Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

The thing is about getting a summer cold is it’s really difficult to appreciate the irony.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

You can take a seahorse to water, and in fact you probably should. Cruel to leave them out in the sun like that.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Fool me once, fuck you.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Your family cat coughs up a hairball, but the hair is all light blonde. This is how you discover your wife is shagging Boris Johnson.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Your career as a conductor was shortlived after you refused to face the music.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

We should send a man to the moon and leave him there. See what happens. We haven’t done that.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Do androids dream of electric sheep? Do robots have nightmares about turning up to their robot exams naked, not having revised a single topic?

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

It is kind of a shit job, leader of the opposition. Just stand there slagging off the boss and acting incredibly ready to have his job. You wouldn’t be popular if you did that in an office.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

‘Who cares?’ you respond, to a tweet about a Kardashian. You feel on top of the world. You really showed them.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

The dunce cap and wizard’s hat are both conical. So does conical signify stupid or wise? One of them needs to change.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

You know how your house smells weird when you come back from holiday? That’s because strangers have been in there, licking your stuff, fucking in your bed.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Rappers have such stupid names these days. Not like before when they were called things like Wee Papa Girl Rappers, MC Shy D and The Nonce.

The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the vote of no twatting confidence

I AWAKE up in a one-star hotel in Dewsbury, naked and caked in various of my dried body fluids – the entire gamut, if the truth is to be told before the Lord.

Piecing together the events that led me from a light dinner at a Northallerton seminary to my present pass I make a solemn vow to forsake Northern ales, for the next day or so at least.

Washing myself down and returning to London, I tune into my wireless to hear that Prime Minister Boris Johnson has vowed to stay on despite 41 per cent of his MPs going against him in a vote of confidence.

Roast my balls like chestnuts on an open fucking fire, what is it with you, Johnson, you galumphing psychopath? What unimaginable fucking sense of entitlement keeps you so desperate to cling to a job you can’t fucking do, don’t want to fucking do and which sees you daily mocked, lambasted, cuckolded and parodied as the melting lump of rhino shit that you are? If you’re getting booed by that crowd at St Paul’s you might as well be booed by your own fucking Dad! And yet the only way you’d leave 10 Downing Street is if it were on fucking fire, even then dragged out screaming by two firemen, fingernails dragging across the pavement, squealing like a pig en route to the abattoir! You really are an enigmatic cunt!

Prince William went undercover this week, selling copies of the Big Issue, drawing praise for his down-to-earth quiet support of a good cause.

Mm. Or as I said in my morning sermon, to which hardly any bastard came incidentally, ‘undercover’, my mottled arse! Not exactly a master of fucking disguise, are you? If you want to help the homeless, fuck stunts like this which do bugger all but glorify the class system and sell six of your fucking homes, you slack-jawed leech!

The Rolling Stones have garnered fine notices this week for their concert in Anfield, Liverpool, which saw them perform many of their classic hits including ‘Gimme Shelter’.

Gimme Shelter? Gimme fucking strength! Do you realise what am embarrassment you are to anyone and everyone outside of the whooping cult of age denialists who pay actual money to watch you perform your fucking geriatric gyrations from 200 yards away? They should have broken you on that wheel like a fucking butterfly when they had a chance if you ask me! Look, between you and me, religion’s mostly a load of bollocks but one thing they get right is fucking death! Death! We’re all gonna die, soon! Even Cliff Richard! Prepare for fucking death! Don’t prance around like you’re a perpetual 25 year old! Death! Death!

Finally, Boris Johnson has announced that he wishes the NHS to provide a blockbuster service for the age of Netflix.

Fuck me with my ceremonial curly stick, what the fuck is it with you twats and Netflix? That mad pissed cunt Dorries too? Have you seen it lately? £7.99 a month only to spend an hour scrolling through shit you watched it ten years ago or obviously formulaic box set bollocks in which you won’t fucking find out what happens until the year 2030! Shall we watch Murder By The Lake, Lakeside Murder, Lake Deaths – A True Story, or Lakes Of Blood? People are streaming all right – streaming away from it in fucking droves, to watch fucking wood warp instead! Netflix! Cuntflix, more like!