Opinion

Anita Robinson: Series of unfortunate events were not written in the stars

A malfunctioning washing machine made an already stressful week worse
A malfunctioning washing machine made an already stressful week worse A malfunctioning washing machine made an already stressful week worse

“What is the stars?” pondered playwright Sean O’Casey’s Joxer Daly. The stars is what credulous people read in their newspapers.

Do you read your horoscope in papers and magazines? Of course, it’s all arrant nonsense, but it’s my guilty pleasure and on bad days can be curiously comforting.

The new year brought stellar prognostications for the coming twelve month from a variety of astrologers. I perused them all avidly, cherry-picking the positive bits, ignoring the negatives and taking twice as long as anybody else because you see, I was born on the cusp of two star signs. I’m mostly Virgo, but three days into Libra. I’ve never liked being a Virgo. They’re hypercritical, judgmental perfectionsists. Who? Moi? Libra, I feel, is more me – charming, stylish, intellectually well-balanced and empathetic.

My horoscope for today (the day of writing) says: “You should be creating something brilliant just now. If not, it’s because you’re still planning the details. Forget them. Don’t think. Act.” Well, that’s one way to get me setting pen to paper.

Living proof that it’s all a load of hokum was made manifest in last week’s series of unfortunate occurrences. Despite starry promises to the contrary from both Virgo and Libra, I have had five days of hell.

On the first Artctic morning of temperatures so low I had to de-ice the inside of the windscreen, the car engine coughed twice and died. I had to send for the man, who informed me the battery had expired and I needed a new one. Returning the car next day he asked for the log book so he could get the code to re-tune the radio. Forensic searches through ‘important documents’ files, every drawer in the house, unlikely places, even petitions to St Anthony, drew a blank. “You’ll never be able to sell the car without it,” said the man by way of cheering me up.

On the third day I ran out of central heating oil, having not only neglected to check the oil-gauge regularly, but not at all. The boiler man had to be called to make sure I hadn’t wrecked the system. In the interim, the smoke alarm went off in the freezing hall and ‘meeped’ at me for 18 hours because I couldn’t get it stopped. Then the toilet seat broke in the grey bathroom – and grey toilet seats are scarce as hen’s teeth.

I realise there’ll be competent, independent and resourceful women reading this and thinking: “What class of a handless craythur is she?” Well, I was shielded from all mundane practicality by the Loving Spouse who used to tell people: “She keeps a servant boy for that class of work – and it’s me.” He was handy as a pocket, bless him.

Ironically, my stars for the last week predicted: “There will be a great deal of coming and going and to-ing and fro-ing this week. Don’t feel bad if all this activity doesn’t seem to accomplish much. If you end up back where you started, that’ll be an achievement in itself.” How strangely prescient.

My term of trial is not yet over. Now the washing machine’s on the blink. The thermostat’s had a nervous breakdown and keeps flashing up the wrong time cycles. The knack is to wait for the correct one to momentarily appear, then jab the ‘start’ button smartly. Casualties so far – some rather grey underwear and a shrunken doll-size jumper. Happily, the man is coming in the morning.

Now it’s highly unlikely that the stars in their courses or the planets in conjunction exercise the slightest influence on the inhabitants of planet Earth. Astronomy has a sound scientific basis – astrology a considerably more nebulous and suspect one. Our luck is what we make it, based on cold common sense, intelligent planning and considered decision-making. Yet from time immemorial, mankind has chosen to romanticise these celestial bodies into tokens of fortune, good or ill.

My monthly magazine horoscope reminds me, “You’re closer than you think to uncovering a reason to feel real joy.” Indeed I am. I’ve just done a word count and this piece is exactly the right length……