Interview with Jonathan Cainer: Star of the Stargazers
The day I am due to meet Jonathan Cainer, I consult his website for clues as to how it might go. Cainer.com, which is distinct from his syndicated newspaper columns, his 60p-a-minute phonelines and his soon-to-be-built Museum of Psychic Experience, offers daily, weekly and yearly forecasts, as well as relationship guides and a section entitled Ancient Lost Knowledge, in which the astrologer invites us to look at the meaning of a "connected cosmos". For the week starting January 10, Cainer advises me and all other Sagittarians that, in the event of a downpour, we should be careful where we take shelter: we may leave with less than we went in with. Perhaps he will divest me of my scepticism; or perhaps I will leave my notebook behind.
It is metaphors that Cainer is famous for - metaphors and money. The 46-year-old often opens his horoscopes in the manner of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City: "If you want to put up a shelf, should you call a carpenter or get out a drill?" By making them decode their own forecasts, Cainer cleverly encourages his readers to regard them as hard-won truths rather than dashed-off fictions. His style is more obscure than that of his rivals and therefore more mystical and erudite, although he pumps out a huge amount of text. After four years of writing for the Daily Mirror, Cainer is returning to his old home, the Daily Mail, which, when he left it, he described in less obscure terms as "a newspaper dedicated to the subtle propagation of bigotry".
The astrologer has had a spot of domestic trouble when I arrive at his London flat. There is no hot water. It is evening and the place is in semi-darkness, an effect heightened by the purple velvet walls. At the family home in Yorkshire, his conservative teenage daughters have insisted on a colour scheme of cream and terracotta. But in London Cainer has a proper hippy den in which incense is burning and he is seated, legs up, on the sofa. We regard each other with mutual suspicion. "I address the mighty sceptical Guardian readers, who I know are the toughest nuts to crack, because they've all been overeducated and can't accept anything on trust," says Cainer, releasing a slow grin. Well, I say, I suppose it makes a change from addressing the gullible readers of the Daily Mail.
The astrologer has had a spot of domestic trouble when I arrive at his London flat. There is no hot water. It is evening and the place is in semi-darkness, an effect heightened by the purple velvet walls. At the family home in Yorkshire, his conservative teenage daughters have insisted on a colour scheme of cream and terracotta. But in London Cainer has a proper hippy den in which incense is burning and he is seated, legs up, on the sofa. We regard each other with mutual suspicion. "I address the mighty sceptical Guardian readers, who I know are the toughest nuts to crack, because they've all been overeducated and can't accept anything on trust," says Cainer, releasing a slow grin. Well, I say, I suppose it makes a change from addressing the gullible readers of the Daily Mail.
"Actually," says Cainer, "the Daily Mail is softening." Really? "Yes, because the Daily Mail represents middle England, and middle England is in a pickle. The most fascinating place to be is always with whoever's beliefs are going through transformation."
So it is no longer subtly propagating bigotry?
Cainer sighs. "They are very aware of what I said. And I am very aware of what I said. And there has been no change in my belief system in the meantime. But I have been on a learning curve, and what I have learned is that nothing is as straightforward as it seems. To be an astrologer, you can't afford to be prejudiced."
During the war, says Cainer, he felt uneasy being at the Mirror, a newspaper that he was so, er, in agreement with. "It felt like overkill and I felt like the little boy at the back going, 'Me too! I agree!' It suddenly dawned on me about preaching to the converted."
There was also the small question of the paper's falling sales. Cainer, more than almost anyone else on a newspaper, stands to win or lose according to changes in circulation figures. Long before the official figures come out, he says that he can tell how the title is selling just by the traffic on his phonelines. It is not an idle boast. The figure always quoted for his income from the phones is £2m a year, which he disputes ("turnover, not income ... 30 people working for me ... all taxed ... I only drive a Land Rover"), but in any case vast numbers of people use them. He chuckles that the Daily Mail is making him do an interview to introduce him to its readers. "I said to them, come on, I was your astrologer for nearly eight years! And they said, 'Oh yes, but we've put on half a million since then'."
Cainer divides rival astrologers into those who can play the piano with one hand, and those who can handle "the whole concerto". Into the latter category fall Shelley von Strunckel ("Shelley and I both take our astrology very seriously, although I once made a few flippant remarks for which she's never forgiven me"), Russell Grant, Neil Spencer and Marjorie Orr. Is Mystic Meg a real astrologer? "Pass. Her column shows signs of astrological information. That is to say, I can see her evidence in the margins, and while I wouldn't agree that it's a great way of working, it is not being made up."
