Candidate 1: tiny, shapely, wearing a Thatcherite power suit, expounded upon her ideas for the future. She sounded efficient, competent, modern, decisive.
Candidate 2: A psychic and specialist in gambling astrology: he stared into the ether with pale blue eyes, like Mad-eye Moody, and riffed disconnectedly about Boris Johnson, the planet Mercury, micro-chips and how his chart MC shared the same degree as the ascendant of a particular Lodge chart.
Naturally I voted for him.
The parting secretary was lamented for her efficient Moon in Virgo skills. The exiting President and Vice-President congratulated each other how well they got on despite their opposing Saturns.
A chart was drawn up for the moment of the start of the meeting.
One dark spiteful woman entertained us all by ranting from the podium about how inefficient she had been this year in producing the Astrological Quarterly Review but it was all down to Pluto transiting her Ascendant, therefore everybody she knows has died, and even she felt like killing herself and she couldn't possibly be expected to work under those circumstances could she?
Afterwards we retired to the pub. Now astrologers are total individualists, like a drink or several and a damn good gossip. I met M, a famous psychic who heals people by making channelled guttural sounds from her throat. She charges £100 an hour. It works. She has recently done jury duty for a famous trial that lasted several weeks. She was advised not to admit to the prosecutors that her profession was 'psychic'.
One bookish astrologer recounted his days working in Diagon Alley at Watkins bookshop, correspondance with Francoise Hardy, 60's French chanteuse (now esteemed astrologer) and his Mayfair meeting with Bob Dylan.