Because at some point you have to come out of the closet, being an astrologer has something in common with being homosexual.
“What do you mean “in the closet”?” I hear you ask.
Well, it’s like this – most sensible people think astrology is a truckload of bunkum. And it follows that astrologers are either snake oil sellers or credulous fools.
Now, call me uptight, but I don’t like people to think I’m either mad or an idiot or both. I like a bit of respect (Leo rising). Most other astrologers I know feel the same way, so on the school run, at the supermarket, doctor’s office etcetera one tends to avoid mentioning exactly what it is one does.
But since astrology is what I do most of the time, and an astrologer is what I am, I have to come out eventually.
Now, this town is pretty equally divided into two types of astrology-haters.
But you know who the Dawkinis really can’t abide? The other type of astrology-hater. These were the ones I didn’t even know existed here in sleepy Oxford.
I’m happy to report that most of the time it’s OK. But not always.