I knew this piece was going to be commissioned because, on Saturday, a new moon of opportunity in my birth sign of Leo conjoined Jupiter, the planet of luck and expansion. On Thursday, Mercury, the planet of communication, also goes into Leo, so the article will be an enormous hit and lead to compliments showering on me like hail from an exploding meteor.

Despite this imminent career success I have chronic hives, but perhaps astrology can explain that too? We should probably ask Bosworth’s MP, David Tredinnick. A member of the health committee, the science and technology committee and the government’s herbals working group – the best euphemism for a Westminster crack den I’ve ever heard – he’s down with what’s above. While other MPs fiddle their expenses and shout down women in the Commons, Tredinnick wafts his star chart like a peace flag, calling for astrology to be incorporated into medicine.

If you sieve out the craziness from what he’s saying, I don’t disagree. GPs should be less reliant on pharmaceuticals and more reliant on natural remedies – by which I mean diet, not quack stuff like homeopathy, crystal healing and flower remedies. At the broadest level of solipsistic indulgence, one can draw parallels between a birth chart and the physical body: all my inner planets (Mars, Virgo, Saturn, Mercury) are in Virgo and, indeed, I am as ascetic, pure, resolute and naturally celibate as a maiden guarding the very shrine of Vesta. As my chart indicates, my body is my temple: cold, crumbling, sex free, permanently under renovation and generally closed to the public.

Luckily for Tredinnick, faith in heavenly rather than human matters confers a kind of divine insight which does not require actual proof. Six years of a medical degree and a further three slogging it out on an A&E ward or the internal medicine division of an overcrowded, under-staffed, high-stress, low-morale NHS hospital couldn’t possibly compete with the persuasive power of the stars. Perhaps it’s stubborn to cleave to the notion that health matters must be scientifically tested. What is a science lab, after all, but a cage in which to brutally enchain the questing spirit of the true, stargazing man?

There are lots of things I think should be absorbed into the health system, simply because I like them. A working day that begins at noon and ends at four-thirty, a luxury gym and Olympic pool in every building, a private chef, a nice house with an oiled slave coated in gold leaf – all would improve my wellbeing enormously. These things will not come about. My local medical centre cannot even locate a lost urine sample, let alone track the transit of Uranus.

I am often asked how my interest in astrology began. The answer is that I don’t remember. It was destiny, a karmic process begun long before adult rationality kicked in. That is to say, I used to read my stars in Mizz magazine and that portion of my brain never matured. Still, I share the faith of other famous Leos like Madonna, Jennifer Lawrence and Harry Potter. While my achievements haven’t paralleled being the most influential woman in pop, winning the Hunger Games or saving the world from Lord Voldemort, I feel part of an astrological community to which I add my own special tinge.

Tredinnick should not be unfairly sidelined for his beliefs in the transformational power of astrology. Like people who like dogging, he can pursue his hobby away from the mainstream, renting a room in Harley Street and setting himself up as a complimentary therapist. Yes, complimentary, not complementary: he could meet clients and give them compliments based on their star charts.

I will admit that as the decades go on and no prediction I’ve read from my chart has ever come to pass, I do begin to wonder if astrology is simply not true. I tell myself to have the courage of my convictions, like my soul twin Barack Obama, who luckily for him has the same sun, rising and moon signs as me. Can Barack, Tredinnick and I forge on, despite the laughter of naysayers? Yes We Can.