Welcome back, young and old, fresh and stale *ahem* not-so-fresh, foolish optimistic first years, hard-worn disillusioned fourth years- welcome back to you all! It is, of course, that hallowed time of year yet again. It seems like yesterday that I was watching you all have such dramatic academic aspirations and applying for your third essay extension for the extenuating circumstances that landed you: in bed, hungover, 12pm, deadline nigh. All of these mortal milestones, how quaint! How encouraging that you all have not just given into the senseless void that is ‘life’ as a ‘university’ ‘student’.

As the new academic year looms, I thought it might be prudent to give you some much needed insights as to where you fall on the nerd to XR defect scale of university student. Yes, indeed, this month, your friendly neighborhood psychic is sorting you saucy minxes into your groups, your tribes, the highly accurate and not at all computer generated types which, eventually, come to consume us all. Forget cultivating your hot, new, fresh, sexually liberated image. That is what the internet is for. Instead, to all you budding little freshers, this is the time to get wasted and forget that you were once a respectable human with a fairly well calibrated moral compass. And to all you returning fools, listen up: put down the Proust. Now is not the time to pretend that you have spent the past three years ‘doing the readings’. Instead, consider spending these impending months of socially accepted hovel student living, in style. Socrates is always trying to tell me that ‘leggings are pants’, however Socrates is not, as I am, a university educated psychic, so perhaps he should quit doling out life advice and stick to trying to make it in the western world as a founder of Western philosophy, or whatever.

AQUARIUS | Jan 20- Feb 18

‘The Guidance Councillor‘

Completing a residency at the Chaplaincy whilst taking on the spiritual woes of all of your closest first year flat mates AND getting on track to achieving a ‘Super star’ well done in your final exams, is not an agenda for the Scorpios among us. You, my friend, are the Guidance Councillor. Did you apply for this highly esteemed and extremely obnoxious job title? No, sir, you did not. But the Guidance Councillor does not choose his/her/their destiny. I do. So, voilà. Well done, Aquarius! You got the role! No need for speeches, now- no body likes to listen to the sage prattling of the spiritually enlightened. Makes the rest of your astrological comrades feel the fragility of their mortal existence even more than when watching Love Island. Or, their moral existence. Either way, you make them feel inferior, and, quite frankly, that is the closest to a true metaphysical awakening that those plebs will ever reach. So, bask in this new academic year, safe in the knowledge that you are the chosen one. Now, as part of your chosen duties, you can start by getting me an extra large triple shot vodka martini, two olives, six onions, and hold the judgement because it’s always happy hour in the Contemporary Ancient realm.

PISCES | Feb 19- Mar 20

‘The Mature Student’

Is it just me or are things getting a little fishy round here? Or is it just your newfound passion for marine life? I’ve been herring rumours around town that you will have recently enrolled at a rival university. Bold move- we love to see it. The sybils and I support your decision. Only advice is this: please scale back on the puns , your new course mates are looking for a fresh start- (notfishstanding the weight of a good ole fish pun given the right thyme and plaice- sadly you have officially been matriculated into the Tunaverse now, so this behaviour is no longer appropriate) . Don’t flounder, Pisces, Freshers week can be sink or swim situation for the best of us, but one more haddock-related gag and I can a-shore you. You’ll be skating on fin ice.

**Opurtunist Pisces- derogatory term for mature fresher who tries to relate all small talk back to marine life, permanent spiritual resident the Tunaverse and long-standing lover of brine. Example conversation:

potential friend”Hi, how about grabbing a coffee after the lecture?”

Opurtunist Pisces-“What’s that got to do with the price of fish?”

potential friend –“bollocks, ive missed my bus, can I walk with you?”

Opurtunist Pisces- ” pollocks: A “pollock“ is a greenish-orange fish of the cod family”

ARIES | Mar 21- Apr 19

‘The Minor Poet (aggy edition)’

Aries, quite frankly, you are too young for this. I mean, seriously, how did you even get here? Weren’t you born like, this morning? How do you already have deep-rooted maternal trauma AND a passive-aggressive (verging on aggressive-aggressive) god-complex? And with skin so smooth and balls that have yet to drop and ruin those alto altar boy dreams of yours? Aren’t you tired of people asking where your legal guardian is? Aren’t you irritated that you just keep being turned away from the university library bar, despite the fact that you have a valid id and are carrying your well-worn copy of Lolita? I mean, seriously, it is understandable that you would want to unleash all of your post-teen, pre-grad minor poetics onto the world. But, hey now. Woah now. THAT’S ENOUGH NOW. This isn’t personal, Aries, I promise you. I swear on the Oracle of Dephi… But… if I see another tweet-sized poem that reads like the back of my tampon packaging posted on my Instagram feed… I am going to have to delete/destroy you. You are steering dangerously into incel infested waters, my friend. So, calm it with the misogyny, okay? Not all women will lead you to the fiery pits of hell. And maybe stop hanging out with Vlad? It’s time to get some age appropriate friends, who don’t have a thing for nymphets. That’s so 1955.

