Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Money is the root of all evil. So your massive energy bill is actually doing you a favour by stopping you turning evil like Hitler or Meghan Markle.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

You’ll never amount to anything, your teachers told you. But you showed them by becoming a teacher. Shame you hate every second of it and wasted your life.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Every household with kids has a bag of potato smileys in the freezer. With luck, your broccoli LMAOs will be even bigger.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

This week your natural creativity will shine. Who the fuck are we kidding? You’ve got a boring office job and the last creative thing you did was copying a picture of Judge Dredd aged eight. And that was shit.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Other famous Leos include Erwin Schrodinger. Your cat may be in an indeterminate state of life and death, but the RSPCA will want to know why you kept it in a box.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Beware of men with hairy backs. There’s just something weird about them.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

It’s time to take a leap into the unknown. Lift up a manhole cover and jump in. It must be a good idea because horoscopes always recommend it.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Good news! This week you will come into a large sum of money. It’s unfortunate you will have to murder your mum and dad with an axe, but 55 was a good innings.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

They say you should keep your friends close but your enemies closer, and that’s why you’re weirdly sharing a single bed with that bastard Gavin who bullied you in Year 10.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

This week you will be a yob parent. If your kid trips over in the street and grazes their knee, get a sledgehammer and teach that pavement a bit of respect.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

The winning Lottery numbers are 5, 40, 17, 28 and 11, and the Life Ball is 3, which is unusually specific for a horoscope. Sadly you will be run over next Tuesday at 6.22pm by a Kia Sportage driven by Gary Francis Pierce, 31, who is busy thinking about whether wasps have knobs.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

You can’t get better than a Kwik-Fit fitter, they say. Apart from a blowjob with coke up your arse, and in fairness that won’t tell you if you need a new battery.

The Archbishop of Canterbury on... that twat Starmer and those twats Man U

WAKING up following a late evening with the editor of the Church Times culminating in my diverting ecclesiastical funds to buy out the pub when the landlord refused to serve us beyond closing time, I find myself with an unaccountable raging thirst.

After arranging for one of my junior clerics to squirt cold water directly into my mouth from a hosepipe, upon my signal, for an hour, I feel more or less hydrated and pick up my newspaper and peruse the headlines.

Therein, I read that Liz Truss has remarked: ‘I think one of the most depressing sights when you’re driving through England is seeing fields that should be full of crops or livestock, full of solar panels.’

Jesus H Cunt, is this the kind of addled garbage you need to vomit up from the pit of your demented Tory soul to get Home Counties morons to vote for you? Less renewable energy, more farting cows ripping an ever bigger arsehole in the fucking ozone layer? There won’t be any British farms left after your trade deals anyway, so you’ll be driving around England looking at fuck all.

Meanwhile, Labour have proposed a £113 million package that would save customers facing bills running into thousands a whopping £46 a year.

Gee, £46 a year? Now they’ll be able to boil the kettle once a fucking week and have the luxury of choosing whether to drink it or use it for a very shallow fucking bath! You wretched, spineless, worse-than-useless bunch of estate agents masquerading as fucking politicians! The ever-growing ranks of the poor might want to keep warm this winter by burning down Labour HQ and offering to spit on it to put it out. It’s as much help as they’re fucking getting.

I once had a discussion with Donald Trump during a reception at Buckingham Palace in which I informed him that Our Lord Jesus Christ rode into Jerusalem on a velociraptor and not, as is often thought, a donkey. He was kind enough to repeat this piece of information at a rally in Iowa. This week, it has been announced that he is under investigation for taking classified documents concerning America’s nuclear arsenal back to his Mar-A-Lago residence.

Holy Joseph’s left gonad, you fucking did what? Did you arrange for a cruise missile to be parked in your garage as well, to be trundled out and let off next fucking Thanksgiving? They don’t just need to put you in fucking jail. They need to throw you down a 30-foot fucking hole, with prison guards detailed to piss on you round the clock. Although if those Russian hotel rumours are true, you’re quite into that sort of thing.

Finally, I read that Manchester United have made a very poor start to the season, losing 2-1 to Brighton at home in a manner that does not bode well for their prospects.

Hahahahahahahahahaha and fucking ha for good measure! It couldn’t happen to a nicer pack of self-important, entitled bellends. Please, stay shit. Centre backs, collide with each other like fucking Laurel and Hardy going for the same ball. Ronaldo, sky a penalty you should never have been awarded in the fucking first place! I want you humiliated, I want the goalkeeper’s shorts to fall down after he’s let in a fourth against Fulham. After years of your shit, you fucking owe it to us, you cunts!