Toodle pip, my bothersome trollops! My profligate woebegones! Now, the last thing I remember is that I was asleep and dreaming my favourite dream about the end of the world, the one where I wake and everyone is gone, vanished, disappeared! Without a sound, without a trace, without a clue! But then I did wake, only to find that you're all still here and I must address you on the topic of your wretched lives. Lives that, sadly, have carried on from the hideous highways and wretched byways of 2005 to the ghastly climes of 2006, the current year, as I'm reliably informed. And also into the uncertain climate of jittery January, which I believe to be the current month, though part of it has now expired.
Hmm! The obvious conclusion is that I have overslept, am late with the forecast and must catch up. On the whole, I prefer my dream about the end of the world. Yet the wise know that preference has nothing to do with it. I must prognosticate, tiny wittering things. And you, perforce, must listen!
Last time, you had frozen the world (or at least a part of it) by means of magic powers that you, in a moment of desperation (you have so many), found that you possessed. And, you were looking for your parents to give them a piece of your mind (generosity you can ill afford). But, suddenly, choirs of angels descended from above (the ideal place from which to descend, as opposed to below), singing while rainbow light surrounded you. It seemed the redemption you had so long sought was on you.
Now, as we've missed a few days, I will fill you in on developments before we start on the vile and bitters in earnest. Odious planets (vamping Venus in perverse reverse and mischievous Mercury) have been farting in lugubrious Capricorn and your solar eleventh house. Thus it was you discovered the angels and rainbow light were part of a film set you had wandered onto. And thus you also discovered the reason for the stillness of those about you! They were extras, waiting for a cue to move from the director. And so we finish the backlog and return to the present. The busy messenger inserts a supple digit into the nether regions of Uranus, idiot god and god of idiots, and you also discover that the film is called THE PRINCESS AND THE PEE.
It seems this masterwork is a colourful epic on the prevalence of bladder infections in the mediaeval aristocracy, due to sexual profligacy and poor bodily hygiene. In particular, it is a searing study of the trials of a young princess that must take to the monastery and become a nun, due to the painful nature of her sexual experiences as a consequence of an undiagnosed bladder infection. The entire cast and crew appear to be French or Italian or of some ghastly European extraction that inclines towards such lewd subject matter.
But, by my sainted aunt, all that is by the by! And the great news is that, far from having stopped the world by dint of magical powers, it has been conclusively proven yet again that you are, in fact, a useless twit that completely misunderstands the essential nature of everything you become involved with.
However, as a fractious Full Moon glowers in neurotic Cancer, none of that matters, as the director of the film has seen you and been transfixed by your beauty (hmm) and arresting presence (double hmm). Egad! Thus you don't even have time to agonize over what a twit you are for you have been cast in a leading role in PRINCESS AND THE PEE. Gadzooks! That's a slice of luck if ever there was one. Doubtless, jolly Jupiter and idiot Uranus are involved in this outre development.
As the great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury grind their passage (eek) into the sign of loony Aquarius, you are subsumed within the mechanism of the film set, being dressed, made up, rehearsed and thrown in at the deep end in a matter of days. Unspeakable planets too tedious to name fart in aspect too hideous to describe and your time is taken up with people shouting instructions, giving you food and drugs and telling you that you have a certain something the public wants. Eek!
As a New Moon falls in idiot Aquarius, you're a star in the making and dreaming dreams of a wild New Year with pain and confusion put behind you. Will you fly to Sweden on the back of an eagle while being fanned with palm leaves and sunflowers by servants smelling of peppermint? Will you holiday in Morocco, smoking catmint cigarettes and being sexually and musically serviced by a jazz band from New Orleans? Or will you simply wake up to find you haven't taken your medication and are thus having another episode that will eventually require a long and painful 'drying out' period? Only the oracle can say! Click here next month to find what the oracle says! In the meantime, hail and farewell, fatuous fishy types!