TAURUS | Apr 20- May 20

‘The return of the living dead’

Listen. And breathe deeply. Everything is going to be fine. Don’t forget to breathe. You are going to return to your University Town. You are going to settle in again. You are getting sleepy. Everything is going to be fine. Your eyes are getting heavy. You won’t miss a single tutorial. Feel all your financial debts wash over you like waves. Your hot dissertation supervisor will love you for who you are. Your hair will look great ALL OF THE TIME. See the doubts, let them get close, and now let them wash over you like waves. You will resist the urge to tweet about it. Make sure you are always breathing. You will not resist the urge to make a scene in the HCA library when they deny you entry for the 4th year in a row. Don’t forget to breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Your student debt no longer weighs you down. You are coming to. Existential crisis who? The lights are becoming brighter. You are regulating your breathing. You might even get a 2:1. Don’t forget to shut the door on the way out. And yes, apple-pay is fine, the first session will will cost you roughly 9k but I accept installments and or local govt. funded loans.

GEMINI | May 21-Jun 21

‘The Messiah’

Gemini, you’re doing wonders in terms of brainwashing the children. I’m not one to pass unwarranted social critique… however… hasn’t this whole messiah act been done before? Now, I’m not saying it isn’t an effective means of amassing dedicated fanatic tuiter followers. But do you really think that the hallowed halls of a Raymond group university is the right place to practice this quasi-dictatorship? Sure, that schtick would go down a treat, were you in, say, 6 CE, pre-census of Quirinius, and a certain someone had yet to step forward as the third member of the post-punk cyber band, professionally known as The Holy Trinity. Gemini, isn’t it time you, you know, did some actual university work? Instead of spending your days getting krunk on honey mead and loitering outside of the main campus library, spreading misinformation about the origins of humankind. Granted, you do have an angelic voice. But you, my friend, are far from celestially chosen. So my advice would be, oh, I don’t know, maybe crack open a book? Ethics of Tax Evasion is just waiting for you, my friend. This degree won’t go to waste all by itself.

CANCER | Jun 22- Jul 22

‘The Extreme Sports Calendar Model’

It really is just excellent luck that you find yourself in, Cancer. Because your University of choice just so happens to be both populous and prestigious enough for you to hunt down exact niche social circle of people you have always liked to associate yourself with. The Extreme Sport Calendar Models are a hard bunch to track down, unless you are in it from the get-go. They tend to leave events silently without a trace, preferably on skis or else just scaling the face of New Town flats. Its a dangerous game but someone’s got to do it. Hey, weren’t you that kid who did a sponsored bungee jumped from David Hume Tower to Appleton last semester? And broke your collarbone in the process? And then created a go-fund-me-poll in order to raise enough money to pay for a dollar $ sign tattoo on said dislocated collarbone? Its times like these where I suggest you take a long hard look at yourself. What would the other extreme sports calendar models would say? Alright, smart arse, I guess you’re right. They probably would just say what they always say in moments of doubt: LOOK HOT OR DIE TRYING. Touché, Cancer, Touché.

LEO | Jul 23-Aug 22

‘The BNOC’

Excuse me, Leo, I think you have got the wrong end of the stick. A trained bow-and-arrowsman such as yourself really should know that THE POINTY END is the one to aim at enemy targets, your rivals for the title of ultimate 4th year BNOC. Yes, yes, we know that you have been training for this your whole life. Fighter planet, Mars, is gearing up to enter your personal space this month, and so now really is the perfect time to prepare for all out physical combat. You have a title to defend. YOU are the biggest name on campus. It’s time to rally the inferiors, train them in mortal combat, and get ready to siege 50 George Square. Take no prisoners- that can get you into some murky legal waters, and I don’t think the lawyers that the university has on retainer are really cut out for a major court case this early on in the academic year. Also, they are squirrels, and so are probably more concerned with finding the nicest tree in which to hide out the winter. It really is a competitive market this time of year, what with all the students descending and bringing down the market place value of all the trees that they drunkenly piss on along the meadows. So, Leo, best to just shoot first and think later, if you know what I mean, and save yourself the ensuing POW bureaucracy.

