Written each evening from the real sky over London ·
Cancer horoscope tomorrow
The Crab, 21 June to 22 July · Water, cardinal, ruled by the Moon
The sky Moon in Virgo all day · new moon, 1% lit · Saturn retrograde. New moon tomorrow, at 4.27am.
A friend two hundred miles away
Some days are for cupboards and some are for the people who have drifted, and this one is quietly the second. There is somebody you think about often and ring almost never, and that gap has been widening since about March.
Love
The friend who moved away has not stopped being your friend; they have stopped being convenient. Ring at a slightly wrong time rather than waiting for the right one, which has not turned up since the spring. Twelve minutes on a Thursday evening keeps a friendship alive, and nothing more impressive is required.
Work and money
Somebody made a mistake last week and you smoothed it over before it reached anyone senior. That was kind, and it was also invisible. Tell them what you did, once, without the lecture attached. If it happens twice more you will want it on the record, and a record is far easier to start today than in November.
Body and mind
You rest better in a room that has been aired than in one where the whole day is still lying about. Ten minutes of putting things back before bed does more for your sleep than the extra hour you spend lying there afterwards, wondering whether you said the wrong thing.
If you read nothing else
Ring the one who moved away tonight, not at the weekend
The sky Moon in Virgo all day · new moon at 4.27am · Saturn retrograde. First quarter on Friday at 9.44pm, seven days away.
Dates only you remember
The Moon spends the whole day in Virgo, so care today looks less like feeling and more like a list. Unromantic and extremely useful. Your household runs on things only you remember, which works beautifully until the week you are away.
Love
Put the next month somewhere everybody can see it. The appointment, the two birthdays, the evening you are out. Nobody at home is refusing to help; they are waiting to be told, and you have been keeping the entire calendar behind your eyes since before the summer. On the wall, it stops being invisible.
Work and money
Somebody promised you something before the summer: a day back, a change to your hours, a title that never made it onto any document. You have not chased it, because chasing feels ungracious. Ask this week, in one line, while everybody’s memory of that conversation is still roughly the same shape as yours.
Body and mind
Friday tiredness in your case is not really the week; it is carrying other people’s schedules alongside your own. Once the dates are out of your head there is room in it for something of your own. An evening with no jobs in it, and nothing after ten that wants a reply.