, you elect to quit the club and end your successful career as someone else (or at least as a vast and baffling array of other persons). You see your employer, no longer so diabolical as he once was and offer your resignation. It is accepted. Your triumph over hell has cooled relations between you more than somewhat. The great Sol Invicti then enters miserable Capricorn and you plumb new depths of passion in your private life but rise to new heights in your working life, making a grand farewell performance such as would do proud the divas of old. Happy Christmas, my darling things of flair but little substance! And then you're free to voyage onward with new love towards new life. Just remember, little airhead ninnies! Not everything that begins well ends in like manner.
Great heavens and dancing monkeys, what's this? I can barely stand the roar and clatter of the gods as they grind the cosmic gears. Marauding Mars enters silly Sagittarius and you buy a private jet to tour the world. A Full Moon comes in neurotic Cancer and you take the balance of the money you have saved (snigger) and fly away! The Lunar Nodes move to arrogant Aries and loony Libra and yours is a life of pleasure such as only those lifetime members of the 'mile high' club may know.
But what's this! Eek! Aargh! Yikes and double yikes! I can hardly bear to look upon it, so nasty is the fate that will befall you. During a particularly difficult performance of your sexual acrobatics, involving three drinks trays, a corkscrew and a parachute, the grinding gears of Heaven become the grinding gears of your jet plane. Marauding Mars clashes with Uranus, the idiot god and the engine stutters then sputters and grinds to a halt! You find yourselves falling through the stratosphere with no power to guide you! You look out the window (pulling a neck muscle given the position you're in) but see only vast and gloomy snow clad peaks looming (a proper thing for snow clad peaks to do, I have to say). Ye gods and little fishes, you're going to crash!
Is this the end for you and your new love, before you have even properly begun? I expect so, but we'll have to see next month, as I'm feel bored and unwell and wish to sleep. Do have a happy New Year, my tiny little twits! Ta! Ta! Auld lang syne and all that!