Horoscope my arse

I have fessed up on more than 1 occasion about my slight (but harmless) obsession with my horoscope.

Can you imagine how overgiddy with delight I was to read yesterday that I shouldn't be at all surprised if I got engaged? Well, is that not right up mush junkies street? Now we're talking, that would make your aunties wee cup of happiness overflow.

I was mocked mercilessly by my uber cynical colleagues and the office rang with peals of derisory laughter. I cared not a jot as I felt it was only a matter of time before either of the Divine Davids (Messrs Ginola and Tennant) were to hotfoot it to my classroom clutching a duck egg blue box (Tiffany, for any boys reading this and wondering where to buy a beautiful engagement ring)

You can imagine how excited I was the whole damn day, alert to the sign of any proposal winging my way as celestially foretold to me that very morning.

So I waited

and I waited

and I waited some more

I ate a lot of birthday cake while I was waiting.

Finally at 00 05 I accepted that it was some other lucky Leo that was getting engaged. I didn't want to but I did.

But I feel the Cosmos owes me a fiancee.

Russell feckin Grant.