Blimey, you’re on the cusp of bagging that little fancy of yours, ain’t ya? Won’t be long before you’re strutting your stuff like a peacock in heat. Plus, there’s a bit of dosh up for grabs, ripe for the picking. The winds of change are blowing up your knickers, likely to propel you into putting a bit more elbow grease soon. It’s like watching a two-legged cat trying to bury a turd on a frozen pond. Here’s a bit of advice to tuck into your bonnet: “When the going gets tough, the tough get a cocktail.” (Just remember, it’s not an excuse to turn into a complete booze-hound.) There’s your lucky charm, or in your case, your potential alibi. And remember, your lucky number is 7 – it’s the number of times you reportedly can fall flat on your face before you start looking like you’ve done ten rounds with Tyson.

Come back tomorrow for another exciting horoscope!