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Bill Lawless column

Bill Lawless

Bill Lawless

Many old years ago I had an enviable reputation as a genuine gypsy clairvoyant.

After examining my two crystal balls –yes, I have a matching pair-- that old black magic returned and I am about to give you my forecasts for the New Year.

You will note that I have not appended birth signs to each prediction. This is because I don’t want to worry you in this season of goodwill because as far as I can see we are all up crap creek in a barbed wire canoe without a paddle. Sing the Eton Boating Song backwards, it might help.

YOUR eviction is unfortunate but you will be rehoused in a council Nissen hut. Your mother-in-law’s grave will be discovered in the rhubarb patch by the new tenants of your former home. You run amok in Sainburys with a giant cucumber and get tasered by an off-duty plod moonlighting as security.

INTENSE planetary activity is indicated this summer. A meteorite will demolish your house 24 hours after the insurance policy expires. But they wouldn’t have paid out anyway, claiming it was an act of God. You strangle the vicar and get 12 years in the slammer.

GRANDMA gets pregnant just after you take in very naughty Uncle Bert and his seven snotty orphans.

Accommodation problems are eased slightly when grandpa leaves home and joins the Foreign Legion.

SUSPICIONS are aroused because of your lifestyle. How comes an unemployed single mother of six drives an Aston Martin? The marijuana farm in the spare bedroom is discovered along with the distillery in the cellar.

INTERESTING holiday activity is strongly indicated. Great white sharks are rare off Benidorm but you will encounter one. Practise swimming very fast with one leg and learn to make a tourniquet out of seaweed. Another gallon of sangria will ease the pain.

UNUSUAL attack by an alien virus from Andromeda will turn you into a fungus. You will be confused for a large truffle, dug up by a pig and sold to that posh chef with the double-barrelled name in his humble cottage with a million-quid kitchen.

FOOD poisoning is indicated. Avoid Cornish nasties. A boy scout will give you an emergency tracheotomy with a rusty sardine tin lid and you have a faint chance of surviving.

Listen, I don’t want to continue; it’s all just too, too depressing. In spite of everything, please do have a splendid new year.

 

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