Sun Sign Horoscopage: 26th April–2nd May 2010.

Shutters are fastened along Correlation St on Monday. If there was livestock it would be herded into the barn. Children would be hushed and held close. Two hats: one steel grey with a worn Sheriff’s badge, the other an unsettled iridescence. A slow steel double heartbeat of spurs. From the Pisces house, Uranus; pulling the Virgo door click closed, Saturn. Were this a film they would squint at each other in the reddening sun, but the Sun’s hiding.

They go nowhere. By Wednesday, Mercury twitches, unable to take the pressure. Playing his joker, he bursts backwards out into the street, Fool bells filling the silence left by spurs. He farts uproariously, joyously, abundantly abandoned, and pegs it across the road to stuff a handful of misdirected mail through Pisces’ letterbox.

Jupiter picks up the post. Ivor Biggun, Drew Peacock, Mike Literos – why have they shot through his slot? Ben Dover and Neil A. Stride have already come to a sticky end, and Betty Swollocks is damply manhandled, but John Thomas seems firm enough to attempt re-entry. Should he give postie Mercury a mouthful or is there something up at his end? There’s a hard banging on his knocker. The Sun beams from the step, hoping for a warm hand on his entrance. Does he know Amanda? He asks Jupiter, Amanda Hugnkis… there is the sudden sound of gas giant fist upon fire ball cartilage. High five, Mercury and the Sun, you kept your end up without going down.

Thursday finds Venus and Pluto trying to put a tent up in her back garden. The ground’s covered in large stones, the tent instructions obscure, but they try and try again. Anything to please her.

Mercury shoots up Venus’ back passage on Friday. He is, he says, happy to see her and Pluto hard at it, but they should have got their rocks off. He told Venus he’d be would be more than happy to help Pluto get it up if he really believed his erection would please her. Personally, he added, he would have taken Venus up the Oxo Tower and given her a pearl necklace. Oh, and she should trim her bush, he could hardly see her tulips.

Did you know that Venus cackles just like Barbara Windsor?

On Sunday, drifting in front of Saturn’s sheriff hat, Neptune forgets himself, which surprises no one.



All set? Check your pockets before leaving the house this week, Aries: keys, wallet, ID, family jewels? Yeah, you might need to repair that hole.


Midweek finds you convinced that the Sinclair C5 is the vehicle of the future. Your friends will laugh at you — you’ll be at just the right height to watch their muffin-tops jiggle. I will laugh at you. I only wish Clarkson was a Taurus.


It’s a funny old week this week, Gemini, and I’m pleased to say you have the best of it.


Biting your tongue is fine, but you might find yourself doing it a bit hard this week, Cancer. To avoid unnecessary discomfort, carry a bitesize stick. Or a bullet. Or winegums.


Last week, I sat on a warm field in an afternoon stolen from August, telling a group of children how the dandelion got its name. We stroked the flower’s yellow gold mane — dressed in a splendid spark of the very sun itself — and wondered how, after all that, it could be named after the teeth on its leaves. Are some people too busy watching your sharp teeth to stroke your mane, Leo? This week, help them review that.


This week, appease Loki and catch the light by hanging a small chip of chaos in your window. Of course, your house might burn down; I don’t know that much about the mechanics of refraction.


It’s not an easy idea but it could be a very good one. It will change things. Don’t act on it yet, it needs fine tuning and that’s for another time. Write it down and keep it safe, so that later you can’t chicken out and pretend you never had it.


To be the very best a Scorpio can be, they say, you have to rise from the ashes as a phoenix, transformed and splendid. This is your week for doing that. However, should you feel a different sort of transformation coming on midweek, being the best you can be involves locking yourself up before lifting your muzzle to howl.


You fight the good fight, Sagittarius, but are you sure this fight isn’t a shitty one?


A ditz of a dream on ultramarine wings buzzes your nose on Monday. You swat at it, snatch it from the air, crumple its wings and spend the week walling it up out of temptation’s way. You can still hear it calling on Sunday. How could you do this differently?


Only in you can opposing forces be brought together this week. You were made for this, Aquarius. You are the key. Leeloo Dallas Multipass.


Will you please stop buzzing the fundies; it only makes them mad. Just kidding, carry on.



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