On Thursday, Venus and Jupiter have the strangest feeling they are not supposed to be getting along. What can the major and minor benefics do about that though? Have a cuddle and not quite get their arms comfy?
Friday’s Mercury, full of ideas, determines to show the pair how antipathy works. Spotting Chiron and Neptune by the Aquarius back fence, he tweaks the centaur’s nose with his left hand and twists the sensitive skin at the top of the sea god’s thigh with his right. Jupiter grabs Mercury by the ear, drags him back to the Virgo house and locks him in. The god of communication texts soft-touch Venus to ask for the spare key. She ignores him.
The Sun and Saturn put their authoritative heads together, and bring in Uranus to plan a radical solution to Mercury’s mischief. He has to learn how to treat planets nicely. On Sunday, he is packed off to Libra camp. Harsh.
Venus and Mars round off the weekend by … oh, not again. Tell me when it’s safe to look.
You think you think you do but you don’t. Not really. Not until Sunday.
(That space above is your horoscope for the week Taurus. It is a space because my husband is a Taurus and any accurate Taurus horoscope I write for next week will give him Ideas. I am too busy for Ideas so please be happy with this space.)
When the Moon travels through your sign midweek, Gemini, it has a lovely time with the Sun in Libra, and does something positively constructive with Saturn. Wring every drip of pleasure sauce out of this, because the kick-end of the week indicates a head-fuckage of mind games. When you’re in the scribbly, hurty middle of it all, take a Sun memo from Libran Thom Yorke. [Oh hell, am I really about to quote Radiohead?] You do it to yourself, you do, and that’s what really hurts. [See what you made me do, Gemini? The next pint’s on you]
It’s hot water time again, Cancer, but takes a big pot to cook a crab like you. Nothing comes to the boil until late week, so you have a fair bit of time to scuttle off sideways and find a safe place to hide. I can’t do anything about the elastic bands over your snippy claws though, sorry. Just be happy you’re edible.
That’s a lovely sofa, Leo. Please stick your hand down the back of the cushions for a good feel around this week. You’ll find lost treasure. Please use it to pay the bills, not to buy sweeties. Not even sweeties to share; it’s important that you settle what’s due.
I put in an order for Virgo easy times with delicious cakes that miss the hips anddoves of peace that don’t moult on the parquet. I’ve not heard anything back; there must be a Mercury shadow backlog on meeting reasonable demands for the overstressed and overstretched. This week please remember that the monsters of your dreams are only in your dreams. There are none under your bed, not even that most hideous monster of all: the dust bunny.
Something there is that loves a wall, Libra. This week that something is you. Your new solution to the problem that is other people not doing things the way you feel they should be done, is to build a solid partition across your living room between you and them. There, that’s better. You could add some glitter to the mortar for a bit of Venus pizzaz, or slap on some render and consult Dulux colour charts.
Only you could wind people up like that and enjoy such a priapic result.
I hope by now you’ve practised so hard you can do it in your sleep. What Venus and Mars get up to in your twelfth house this week indicates you can. Don’t blush, they’re only sheets. In other news: this week’s quandary is holy crusade or hobnobs and Holby City?
It’s all a bit of a muddle this week, Capricorn, but don’t worry. By the weekend you are Charlie Potatoes. Big time.
Each week I sit here and think I have nothing to write. My tummy does this tumbling blue knotted string thing and I go off and do the washing-up or peel some veggies. I always come back, and always have something to write. This week, Aquarius, is a bit like that for you. I hope you like clean dishes, carrots, and some sort of unrelated scribble at the end of it all. After which you will have the delicious, light feeling of having done all of your homework.
I listened to two four-year-old girls recently, Pisces, as they discussed the depth of the sandpit and Grandma France. The sandpit was as deep as Australia, said one, then there was the world, then the sky, then space, then heaven. Grandma France, said the other, is in heaven. Is she not in France any more then, asked the first. No, the second replied, she was in France, but she swapped houses.
This week what some call change and loss, you call swapping houses.