The old gipsy shifted on her haunches. She pulled the Wooly's silk-style scarf around her shoulders and smudged her eye make-up with a nervous scratch. She stared uneasily into the glass bowl on the table in front of her. No goldfish swam now in its murky interior. "Oh, oh, I'm feeling the vibrations!" she said, as suddenly as a fart.

"Editor: Paul Colbert. Your year will be full of mirth and merriment, and you may even have a chance to relax. But beware the pins of DIN." She stared, a woman possessed.

Assistant Editor: Tony Bacon. 1985 is to be a high point in your career, much assisted as you will be by a newly purchased word-processing unit. Beware the axe-wielding Luddites of Bethnal Green." Silence fell like snow in autumn.

"Design: Jerry Arron. Fear not, for this coming year will see a new abode, shaped and schemed for your every need. Love is like a violin, and your fingerboard is smooth and oily. Beware thieves with initials TS." The gipsy had told all. She slumped on the table, sapped of strength. One last whisper crept from her lips. "That'll be a fiver each. The exit has an armed guard. Cough up."