On Tuesday, co-owner Mars moves his combat gear into Scorpio’s basement jazz club. The tease of Venus perfume in the air makes him quite perky. Pluto, the other club co-owner, slowly turns for a better look.
Wednesday’s Mercury — Mercredi’s Mercury — spends his day talking with Saturn about what makes the sombre planet quite so glum. Just look at all those rings and moons, just like a playground, why the sad face? By evening, when emotional Moon moves into Saturn’s Capricorn home, the serious planet feels so much better. (Look, this is my
astrology blog, okay? I don’t care how unlikely that is …
… in fact …) Then Venus blows the grumpy old child-eater a Friday morning kiss, and he positively glows. (Ha.)
Sunday is busy as Jupiter, Uranus, Mars, Pluto, the Sun and Neptune all try to meet the end-of-week deadline for planetary goings-on.
Realising early on this week that you look like a bit of a twat, you finally take off the floppy velvet hat with the feather. Vowing vengeance on all have sniggered at you over the past few weeks, you sew yourself into a midnight black cat suit and give yourself over to the dark side. I suggest dropping stink bombs on buses, and wrapping clingfilm over loo seats.
This week finds new depths to your stubborn bloody-mindedness. I’m just going to step aside and leave you to it. See you next week.
Hurray! This week you stop telling the same story over and over and over again. People stop being afraid to be in the same room as you, for fear of their heads falling off through the boredom. You have a new thought, and buff it to a shine with complimentary ideas. Catch it in a box on Sunday, before it flies away to play merry hell with air traffic control.
Wearing big pants for the last half of the week will not stop you flashing a builder’s bum crack. You can try tying your jumper around your waist or digging out that unfortunate maxi dress, but there will still be a set of circumstances that end with you bending over and flashing your moons to the world. I’m sorry, I can’t help it, it’s in the stars.
You know, Leo, you are many things I would love to be. Don’t waste the end of the week dreaming about what is not and will never be. Ignore those who call you facile; we know that what they call lame is really lamé. It’s all in the accent.
It’s far too nice a week for you to be sitting around inside. Go on, go out and get some fresh air. You can take a scarf if you must. And a flask.
Your get up and go might have got up and gone by midweek, but rejoice, because so will your prickly cranky-knickers. Get out and get on the silk frillies while you can, before Friday brings much-washed 100% cotton apple-gatherers.
This week finds you hunting through a Libra’s bin, for the prickly cranky-knickers they are throwing out. Whatever does it for you. And whatever does it for you really does it for you on Saturday night. You might want to set an Aries trap, they are wearing black cat suits this week, you know.
Writing this week’s Horoscopage I can’t help but be aware that many people are up to naughties. Sorry it’s not you, but you still have quite a bit of work to put in on your technique. That’s your homework. There will be a test.
Oh look, Pluto’s going direct in the early degrees of your sign this week. If it hasn’t already got you, it will … eventually. Never mind though, eh. You are a sensible sort and don’t really believe in all this astrology rubbish. And it’s only a planetoid, after all.
(I don’t remember the last time I fluttered my innocent eyelashes so much. I feel quite dizzy.)
This week, Aquarius, if you pull the wings off the butterfly of hope don’t moan if they serve you caterpillar stew. And weevil bread. With weewee wine.
Yeah? Tell that to the accountant.
(Tommy has not come home. Let’s see whether Mercury Direct can bring the odd-eyed fluffy idiot back to those who tolerate his antisocial habits and really rather love him. Thanks for singing along.)