Well, here we go again: another year, another fart-worthy folio of futile fog-peering.

With last year’s predictions plumbing new depths of uselessness by scoring a contemptible 2/10 on the Nostradam-O-Meter®, there’s only one way to go this year! [mind you, with me at the helm of the Good Ship Predicto, that way is probably downwards].

Anyway, without further ado lets quack aside the mists of time and gaze into the future for 2017.

1: OK. Every year since 300BC I’ve started my predictions with "A prominent member of the royal family will snuff it", only to see the fuckers send The Grim Reaper away with a flea in his ear, yet again.

This year, with the Queen either at Death’s door, or already dead [depending on your preferred flavour of conspiracy theory], that perennial old favourite looks like a shoe-in. But, I’ve fallen for that one too many times in the past. So I’m going to go out on a limb this year and predict: A prominent member of the royal family will NOT snuff it.

So stick that in your scythe and smoke it, Mr Death!

2: However, not everyone can escape the hooded one. We’re bound to lose another bucketful of famous faces this year again. But who? That is the question.

I dozed off the other night with this thought in my mind and, in my dream someone was singing "Sailing" by Rod Stewart. Now, either this was a drunk wending his way home outside, his slurred warblings penetrating my slumbers, or it was some incredible auditory-premonition. Obviously the latter is the only logical possibility so, sorry Rod, no hard feelings, but I’m predicting you’ll be one of the ones to "Join the Choir Invisible" this time around.

3: The Grand National will be won by a horse with a name beginning with H. Its jockey will be wearing a blueish…​ or it maybe purplish…​ top. [Did you like the way I added a bit of theatrical vagueness there, to make it seem like I was receiving this piffle as a vision, instead of just making it up as I go along?]

In spite of accurately predicting this nailed-on certainty, months in advance, come Grand National day, you’ll still find me backing a 3-legged donkey who has to be shot on the starting line.

4: China’s mission to send a probe to the dark side of the moon will end in enigmatic radio silence.

5: Apple will have another lacklustre year and their share price will finish around 20% down, compared to the end of 2016. People will start calling for Tim Cook to step down.

6: Someone will make an attempt to assasinate Donald Trump, either during or just before his inauguration, but will fail. The suspect will be someone close to Trump, but Nigel Farage will have a cast iron alibi.

7: Peace of a sort will descend on Syria, as government forces mop up the last of the rebels. The country will remain de facto divided in two; with a 'Syrian' area and a 'Kurdish' area.

8: There will be a humongously hugely ginormous medical breakthrough. [Note that by such clever use of mealy-mouthed and non-scientific language, I thereby claim foresight for anything from a major advancement in the search for a cure for cancer, to a promising new hair restorer.]

9: The first autonomous vehicles will be commercially trialled on public roads in the UK. They will be lorries.

10. Brexit will not happen. The government will prevaricate, delay and generally shilly-shally in the hope they can string it out until the next General Election --which will be notable for the fact both sides will be praying they lose, since no party will want to be the ones left with their finger on the trigger, after Britain blows its own foot off.

Well, there you have it.

Once again I have courageously travelled to the very edges of time and space to bring you these visions of the future. Fates willing, we can all meet back here again this time next year where, after most of this lot has come true, I think you’ll be sniggering contemptuously out the other side of your mouth.

Til then —tremble at my powers!