under another sun

Unable to focus much, I looked at my astrodienst horoscope, which told me that this day should be treated as a holiday. I follow the advice of computerised online astrologers very seriously. So I went for a 'me date' to the Cream Tea cafe on New Road, where I spooned lentil and butternut squash soup, drank a pot of tea and looked out at the steadily-falling rain, feeling surprisingly happy with the world as I sat among several more senior ladies, listening to the deafening sounds of Lorraine's favourites The Fleet Foxes, which the two young waitresses were playing. From there I went to the room of late nineteenth century/early twentieth century British Art in the Brighton gallery. Found myself enjoying one of Walter Sickert's brownish green jobbies for the first time in my life. It was of a dismal shop interior in Dieppe. I love looking at paintings, even mold green ones. And having the time to look hard at one or two was fantastic. Below  Walter Sickert's...

And the stars look down A decent run at my manuscript this morning, then a few calls. Including with Mum. In the afternoon I left home on an astrological matter, passing a massive dead television left in the twitten. I met Diane, Reuben's mum, in my usual cafe. She had asked me to look at her horoscope, which I did although I have officially retired as an astrologer. It is an odd PK fact that when I went through my Marxist warehouse hand phase, shortly after I left university, that I had a sideline as a professional astrologer. I had taught myself how to cast horoscopes in my teens (which now can be done in a split second on sites like astrodienst ) and consulted various reference books to write accounts of people's birthcharts. In my experience when you accurately cast someone's horoscope it can seem accurate, though I think it would be a big mistake to live your life by it. Still, it felt very Brightonish to be discussing things like the nature of rising signs and the i...