HAPPY New Year. If you’re still trying to eat the last of the cheese from Christmas and are shocked that Creme Eggs are already in the shops, you have my sympathy.

Using my uncanny soothsaying abilities, I’ve peered hard into the mystic tea leaves and rubbed my runes to predict, with startling accuracy, what will happen during the year some are already calling 2018. You’re welcome.

January: The mists are blocking my view... looks like, possibly, someone called Eleanor will have a lot of wind early in the month? Brussels sprouts overdose, probably. Hey! It’s not my fault if this is weird – it’s just what’s going to happen, OK?

February: Love is in the air! Following a leak from a chemical plant, the fumes released caused numerous fatalities following the... Death. Not love. Sorry. Easy to mix those two up, isn’t it?

March: Article 50 is triggered, and we can all finally get on with our lives after a painful and draining lifetime of turning on the news every night and having to listen to more depressing stuff about how badly negotiations are going. I’ve just checked, and it looks like I got the year wrong on that. It’s 2028, not 2018. Nearly there though, eh? Chin up!

April: In a surprise move, the Divine Order of Rail Overlords increase train fares again, this time by 34 per cent, having realised they got the decimal point wrong in January. The extra money is used by Northern Rail to upgrade their rolling stock – one of the carriages will now be from the 1980s, rather than 1970s.

May: Shockingly, a YouTube ‘celebrity’ does something entirely sensible and/or altruistic.

June: Summer! (Wasn’t hard that one.) While the weather will still be miserable, the upside is you have more hours of daylight to grumble about it.

July: Following his British Grand Prix win, Lewis Hamilton says on the podium that men who wear pink are big girls.

August: Wah! End of days! Fire and brimstone, plagues of locusts! Wait... sorry, I had the crystal ball upside down. The bank holiday will be nice. Also, some pathetic men kick off again about Doctor Who being a woman now.

September: Leaves on trees start to go brown and fall off. No-one has any idea why, or what to do about it. Or how old Bono is. Or what carpophagous means. In an entirely unrelated event, Wikipedia will be down for a couple of days.

October: Mariah Carey or Paris Hilton do something. No-one cares.

November: The winning lottery numbers on the 19th are 3, 9, 27, 29, 42 and 55 (Also, remember who told you).

December: You will receive baffling Christmas presents from family and friends which you politely say you love, while wondering if they put your name on them by mistake. And Frozen is on TV. Again. Make the After Eights stop!

There you go. Good luck. Neither I nor The Mail can be held responsible for loss or injury caused by paying attention to any of this.