How you lot have managed for the last six months without my astrological advice is beyond me, but if any of you have survived you’ll be glad to know – they’re back! A little delayed (I wanted to give the COTG a bit of time at the top), I present February’s stars…

Aries:
Integrating life and work has never been easy, but this month it becomes more difficult as your boss requires that you work a 170-hour week. Your protestations that there are fewer than 170 hours in a week fall on deaf ears, and you are forced to develop a time machine in order to capitulate to his demands. An amusing mix-up in the wiring will send you back in time to the year 1746, where you will accidentally become your own great-great-great-great-great grandparent. The resulting time-loop will enable you to complete the required assignments for your boss, and you’ll have enough time left over to learn the piano, like Bill Murray does in Groundhog Day.

Taurus:
On the 14th, your pyjamas will evolve sentience. Although you will be able to conduct rudimentary communications using hand-signals, in the end the difference in intellect will become too great to overlook. Humbled by the fact that your night-attire now has an IQ more than twice your own, you will spiral into depression, whilst your errant PJs go on to win the Nobel Prize for Chemistry. Chin up, though! Towards the end of the month your toaster will become self-aware also, and it’s as dumb as shit. Your lucky exotic fruit is the papaya.

Gemini:
Unfortunately, Tasers feature heavily in your horoscope this month. It’s probably best if you cancel your plans to attend the “Save Our Fleas” protest march. If you really must go along, try not to look quite so, you know… Islamic.

Cancer:

Remember that starfish you threw back in the ocean when you were five? Turns out it was actually the Dragon God of the Eastern Ocean, trapped in the form of an echinoderm. Who would have thought? Anyway, he’s going to turn up this month and offer to grant you a wish. I’d go for next week’s lottery numbers, but no, you’re not going to take my advice on this. Instead, your foolish wish for superpowers will anger the Dragon God, and in a display of divine irony, he will grant you the power to transform, at will, into a starfish. Next time, heed the advice of the stars – or at least the advice of your astrologer. We could have split the money. Nice going, starfish-boy.

Leo:
Venus is rising in Aries this week, meaning that you’ll probably attract a stalker. You should carry Mace, and maybe invest in some heavier curtains, the ones you’ve got in your bedroom are a bit transparent. Well, they are if you’ve got the light on, and someone’s watching, at night, from a rooftop across the street. With binoculars. Nice counterpane, by the way. Your lucky hairdo is the beehive.

Virgo:
Being a Virgo, you’re a sucker for charity cases, so when two angelic children appear on your doorstep with a collection tin, you’ll happily donate half your month’s wages. Imagine how surprised you’ll be to later discover that you’ve accidentally contributed heavily to the charity “Guns 4 Toddlers”, an organisation devoted to providing firearms to the under-fives. With the money you provide, the charity will be able to afford two black market AK47s and a reconditioned Prohibition-era tommygun, as you’ll discover from the polite thank-you letter (scrawled in crayon) that subsequently arrives. You’ll be glad of your donation, though – Mr Wilcox from two doors down doesn’t give them anything, and later in the week will have his patio demolished by a tartrazine-addled two-year old in a Sherman tank.


Libra:
This month, I had planned to try and divine your fate using haruspicy, but when I found out what it actually was, the idea seemed rather less brilliant. I thought it was a kind of condiment. Imagine my surprise when I had to plunge my hands into the heaving entrails of an unfortunate goat! Well, let’s just say my own entrails did their fair share of heaving, and it was impossible to divine anything from the resulting mess. The other people on the course were not impressed, but they should advertise these things properly! “Come and learn the exciting ancient Art of Haruspicy!” screams the brochure, but they never mention the offal, or the screaming – well, at £250 per head for a weekend of guts and wibbly bits, I reckon I can live without it, thanks very much. And they made me pay for the goat! Your lucky household item is a hairdryer.

Scorpio:

In an attempt to impress a loved one, you will decide this month to change your name by Deed Poll to Wotan The Allfather, Lord of Asgard. I’m not saying this is a bad idea per se, I’m just not sure you’ve entirely thought through the implications. It appears that, since the real Wotan is taking an extended leave of absence, you are, in loco parentis, the official guardian of divine Norse layabout and general antisocial delinquent Thor the Thunderer. Responsibility for his antics is going to cost you a small fortune in property damage and paternity suits, so you’d best make sure your legal insurance is up to date. Oh, and your loved one? Not impressed in any way.

Sagittarius:
The machinations of Mercury will spin your love life sideways this week, as the Water Planet (hang on, isn’t Venus the Water Planet?) migrates elliptically into the alignment of the Refused Adenoid. In conjunction with the rising of Saturn, this will inspire both lust and nausea in equal measure amongst those of the opposite gender. When these two aspects collide, you’ll enjoy some of the best sex of your life, but you’ll wake the following morning covered in sick. I’m not sure if this constitutes an improvement on the normal state of affairs. Don’t worry – Jupiter undulating in Sagittarius denotes a high likelihood of your bedspread being cleaned by elves.

Capricorn:

Whilst it was very cool in its heyday, the Funky Chicken is no longer the dance of choice for today’s modern raver. This fact will be made uncomfortably apparent to you when you accidentally gatecrash your teenage neighbour’s party, where you will be made to feel old and ridiculous by the assembled young trendies. The last laugh is yours, however, since their underage antics will draw the attention of the local constabulary, who break up the party with water-cannons. Retiring to your own abode (albeit a little soggily), you will recline in a favourite armchair with a glass of fine port, and contemplate the excellence of your cheeseboard. As with both port and cheese, age brings with it a richer and more mature nature. You still look like a twat on the dancefloor, though

Aquarius:

My study of the stars tells me that there are still no Aquarians reading this blog. You may think you were born under the sign of the Water-Carrier, but I assure you, if you’re reading this, your parents have been lying to you.

Pisces:

Finding the occasional odd sock in your washing machine is fairly common, but finding a shark in there is not. You may need to recruit the assistance of a marine biologist to help you get it out.