VIRGO | Aug 23- Sept 22

“The Undetected Allergies in the Bagging Area”

This so so unfortunate. But your skin literally comes up in hives every time you step foot in the main library. What a shit allergy to have, when you are a student. Imagine. Being allergic to the main library. And its getting even more ridiculous. You literally have to send your flatmates to return books on your behalf. And write essays for you. And pay fines that you just don’t have the heart for. Quite a lot of fines, actually. Come to think of it, shit loads of fines? Why have you taken so many books out if you knew that you couldn’t return them yourself? Books with very conspicuous titles also: “Beginner’s Guide to Fraud” “How to lose friends and influence people” “In Search of Lost Books” and, perhaps the most disconcerting one yet: “Method Acting for Dummies.”

LIBRA | Sept 23- Oct 23

‘The Psychic’

Nowadays, every layman with a university education and a nice pair of legs think that they have what it takes to become a psychic. Let me inform you that this is incorrect. Yes, Libra, you do famously have an excellent pair of pins. And, of course, you are rather annoyingly insightful when it comes to deciphering the lynchian dreams of the consumerist masses. Call it Freud without the misogyny. And yes, you will be establishing a pretty spooky reputation this semester, as you (for the fourth time in two weeks) accurately predict the failed outcome of yet another post-quarantine relationship. Dishing out nebulous advice is a serious matter. Don’t go flaunting your lucky guesses about the place as if you are the second coming of Zarathustra. This sudden spur of correctly identified break-ups is just the after effects of my presence in your nautical sphere. Indeed, I have been sailing a yacht around the south of France with a few of the sibyls, soaking up the sun and getting my tan on, which is why you will be experiencing this sudden burst of psychic sensibility in September. Don’t get too excited. Soon I shall be docking back in Athens, and you shall be as mortal as the rest of the less leggy mortal beings. Perhaps use this brief period of scarily accurate weather predictions to sabotage some of your friends enemies. Not everyone can look as good as you in a Paco Rabanne chain-mail mini dress. You can, however, assure this by giving out falsified meteoric reports and making sure that you are the only one looking a) weather appropriate and b) fabulous.

SCORPIO | Oct 24- Nov 21

‘The DANCER’

You can dance. You can ji-ive having the time of your li-fe ooooo. Now Cut the shit. What IS the deal with Edinburgh and its nocturnal obsession with themed-nights and 70’s Swedish pop sensations with palindromic 4 letter band names? Seriously. Not cute. Not funny. Not clever. But hey. It does match your outfit. And these flares you are still wearing really do make more ‘sense’ in an ABBA singing context.

SAGITTARIUS | Nov 22- Dec 21

‘The Carrie’

As much as you deny it, Sagittarius, you are such a Carrie. Of course, being the compulsive lair you are, you will tell anyone who will listen (and that are really trying not to listen) that you are a Miranda, with Samantha tendencies and a pinch of Charlotte WASPy privilege. If we are all being honest though, you are Carrie. You have way too many pairs of expensive, impractical shoes and will no doubt cheat on your current partner with your problematic and emotionally unavailable on/ off lover. The school year means absolutely jack shit to you, my dear. The only thing that going back to your university city signals is that a) you need to buy a whole new winter wardrobe and b) it’s time to get back into blogging all of your closest friends private sexual escapades in the name of investigative journalism. Venus will be all up in your grill during the second half of this first month back, and so I advise you to sort out your interpersonal romantic relations before it all blows up in your face. Oh, and yes, I do in fact approve of those new 70s knee high patchwork platform boots. Wavy, bro. Are they a size 6? I might have to be taking a business trip down to mortal plains soon and might have to steal borrow those bad boys from your, quite frankly, disgustingly overflowing closet. I would be honored to take some of those unnecessary vintage pieces off your hands, Carrie- I mean, Sagittarius. All in the name of helping you out of the capitalist consumerist honey trap. The first step is admitting you have a problem. The second step is kindly donating all of your designer worldly goods to your local psychic prophetess…

CAPRICORN | Dec 22- Jan 19

‘The Capricorn Woman’

Do you even go here?

“No, I just have a lot of feelings”