Psychic Psmith: I knew I was right

No one writes a 'scope like Mr Psmith. He reviews ten of his perfect predictions since our launch, and foresees next month is round the corner

1: A chance meeting in an Oxfam bookshop with the sister of an old school friend sets off a chain of events which culminates with you locked in a cage, wearing a loin cloth and bottle-feeding a goat, all for a public art installation on the themes of greed and social entrapment against the backdrop of a Godless universe. And you only went in because you had ten minutes to kill before your bus!

Too bad I couldn’t predict that Turner prize nomination too, eh? Might’ve prepared you for all that attention from the world’s art press who, let’s face it, are a weird old bunch.

2:  Your patience is set to be stretched to the limit today by the following things: a traffic jam, a queue in a Post Office, an opinion piece in a so-called ‘quality’ newspaper, someone else’s children, your own children, children you thought were someone else’s but turn out to be your own, a malfunctioning drawer in a kitchen, a malfunctioning cupboard in a bathroom, an almost empty toothpaste dispenser, a broken pay and display machine and the distance from it to the nearest working version, and Jeremy Irons. Although not necessarily in that order.

So close to complete accuracy here, although I concede that on that particular day, Jeremy Irons riled you up before you even got in your car.

3:  Eric Clapton will be on the phone again tonight, begging you to join him on tour in the spring. He never gives up, does he? But you’ll just have to explain it all to him again: your rocking days are behind you now, you’ve moved on to other things, you are perfectly happy where you are (even though the money sounds good), and, over and above everything else, you haven’t touched the sousaphone for more than 20 years. He’ll get the message eventually. He’s a Scorpio, after all!

He finally did get the message didn’t he, though I’m sorry I didn’t predict the bit where he came over and sang Wonderful Tonight to you through the kitchen window in a last-ditch effort to change your mind. It must have really interrupted the end of Corrie.

4:  Breakfast should be a slice of wholemeal toast with a low-fat spread, accompanied by a plain yoghurt and a banana. For lunch, opt for a tuna or chicken salad, without mayonnaise. At supper time, grill a piece of salmon and have it with a handful of new potatoes or a small portion of rice. Snack lightly throughout the day, if you must, on small amounts of nuts and dried fruit. And try to eat nothing at all after 8pm. (Psychic Psmith for a slimmer you – with an astrological guarantee!)

Was I right or was I right? You fitted right into those suit trousers for Lesley’s wedding, didn’t you?

5:  The night sky will fill with explosions and showers of coloured light, and all manner of poppings and bangings will be heard, while, below, thousands of bonfires blaze and people stand around eating baked potatoes. Sounds utterly surreal and entirely unlikely, I know. But Mercury in Aquarius is absolutely insistent about it, and we know better than to mistrust Mercury.

It all happened and, what’s more, Mercury’s been dropping hints that exactly the same will happen around about 5 November next year, too. You heard it here first!

6:  There is disappointment in store when ITV turn down your idea for a new light entertainment format. I know: and you thought you had come up with exactly the right ingredients for a big Saturday night success. But you’ve got to remember that the advertising recession has made commercial broadcasters more than averagely cagey and less likely to take risks, budget-wise. Also, your big climax does depend on finding a different squirrel each week that is well-trained enough to put on its own trousers, and that’s by no means a given. Back to the drawing board?

Looking back, you’ll admit the squirrel idea was a bit much. But do have a second crack at the TV show thing this year. You never know what may take off. I mean, who would’ve thought the sight of a sequinned Ann Widdecombe being dragged across a wooden floor would get people tuning in in their millions?

7:  The best present of all would be a letter from the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, finally offering you the seat in the woodwind section that you have coveted for so long. Unfortunately, Pluto is quiescent in Sagittarius, so there’s absolutely no chance whatsoever of that happening this year, I’m afraid. Now, if it were a place in the string section you had been after, we could have been talking. As it is, not a hope. Shame.

Harsh but fair this one, though I’m hearing that Sagittarius wants to loosen up a bit this year so don’t ditch those oboe lessons just yet.

8: If you’re thinking of holding the last barbecue party of the summer, Jupiter has a message for you: don’t bother. His retrograde action means it’s time for you to clear out the garage, and before you start to object, he let you off last time you wriggled out of it. If you even try to light those coals, Mercury will stick his oar in too, and you know what that means… thunderstorms. Life’s like that, sometimes.

Should have listened to this one, shouldn’t you? If you recall, just getting the tongs out of the garage was enough for Mercury to send a thunderstorm of near biblical proportions. And you’d left the washing out.

9: An unexpected mobile phone call around 11am will set off an inexorable chain of events which will see you quitting your job and your family, leaving everything you own behind you and going to live with an artist in a bare wooden shack in the wilderness of northern Canada before the end of next month. Don’t like Canada, bare wooden shacks or artists? Well, don’t answer the phone at 11, then. Simples.

Good job you checked ol’ Psychic that morning, huh? You’d just got that promotion at work, everyone was looking forward to the villa in Cyprus you’d booked and you really, really don’t like Canada.

10: A magic squirrel will hop on to your windowsill and beg you to climb up on to his back and set off with him on a wonderful journey to a land of rainbows. But you’ve got Sue and Steve coming round later for supper, so it’s out of the question, really. Unless it’s a fairly short journey – a couple of hours, say, enabling you to be back by about 6pm, in time to get everything ready. Have a word with the squirrel and see what can be done.

Shame you couldn’t go with the squirrel in the end but, if you recall, that moussaka took longer than expected and you really have to put the effort in to impress Sue and Steve. Oh, and one final prediction: I’ll be back next year.

For all Psychic’s predictions, visit his channel