Skip to main content

The long range Piscean forecast.

The Piscean horoscope for 2018.

It is often said that a fool and his angle grinder soon part with the comfortable sofa of reason. Look sharp on Wednesdays as every lining has a silver cloud but beware of Bay leaves and Brachiopods this Autumn! It often said of the Piscean man or woman that the conundrum of the spirit is the ecstasy of the fool on heat. You should consider the oft said warning of the Piscean that the twice baked cake cantilevers the flapjack of fear. Treat yourself sometime this year to a tea dance as a web chat often cajoles a chaffinch! If you are planning a trip some dampness will delay your departures. It can only be said of you, the flapping fish, that a bedpan and a stranger await your fear of Ravioli.
Don't treat life like a bowl of berries in August as a snap decision starts with a finish. Imagine the impact of it on all you meet as you always greet a fool wisely, especially this October. Open your heart to a barcode sometime soon!
An idea you had in February ferments under the cloche of the leaf blower of life. You must learn to pull back and look forward because in June you will find a Priest's penis in your cornflakes.
Two wrongs never loosen the stool of the blurted secret; sadly you must avoid Thursdays for most of this coming year! Flatter your eggs and get ready for your own Easter parade with a bonnet made for two! 
A wobbly career decision makes a trick cyclist mummify an ocelot as you saw what happened and are now are doomed to repeat it! Prioritise your condiments for a better text message and retrace your steps by reversing your shoes!
The music of Emile Sandé blights your cassette collection. However you are cheered by some of Lou Reed's 'Metal Machine Music' that you bought on ebay.
You must try and enjoy the broken record that is life! Good Luck Pisces!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Protein Man of Oxford Street- Stanley Owen Green.

I wrote this Obituary piece for The Guardian about Stanley Green while I was an undergraduate at Goldsmiths' College.  I contacted The Guardian and asked them if I could submit it for publication. It was sent off to them and I waited in eager anticipation for their reply. It was published on Wednesday January 26th 1994,   the Editor  made no changes or additions except by adding some photographs (the photographs used here are later additions by me): "A Consuming Passion.... Stanley Owen Green who has died aged aged 78, was that tall thin man with steel-rimmed glasses who marched it seemed for an eternity up and down London's Oxford Street. It was his banner that made him famous, held high above his head and proclaiming "LESS LUST FROM PROTEIN" in large white letters. Underneath the banner he endured the taunts of sticky schoolchildren and the spittle of office workers alike, to bring his unique, indeed puzzling message to the people of London. He later wate

The Roswell Returns

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” As those words echoed around Mission Control in Houston a round of spontaneous applause broke out across the site and in the control room. There were yelps and hollers of triumph echoing around the whole of NASA that momentous day in July 1969. In the Command Module Michael Collins was monitoring the vital controls that kept it orbiting the Moon. He flipped the carbon dioxide uptake switch, looked at the battery charge meters, oxygen levels and closely watched the radar screen. He sat back in his flight chair and watched the instrumentation flick and whirr. He daren’t relax, he didn’t relax at all. He paid great attention to the radar screen as he was commanded to. He had to monitor it for spooks, intruders or ghosts. He knew he was looking for Foo Fighters. They did show up on radar, aircrews had confirmed that as fact. It was how fast they appeared and disappeared that threw most pilots. There had been warnings by the

Christmas Gothic - The Sojourn of The Soul

As the man came in from work, he looked on the hall table as he did every night, ostensibly for any letters that had been delivered that day. There were none that day. There was, however, a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. The label on it was addressed to him, ‘To Harry, With Love’ it read. It looked like his wife had bought him a book, which was unusual for her to even go into a book shop let alone buy him a book. He picked it up and felt its weight it was quite a weighty tome. He unwrapped the book and looked at the title: A Goode Wyfe: The Sojourn Of The Soul. He noted the archaic spelling of the title; she had chosen well. It looked very interesting and was certainly very old, the leather binding and the gold lettering on the spine and cover gave that away. It was well thumbed too and the pages fell open on their own.   He looked at the imprint, last imprint 1818, first imprint 1313. He did a quick sum in his head, those two dates added together made 3131, a mirror image of t