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    Click for Last Month  The Eccentric Exigencies of January 2007  Click for Next Month
    Leo Odds bodkins, tiny creatures of might and mane! I realize that I'm late with the forecast but I've tried everything to change my ways and nothing seems to work. You see, I just don't care enough to get out of bed on time. Ah the ennui! The ennui!

    Nonetheless and not to be deterred, I will make a fist of what remains of the ghastly month of jittery January which is, I'm led to believe, the outrage we are currently enduring. For form's sake, I shall recap the events of an earlier time to ensure that neither of us will miss a single moment of the absolute screaming tedium. Nasty November saw you surge towards a terpsichorean triumph, as you were offered the starring role in DANCER ON THE CLIFFTOPS, a minor work that will doubtless sink without a trace if you're in it. Yet, in diabolical December you finished the year in deep depression, moaning about work, the misery of life and the weirdness of everyone around you.

    This last is, of course, due to the prevalence of planets in Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, that currently disport themselves with lewdness in your house of partnership. And, on that note, the month began as jolly Jupiter and cranky Chiron (in Aquarius) entwined in a ghastly transport of sickening concupiscence. Thus did you and a seedy close associate perform all manner of disgusting acts that no doubt were violations of the 'Offences Against The Person' act if only law-abiding folk had the courage to witness the doings (ugh) and the mettle to report them to the law (eek).

    As a Full Moon came in neurotic Cancer, you will have collapsed due to indulgence in comestibles, excessive use of nasty substances and general fatigue. A maternal female will have been emotional in your presence though you may not have been sufficiently conscious to notice. As vamping Venus sidled into Aquarius, the aforementioned sign of the aforementioned idiot god, Swedish persons with nervous afflictions will have come to minister to you in your straightened state. As mischievous Mercury and the great Sol Invicti then performed with acrobatic lewdness in the nasty sign of the Goat, health professionals will have bewailed and bemoaned your parlous state.

    That, I think brings us up to date with current events. Thus you may tremble in your vile and nasty booties, little Lion type things! These are the vile and bitter prognostications that must be drunk from the dread cup. But what's this! Ye gods and little fishes, it's a turnaround, that's for sure! Marauding Mars shoves his rude bit into the underworld of dark Pluto and you bounce from your bed of woe, bursting with good health. You are renewed, my tiny imbeciles!

    'Anyone for tennis?' you cry, clutching your racket. As mischievous Mercury then slithers into idiot Aquarius (another one in that sign), several persons of unsound mind that wish to have sex with you (ugh) or tell you about their collection of giant parrots that sing all the hits from Abba Gold immediately reply in the affirmative. In no time at all, you're bored with their conversation and so play tennis with a morbid yet exacting precision, just as marauding Mars badgers his way into the gloomy sign of the Goat. As vamping Venus canoodles obscenely with narcotic Neptune, you decide to hot up the action by suggesting a game of 'strip' tennis, with a rather intimate system of penalties to be imposed once all garments are lost. Gadzooks! Now there's a rub with liniment!

    The entry of the vain and selfish Sun god into idiot Aquarius (yet another one) follows a New Moon in lugubrious Capricorn and strip tennis takes off like a rocket. At first, it's a hit with your weak-minded friends and associates. After that, the craze for this new 'health' kick spreads like an airborne virus. Persons from here, there and everywhere line up for a game, naming you 'the beast of forty love'. Egad! Your solar eighth house is fevered with the fearful load of sexual shenanigans while mischievous Mercury's clash with lugubrious Saturn sees you well short of post match conversation.

    By my sainted aunt, O miniscule morons! What will you do? Have a deuce of a time by relying on your second serve? Develop an overhead smash that will render an opponent unconscious? Or take on a doubles partner to share the load? Click here next month for a further excruciating instalment of CAT GUT - IT'S A LION'S TALE. Ave atque vale, my tiny hairdressing types!

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