Aries - March 21-April 20
You will feel an overwhelming urge to wander the streets extolling the virtues of eating chocolate and banana flavour Chupa Chups lollipops; we all feel like this sometimes. Luck writes you a letter with a yellow tip.
Taurus - April 21-May 21
Mars, the storm-bringer is dominant in your chart this week. You’d think this may be a euphemism for difficult times in a relationship, but it’s not. It means you’ll suffer terrible wind for best part of the week, broken up only by irregular bouts of fizzy gravy. Single? You’re likely to stay that way during this period, and if you’re not you soon will be.
Gemini - May 22 - June 21
Those born under Gemini are noted for their quick thinking. You are an exception. Were you dropped on your head as a child or something? Luck is found in a bottle labelled with a black cross on an orange background. It’s for the good of you and us. Go on, do it.
Cancer - June 22 - July 22
You will discover a lump, and become worried yet simultaneously appreciate the irony.
Leo - July 23 - August 23
You have been uncomfortable in your workplace for some time now, and it’s time for a change. Try straddling your chair, instead of merely sitting on it. Perhaps try another chair, or sitting on the desk.
Virgo - August 24 - September 22
Your previous forecast does not appear to have been heeded. Could you please now read all previous forecasts. If you have recently read and heeded your forecasts, please accept our thanks and apologies for having troubled you. YOU DO NOT NEED TO CONTACT THE SPIRIT WORLD IN ANY CASE. If you would like to take heed via Direct Debit, please call us; you will be able to take heed in advance, and not worry about having to heed any longer.
Libra -September 23- October 23
Your sense of self-worth takes a battering this week. What a total waste of space you are. You stink. Nobody likes you. Sort it out. Twat.
Scorpio - October 24 - November 22
Remember the Legend of Tim Tyler, the Boy Who Lost His Laugh? Was it strictly true? He didn’t lose it, did he? He sold it to a Sinister Businessman who couldn’t laugh or something. Your life will be a bit like that, except without the poor dubbing. Luck is found, but you drop it.
Sagittarius - November 23 - December 21
You wil die if you have read any of the forecasts for other star signs, due to an as yet unknown rare medical condition.
Capricorn - December 22 - January 20
We all feel sometimes that we are isolated in others from some way, often without reason. Capricorn’s are prone to experimentation however, so perhaps you should attempt to feel isolated by moving to Antarctica for a week. Then you’ll know what it’s like, and you will be able to say “Ahh, but I know just what that feels like” to your peers without sounding like you’re just agreeing to hasten along their boring whinge.
Aquarius - January 21 - February 18
You will develop a fascination for the kitsch and camp, and will spend a lot of money buying up other people’s tat from second hand shops and boot sales. You will regret this next week, as your house becomes infested with cockroach that were hiding at the bottom of a damp cardboard box which house the electrically unsound lava lamp you bought. Single? Then your spouse will not be affected when your lava lamp shocks you.
Pisces - February 19 - March 20
Haddock breath.
People. Who invented those bastards? He must have been a right sadistic git.
I hate people, and the problem is that they are everywhere and it seems to be that the more that I try to get away from them, the more there are around. I’m travelling as I type this; I’m going to see my parents for a few days, because I am a good boy and make sure I go to see my mother and father every few months, time and finances permitting.
The problem with travelling is that other people want to travel at the same time, the damned inconsiderate bastards. It’ll start on the train platform; people seem to want to crowd around where I am standing. I don’t know why. I’ll usually be there for the train fairly early, as I am mildly obsessive and hate missing the train, especially as I’ll have to change trains two or three times on some journeys, so any delay means the whole journey can be delayed by three or four hours.
I’m usually at the station approximately six hours before my train. I’ll stand there watching earlier trains to my destination leave, until mine arrives.
But I digress. The crowds. These people tend to smell, they tend to be shouting down their mobile phones, they tend to have groups of unruly kids. So I move down the platform, right to the other end.
They follow.
Eventually, the train will have arrived, and I’ll get on and be quite content. I’ll chuck some music on the iPod, and relax for a bit. I will note that the train is surprisingly empty. And the train will pull in at a station, and more people will get on, and the train is still surprisingly empty, free seats abound. Two-seaters and four-seaters, all available.
So what has happened now is that against all available evidence, a pensioner who genuinely smells of (and I make no bones about this,) shit, he has decided that his journey will be most comfortable sat right next to me. Despite the fact that my six-foot frame is already awkwardly cramped into a space designed seemingly for a pygmy. So now I’m stuck here for the next two hours, and I’m hoping for two things.
First, I am hoping that this man, this feculent, disgusting being will get off at the next station. I think it’s Leicester or Nuneaton, both fairly large stations, so the odds are quite high.
Secondly, I am hoping that if he does not get off, he can read what I am typing.
“Hello, Mr Pensioner guy. I appreciate times are hard, but soap costs barely anything. You can get eight bars for a quid in Poundland. If you wash only twice a week, that is probably enough soap to last you until October. That’s certainly an improvement on the twice a month that seems to be your current rate.”
He can’t read it though. This font is tiny.
I am a coward.
I do however have a couple of days now where I probably won’t have to deal with people. I hope so.
When I get home though, I’ll have to go shopping.
Supermarkets attract people like anything. Christ knows why. They’re awful places, bedecked with gaudy neon lighting designed to make you feel sad and make you buy things you don’t need.
I have around 30 slightly different chilli sauces, most of which I will never use because of mood-changing neon lights.
I am a conspiracy theorist. And not a very good one.
People will stop in the middle of aisles to chat to Mavis from down the road, who they haven’t seen since bingo yesterday evening. I’m polite; if I need to get past, I will ask politely. And they will usually ignore me. So I’ll be a bit firmer, a bit louder. And still they’ll ignore me. So I’ll ask a third time; this time, I will be clear, I will be vocal.
They will stare at me, briefly. They will go back to their conversation.
They will find that a trolley pushed through them is surprisingly painful, but then, they had the option to not be ignorant. I can only assume they prefer a bruise or two.
Ditto their kids. They’re running around all over the place, and I’m tall, and they’re small. I generally don’t look at the ground below my knees much these days. It’s a bit dull down there, and in a supermarket I can’t see much in front of me anyway because of the trolley. It’s full of food, and it’s about a metre in front of me. Even if I wanted to look down, perspective means that all I would see is the top of a punnet of mushrooms and probably some chicken.
When a kid is inevitably caught face-first by my trolley, it’s apparently my fault. I am supposed to expect someone’s kids to be running around (often now on skates), and be able to react to a tiny, invisible horror.
It’s like some kind of science fiction, but more realistic, and more horrific.
So I will then have to pay for my shopping, but not my actions. I am a sane man, and I am always right.
I’ll have to put up with the woman (always a woman) who has done an entire month’s worth of shopping, and has stared at it as it all moves slowly down the conveyor. Then she might start packing it into bags, if I’m lucky. If I am unlucky (I am unlucky), instead she will be chatting about nothing to the person on the checkout. And then she will look shocked when she is asked to pay. And she’ll have to dig to the bottom of a cavernous handbag to dig out her purse.
At least most shops no longer accept cheques. I appreciate that. Whoever came up with that rule change deserves a knighthood. And I mean that.
If it’s not a woman in front of me at the till, it’s someone who is in there for their only human contact of the day. And they’re going to drag this social experience out by chatting to the checkout girl for as long as possible, perhaps even long after their transaction has concluded, and I’m trying to pack my shopping.
God, I hate people.
