The first Sun Sign Horoscopage was for the week beginning the 7th September, 2009. Happy birthday Distracted Astrologer! Writing you makes me very happy. And sometimes burn bits of the Sunday dinner and swear.
Monday’s Moon swipes the bottle of Eau du Fabulous from the spot-lit Leo dressing table and spends the day on Correlation Street, pretending she works on Debenhams scent counter. No thank you, nobody wants a tester, Pluto gets it in his eyes. The Sun, however, is quite taken, returning for a squirt down his décolletage.
Tuesday finds allergic Uranus still trying to scrub off the last of the sneezy scent. Venus leaps in with the soap, offering to help and soaping up bits the eclectic outer planet is quite certain were never — and have never — been sprayed with anything.
It all gets very messy and silly. Wednesday’s new Moon in Virgo turns up not before time, leaving Venus to glower away down to the Scorpio cellar, where she overindulges in black Russians and bad jazz until Jupiter tucks her safely in bed with a bucket and a pint glass of water. The gas giant then moves back to the Pisces riverside dream house, to be just that little bit closer to Venus and keep an eye on things. Isn’t he nice.
Friday’s Mars is dead excited. A long conversation with Neptune leaves him convinced that the only thing which stops him from being able to run through the wall of the Libra house is the belief that he can’t.
Chiron spends Saturday bandaging Mars’s many broken and bruised bits.
Thinker Mercury and Saturn the wall-builder snigger. Meanwhile, co-owner Pluto arrives at his Scorpio basement bar, sees Venus, and stops dead.
This week, you finally admit that your secret desire to do unspeakables with unmentionables is not just going to go away. What else are weekends for?
When was the last time you trimmed those nasal hairs? No one can concentrate when you have that shiny bogey dangling from your nasal nest. You are going to be compellingly magnificent at work by the end of the week, so prepare: one fresh AA battery in your hygienic clipper now saves you wasting that splendid end on repeating yourself.
see more Epic Fails
Tim Vine won this year’s Edinburgh Festival Best Joke Award. More than any other sign, Cancer, the last few weeks have made you appreciate his wisdom:
I’ve just been on a once in a lifetime holiday. I’ll tell you what – never again.
From midweek your home life becomes less charming, while work provides no escape. Sorry. Try daubing graffiti on the office loo wall with your non-dominant hand.
The UK press are reporting that next week some six million people will be contacted by Her Majesty’s Revenues and Customs. Due to a tax code cock up, some will be owed a tax rebate, others will be several thousands in arrears. What the press is not reporting is that every single one of these people is a Leo.
Where are we up to? Have you meticulously blown out the candles and scrubbed up every splodge and crumb, or have you yet to reach for the spirit level and ice that birthday cake? Whichever, it’s your month, enjoy it. Wednesday gives you a free pass to a full-on Virgo blow out. Use the time well, the world could do with a deep clean.
Midweek, someone close gives up on trying to keep you sweet, and tells you just what a passive aggressive twat you can be. This could end in an elaborate plan for revenge, or in some really interesting sex. What do you reckon?
You know when you feel really pointless? That what you have to say is going to be one teeny weeny tinny tiny voice against the roar? I feel that way now, knowing what I have to say to you. Oh well, here goes: from midweek, Scorpio, try, if you can, to give up a little of your need for absolute control. You might not know what to do with Venus, but Venus knows what to do with you. Lie back and let her happen.
Knowing it will hurt doesn’t stop you from poking that old bruise, or picking off the scab to see if it’s healing underneath. Even if you’re still limping, get out on Sunday. Sunday has wise people, sage advice, and sage and onion stuffing.
When things work this week, Capricorn, it’s because you make them work. Put in the effort and boulders will roll from cave mouths. Buggered if I know whether there’s anything in the caves worth having, but look! It’s a cave! You did that.
This week works best, Aquarius, when you don’t pretend to be something you’re not. Flex the muscles in your back and that humanoid skin will slough right off. Liberating isn’t it, shows off your curves. And those strange scaly bits.
You are the master and mistress of Adapt and Survive. It’s served you well this summer. Now it’s time to sit back with a generous glass of your favourite way to Neptune and take stock. Or stock take, rather. Adapting is all very well, but how many of your original parts do you have left? Are those your eyes, or are you seeing someone else’s world? Are those your feet, or are you walking someone else’s journey? Is that your mouth, or are you voicing another’s opinions? I hope you still have your own bum: you know what they say about your own farts being easiest to tolerate. (Is that your laptop or is that the police at the door?)
Finally, could you do me a favour? Tommy, the owner of the white paw at the top of the page, has disappeared. Could you watch this vid and sing along with the chorus. If enough of us do, maybe, just maybe, who knows, the fluffy idiot might just come back.