The teenage Aries daughter has provoked the Taurus dad to bellow and retreat to the kitchen, the Gemini airhead son is tucked away into his book, so it must be time for the soggy Distracted to poke around in next week’s Correlation Street.
Monday is quiet, as Chiron brings the Sun superglue to fix the old German weather house the giant mass of incandescent gas has found on Virgo’s windowsill. It doesn’t go smoothly, the Sun glues himself to the little woman who pops out whenever he shines.
Spotting the Sun’s predicament, on Tuesday Jupiter and Uranus grab the little man who comes out when it rains and give him a good jiggle. All shaken up down the other end, the Sun turns quite green.
All the movement wibbles the weather house to the very end of the Virgo window sill. First thing Thursday morning, it tips up and over into Libra’s garden, taking the Sun with it. The Moon, ever around at this time, and full of shiny new essential Aries oomph, grabs the rainy end and gives the man with the brolly a ruddy good shake. It works, and the Sun bounces free. Woken by the racket, Pluto gives the pair of luminaries a long, hard stare. The Moon quickly moves on, but the Sun is caught, apologetic with his head down, until he says sorry on Sunday, his day, like the name says.
That’s the main story for this week, although Mars and Saturn nurse a little subplot on Saturday, where they finally discover what happens when unstoppable meets immovable, but forget to upload it to Youtube. Will we ever know?
Being Alexander the Great can be such a drag. King of Macedon and most of mainland Greece, you conquer big old lumps of Asia only to have your troops pout, fold their arms, and refuse to even try to conquer India. This week, Aries, you are Alexander. Should your troops let you down, go on without them. You’ll only be facing eighty thousand horsemen, two hundred thousand footmen, eight thousand chariots, and six thousand war elephants. If you want to be fancy, tie one hand behind your back.
However much you feel that your job compromises your artistic integrity, no one at work wants to see your sad-eyed puppy paintings. Someone violently waving your employment contract in front of your face midweek helps you get over yourself, and you start to do the work you are employed to do. It’s not that bad. Don’t Jeff it up by booking a last-minute break.
Flex those Twitter fingers. This week’s updates will include:
- OMG!!! She has hairs on the palms of her hands! HAIRY PALMS!
- And YELLOW EYES! OMFG!!! WTF kind of club IS this????
- RT @philatelynow WE HAZ R 10TH MEMBA! SUK THAT, DOWTERZ! ROCK ON, STAMPERZ!!!!!!!!
There’s a tussle between home comforts and career success this week, as your reheated leftovers empty the staff room. You’ll be able to salvage the situation, so long as no one sees your partner spit on their tissue and wipe your cheek when they drop you off in the morning.
This week sees an end to a recent attack on everything you value. Phew. And the start of an attack of everything you say. Bugger. Forgive them, pussycat, they know not what they do, and all that.
I recently bought a x5 magnification mirror. I call it my HD mirror. It mocks me. It would not make the perfect gift from you to your partner this week. Be nice. No, not what you call nice — what generally passes for nice between normal people. Be that.
The Sun comes out for you this week, Libra. Dammit, yes, we should all just get along and live in harmony with bluebirds and white doves and the whole damn aviary. Just watch out for dive-bombing Arieseses.
This week finds you scrawling angst-ridden, terrible poetry about how the daily grind. Oh joy. Couldn’t you just invent a whole new daily grind instead? It would be far more fun.
I hope you did your homework last week, Sag — I know a couple of you did — because this week you are uniquely placed to be able to help me with a question. There has been a bit of research, the dubious results of which would suggest that the thrill of getting a special offer on your shopping is equal in intensity to the thrill a body gets when it watches a naughty film. Seriously, a special offer on Marmite gave the fifty people involved an erotic tremble. I am worried and confused. My question is: who is doing what so badly wrong?
This week you are caught between the stroppy and the passive-aggressive. To survive with any sanity you must reach deep down inside your Capricorn goody bag for ways to be a patiently authoritative father-figure. Or you could just smite them.
At the end of a tizzily tiring week a well-caffeinated genie pops up from out of the coffee pot to grant you one — just one — wish. Start planning now.
The fairies aren’t going to do it for you. It is not that they don’t exist; it is just that they are bastards.