Stars and Bollocks

I’m not one for witchcraft and magic. I mean, I’ll read Harry Potter if I’m drunk enough but I wont go around casting spells on my mortal enemies – I just haven’t got the energy.

I can understand why people believe in God, Jesus and Princess Diana but I’ve never really understood why anyone gives even a second of their time to Astrology. I know it’s a well worn path slagging this stuff off and I should be turning my attention to more obscure and difficult things to criticise like biros or toothpaste, but frankly I’m lazy and know very little about pens or mouth-hygiene.

One of the most irritating aspects of the whole Astrology thing is the way certain people lump you into categories based on your star-sign. ‘Oh you’re a Cancer, that explains it.’ Yes because I was born sometime between June 20th and July 21st, I happen to have just acted in that exact way. I complained about being short-changed in Woolworths or shouted at a cat. That’s because I’m Cancer. If I’d have been born in February I would have been happy to lose a tenner to a failing shopping-chain or would have tried to reason with a pussy.

Let’s say for a moment that there is some distant truth in the whole Astrology concept. Let’s say the position of distant stars in relation to our own earth does have some affect on whether I’m going to be lucky in love this weekend. Well in that case, why don’t the people who read their horoscopes look to see if they were written by an eminent scientist, a mathematician or at least someone with a big fucking telescope. Why do believers in Astrology trust their life-plans to a page near the back of the Daily Mail or Mystic Meg.

If planet earth was going to be hit by an Asteroid Armourgeddon style, would we get Russell Grant to design and build a space rocket to go and intercept it Or would we maybe turn to NASA? Actually strike that. I think I would put Russell Grant in a rocket and fire it at an asteroid.