With Harold Jenkins moving into the House of Janice Smith, you'll find yourself assailed by meteors from the Perseid Shower. There might be some minor impacts on your northern pole, but it seems unlikely that your orbit will be significantly altered. More significant is next week, when Harold Jenkins will come into conflict with Mr Perkins at work - look out for a glancing encounter with Ceres, leading to a definite change of pace as you change orbit to several degrees off the ecliptic! Obviously things will be a bit quiet after that for a few thousand years, although induced precession in your orbital pattern after a near approach to Jupiter will presage a fiery death in Earth's upper crustal zone, incidentally bringing to an end the lives of all the descendents of Harold Jenkins.

You might want to cancel the milk.

I see the mists clearing and a shape emerges. No, make that two shapes. They are becoming clear. You will accosted by a gnu. Its name is Herbert. The other shape is a horse, called Sean. It is a nice gnu, not to be confused with the German battleship the Gneisenau, sister ship to the Scharnhorst, not to be confused with Sean Horse, which is your horse. There will be buttercups.

Today is another good day for wearing red dungarees.

With the alligators approaching the House of the Rising Sun and Thatcher still in the House of Lords, now is the time to decide if you really should have those vegetables nasally inserted. Beware of Gnus, they will want to explain monetary union to you. Your lucky dwarf is 'Sneezy'.

You're about to hit a sticky patch, but don't let it give you the pip. No matter how heated the situation, don't let it make you boil over or there'll be a real mess on the stove top. Things will soon settle down. Just remember to keep the lid on your emotions, otherwise you'll find a layer of mould when you next come to stick your finger in the jar. Congestion will ease.

Y-O-U-R--R-U-S-T--H-E-A-P--O-F--A--C-A-R-S--S-E-R-V-I-C-E-- A-N-D--M-O-T--A-R-E--D-U-E--T-O-D-A-Y--I-T-W-I-L-L-F-A-I-L--T-H-E--M-O-T--T-H-E--B-I-L-L --T-O-C-A-R-R-Y--O-U-T--T-H-E--R-E-P-A-I-R-S--W-I-L-L --B-E--F-O-R--F-I-V----- S-T-O-Q-P--P-U-L-K-L-I-N-G--T-G-H-E--P-P-O-I-N-S-T-E-R

This week your output will be distinctive, spread, as ever across eight national digital TV services and eleven radio networks. For more specific predictions, see here

An inauspicious date at the best of times, today it is compounded by Saturn ascending and the Black Cat Convention that is currently visiting town. Consequently, all the sorrows you have ever known are as nothing to the woes that await you if you leave the house. I recommend barricading yourself in the bedroom and quaking in terror under the covers until dawn tomorrow. It's not guaranteed to save you, but trust me: anything else will be much, much worse.

You will find yourself appointed Lord Chancellor. Or possibly not. You will not take on the job of Speaker in the House of Lords, or possibly you will for a bit. You will also be responsible for the Scotland Office and the Welsh Office, which will also be abolished, except they won't, and you won't be responsible for them. Well, you might manage their old staff. You won't be head of the judiciary either. Well, OK, you could be.