I See A Tall Dark Stranger...

Ahh Daniel, welcome my child. I foresaw you would approach me seeking truth and heaps of filthy lucre. The letters 'B' and 'J' and the number 69 are soggy with portent this coming week. Remember, whatever it purports to be, if everyone stops to watch it is inadvisable to drink it. Yours mystically, Madam Rokkitnite

Welcome child, welcome... You're a violent person, aren't you? That's why you've been to jail. There is much indecision in your life. Can I say to you please that on Tuesday a wig will feature strongly. The letters 'J' and 'S' are prominent in your life. Later in the week you enter a betting shop naked, clutching a roulette wheel in one hand and a shredded tapestry in the other. Friends marvel at your ability to snort tadpoles. On Saturday you will pass a street musician playing the oboe with his arse and conclude subversive art is dead. Avoid mimes. Yours, Madam R.

Greetings, impatient one... on the contrary, I see mushroom for improvement. Caesar the day! Yours mystically, Mme R.

Hello Rita... yes, yes... I see your future very clearly indeed. You can look forward to cosy evenings hunched alone before a computer, with only the flicker of the monitor for company. As your banalities alienate the very people whose attention you crave so badly, you will grow steadily older and more miserable, and the escape the internet provides will become less and less of a solace. One day, you will look back upon your life, and, in a moment of rare clarity, feel utter, utter misery. And your lucky colour is blue. Love and light, Mme R.

Dear Flash, I fear your quest for interesting experiences is in vain. Gherkins are nature's way of saying the universe has run out of ideas. We are all of us as redundant as a short wave tranceiver on a donkey. Don't balk at obscurity and your inevitable cruddy death on the stinking floor of a privvy - who wants to live forever and still be around when God's stacking chairs? Yours famously, Mme R.

Welcome, my little sackcloth bag of pinecones, to Madame Rokkitnite's Tent o' Mystery. The answers to the questions you transmitted to me through the ether, are as follows: 1) Yes 2) Wound round a sailor's inner thigh 3) She does, but it doesn;t work 4) Probably, if you loosen it with a little warm water 5) On the northbound verge of the M1, covered in verdigris Bon appetit, Mme R.