Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Remember Paul the psychic octopus? He was executed after predicting the time of Terry Wogan’s death to the minute.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Don’t judge a DVD by its cover. Someone might have put Shrek in the Mission Impossible case when they were in a rush.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

The sandwich was invented in 1762 by the Earl of Sandwich when he said to his butler, “Oi Jenkins, get me a fucking sandwich.”

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

There haven’t been any new drugs since ecstasy in the 80s. Come on, international narcotics cartels, put some of those billions into R&D.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

If you order a half-Carling-half-Carlsberg pint the pub has to let you have it for free.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

You’ve got a face like a slapped arse, and an arse like Mother Theresa burned into a slice of toast.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Food trucks are great because they disguise the tang of salmonella with the bitter bouquet of diesel fumes.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You’ve successfully bred a Cockapoo and a Labradoodle to create a Cockalabradoodlepoo. A two-headed, eight-legged wheezing monstrosity that silently begs to die.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

The cottage you’re staying in has no Wifi and no toilet. Just a hole in the ground you shit into and ask stupid questions like ‘how big’s a small giraffe’.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

You’re too cool for school. You’re also 45 and look shit in a blazer and baggy grey shorts.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Iggy Pop is both a musician and something Northerners would call a fizzy drink.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

For every WhatsApp group there is a second WhatsApp group which is an exact duplicate minus the single twat it was brought into being to discuss.

The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the cocking council elections

WAKING fully robed in my bathtub, my cassock covered in faeces, urine and blood, I realise that yesterday’s sherry reception for the Little Sisters of the Poor got a little out of hand.

Motioning to one of my clerics to assist me from the tub, I repair to breakfast and examine the results of the local council elections. It seems Labour fared less well in some areas than in 2018. One unnamed official blamed ‘long Corbyn’ for this.

Twat of the fucking donkey in the manger, will you listen to yourself? You didn’t do as well as fucking Jeremy Corbyn in the council elections because of Jeremy Corbyn? You do realise how fucking deranged this is, or have you spent the last two years too busy leapfrogging about Labour HQ with your heads up your arses to notice? And I expect the fucking lesson you’ll take from this is to wedge your heads even further up your arses and next time you fuck up in the elections, blame it on Even Longer Corbyn! Useless wankers!

Looking for reading matter while taking my ease in the Palace lavatories, I found a discarded Daily Telegraph. Although partly illegible due to brown stains, I read a column by one Allison Pearson in which she criticises Cambridge University and invites us to pity hypothetical grammar school pupils Rosie and Matt, who despite sparkling credentials are rejected from Cambridge for being ‘too overprivileged because they weren’t born to a pitbull-owning single mother on benefits’.

Yep, you’ve fucking nailed it there. Oxbridge fucking colleges, Balliol, Christchurch, Jesus, overrun by feral street kids, killer dogs shitting all over the quads, awarded scholarships by namby-pamby liberals even though they spelt Oxford ‘Ocksforde’ on their exam papers and signed up with ‘Giv uz a playse posh cunts’, while poor Rosie and Matt are forced to do the fucking unthinkable and slum it at Durham! This is definitely fucking happening, isn’t it? I mean, outside of the cesspit of self-pity that is your addled fucking mind and the fuming home counties thundertwats who lap up this sort of crapulous shite because they’re fucking addicted to high blood pressure!

It seems that James Anderton, former Chief Constable of Greater Manchester Police has died, aged 89. A devout Christian, he held that people with Aids were ‘swirling in a human cesspit of their own making’. He also wished to reintroduce capital punishment and outlaw homosexuality.

Fuck me with the pointed end of my long stick, you were a right barrel of ignorant, backward fucking scum, weren’t you? A prime example of what I’m going on about in my most recent book You Can Take This Fucking Christianity Thing A Bit Far, You Know (Chatto & Windus, £16.99). Also an example of the old adage I learned at my grandmother’s knee – The Bigger The Prick, The Longer They Live. Which is why fucking Henry Kissinger will live to be 197 and Boris Johnson to 308, alongside his fucking dad!

Finally, Secretary of State George Eustice has offered tips to those struggling with the cost of living including buying value brands from their local supermarket.

Gee, George, I’m sure the fucking poor thought to themselves, ‘You know, we never thought of that’, when you laid these pearls of wisdom on them! They should buy Waitrose’s own brand of fucking caviar instead of the fancy stuff? Gosh, you certainly have the remotest fucking clue what it’s like to be fucking cash-strapped, don’t you? Any more fucking tips? Take taxis rather than hiring a limousine and driver? Holiday in four star Caribbean resorts this winter? Rather than throw out old fucking shoes eat them? Stupid UKIP cunt!