Your astrological week ahead for August 17th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Upsetting for those who like sewing patches on their clothes that the only option when leaving the Scouts is the Hell’s Angels.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

“Call me woke but I don’t think the French should be saying ‘en retard’ anymore.”

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Well done, you got A-Levels in Influencing, Crypto, Dropshipping and Thirst Traps.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

You’re rawdogging the Brat summer, which is to say you’ve not noticed it because you’re 54.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

That Peter Pan knows clapping will save Tinkerbell suggests that at some point in the past a fairy was dying and he began applauding.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

“Everyone out of the sea! Somebody’s weed in it.”

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Boring that every single conspiracy theory goes ‘all the way to the top’. How about some that go ‘roughly to the middle’?

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Much as it might seem so, a funeral is not the place to sing Men In Black.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Frankenstein is actually the name of the doctor. Your doctor. The one about to perform your surgery.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

As they hover behind you, holding your jacket ready for you to slip your arms into, you admit to yourself you should never have befriended those crows.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

While you were wasting your time fretting over your A-level results, your uncle was being born in 1950 and buying his house for 20p. Priorities?

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Boy bands ought to clarify whether they’re all singing about the same woman or different ones.

The Archbishop of Canterbury on... arseholes wearing Rolexes

WAKING with morning breath that has literally burnt a hole in my pillow, I rub my bleary eyes and look back on the initiative I set in place last week. 

Following remarks that far right groups in the UK were ‘un-Christian’, I have taken further steps by seeing to it, with alacrity, that every C of E church has a plaque screwed to its entrance door reading: NAZIS FUCK OFF.  A pithy and eye-catching slogan in keeping with the spirit of the times.

To further bolster this new zero tolerance policy, following the closing credits of Songs of Praise all presenters, including Gloria Hunniford, myself, and a choir of children of all races and creeds gathered on Salisbury’s Cathedral Close to chorus ‘Nazis fuck off’ in unison.

Smiling with satisfaction at our pithy and moving message, I breakfast and read that former BBC presenter Desmond Lyman has opined that women, on account of their gender, are in no position to comment on men’s football. He had previously criticised women pundits as ‘grating’.

Fuck me purple, it’s sad when someone you thought of as the nation’s favourite uncle turns out to be a stupid, bigoted, fossilised, Christmas dinner-ruining cunt of a twat. He’s fucking 81, people! Never ask anyone over 80 about fucking anything, have we not learned? For years we had Frank fucking Bough in the uncle role until he was undone for dressing in women’s lingerie and snorting coke – no fucking harm in that so long as it wasn’t during Grandstand – but at least he didn’t spout Jurassic bollocks!

In the wake of the far-right riots, Labour grandee Margaret Hodge has said that Labour are ‘too afraid’ to talk about immigration.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, you appalling prune, Labour in this wretched incarnation has done nothing but talk about immigration in a desperate attempt to woo the worst wankers in Britain! You think they should actually up the ante? They’ve put out so many dog whistles they couldn’t be less subtle about their anti-migrant stance if they doused themselves in aniseed! Should they bring back the Controls On Immigration mugs and make it into an entire fucking tea set? Attack racist parties by becoming more racist, the one fucking idea of your wretched political career! Not everyone jumps backwards like Basil Fawlty meeting a black doctor in the Germans episode, you godawful, repugnant crone!

Sir Jim Radcliffe, billionaire co-owner of Manchester United, says he feels unsafe in London and has decided to stop wearing his luxury watches there because of rising crime.

Not that you remotely are, except in your own Brexit-addled mind, but a parasitical, tax-avoiding, immiserating cunt like you fucking should feel unsafe! If someone nicks a watch that costs the same as feeding a family for a fucking decade, I’m not gonna break into a trot to chase after them! What sort of ostentatious smear of semen needs a luxury watch anyway? Does it tell exclusive, platinum time as opposed to the economy-grade time the rest of us get with our Casios? Stupid fucking prick!

Finally the Daily Mail’s Andrew Pierce has castigated Imane Khelif, who has issued a lawsuit against JK Rowling and Elon Musk among others, on ITV’s Good Morning Britain. ‘Just look at her,’ he said.

Fuck me upside down, backwards and Norwegian, ‘look at her’? Look at you, you shrivelled, poisonous, desiccated, twisted, ashen, bloodless, sneering, dead-eyed, churlish, rat-faced, sunken, weird-lipped, arseless, salt pillar of sheer fucking odium! Tell you what, Khelif, while you’re suing cunts throw this fucker on the fucking pile! What the fuck has happened to Good Morning Britain? Bigotry for breakfast every fucking day! Just junk the set in a skip, put on old episodes of Minder or whatever, and serve up anything but this toxic fucking toss!