So it is no longer subtly propagating bigotry?
Cainer sighs. "They are very aware of what I said. And I am very aware of what I said. And there has been no change in my belief system in the meantime. But I have been on a learning curve, and what I have learned is that nothing is as straightforward as it seems. To be an astrologer, you can't afford to be prejudiced."
During the war, says Cainer, he felt uneasy being at the Mirror, a newspaper that he was so, er, in agreement with. "It felt like overkill and I felt like the little boy at the back going, 'Me too! I agree!' It suddenly dawned on me about preaching to the converted."
There was also the small question of the paper's falling sales. Cainer, more than almost anyone else on a newspaper, stands to win or lose according to changes in circulation figures. Long before the official figures come out, he says that he can tell how the title is selling just by the traffic on his phonelines. It is not an idle boast. The figure always quoted for his income from the phones is £2m a year, which he disputes ("turnover, not income ... 30 people working for me ... all taxed ... I only drive a Land Rover"), but in any case vast numbers of people use them. He chuckles that the Daily Mail is making him do an interview to introduce him to its readers. "I said to them, come on, I was your astrologer for nearly eight years! And they said, 'Oh yes, but we've put on half a million since then'."
Cainer divides rival astrologers into those who can play the piano with one hand, and those who can handle "the whole concerto". Into the latter category fall Shelley von Strunckel ("Shelley and I both take our astrology very seriously, although I once made a few flippant remarks for which she's never forgiven me"), Russell Grant, Neil Spencer and Marjorie Orr. Is Mystic Meg a real astrologer? "Pass. Her column shows signs of astrological information. That is to say, I can see her evidence in the margins, and while I wouldn't agree that it's a great way of working, it is not being made up."
Ah, the makey-uppy astrology column. There was a time, says Cainer, when most of the horoscopes in the national press were made up, but does that matter? "Yeah, it really matters. Because. Well. All right, try this one. So you go to an art gallery, and there's one of those awful bloody paintings people pay so much money for, and you think, I could have knocked over a tin of Dulux and done that. And they say, 'Ah yes, but the point is, Mr Cainer, you didn't go to art school for 20 years to learn how to knock over this tin of Dulux. The point is, this person could have painted the Mona bloomin' Lisa if they'd wanted to.' So in my view, if you say that about art, you have to say the same about astrology. There are occasions, I will grant you, when the end result makes precious little bloody difference, heh-heh!"
Ignoring for a moment the difficulties with this analogy (the last time I checked, artists weren't charging 60p a minute on the promise of sorting their customers' lives out), this is a very typical Cainer locution. From what is presumably a long and exhausting history of arguing with sceptics, he tends to anticipate criticism and fold it into his ever-extending sentences. For example: "I like to help people and probably squander more than I should on causes which may or may not be quite as good as I think they are, but I can't resist wading in, and while I'm not trying to make out that my every penny goes on philanthropy because that's bollocks and I do like the high life too, I do stick my money where my mouth is. At the moment my expensive hobby is drying out junkies."
This has the opposite to the intended effect, making him seem rather ponderous and smug, however well-intentioned. But he is also very jolly and heartfelt when he says, "We have to accept each other for what we are," an un-Daily Mail statement if ever there was one.
Cainer has always argued that you cannot prove astrology is right, just as you cannot prove the existence of God. He has likened it to meteorology, although that too breaks down when you try to imagine not believing in the weather forecast. If he gets more than half of his predictions right, he is pleased, and if he scores 60/40 then he feels "like a genius". Duff predictions make him very depressed. Before he became a professional astrologer, he would gladly divine strangers' star signs after a few moments in their company. But now, he says, "there is too much at stake. I'd look too stupid if I got it wrong." He is equally honest about the state of mind of most people who take their horoscopes seriously. "It's like, if all else fails, try your horoscope. These things are life lines to some people, but life lines in the wrong way."
So, he wouldn't want people basing big decisions on his advice? "Well, suppose you are going through a really crap period in your life and you are trying to pluck up the courage to end it all. And your astrologer says, this is the day for you to take a big brave move, go for it and you won't regret it. Heh heh heh ha. It has happened. I know. Because I've had letters. So I tend to run all my columns through the 'what if you're a complete nutter?' filter and then put in a little qualifier. The same goes for if I forecast people being lucky; I'll say, this doesn't necessarily guarantee you a lottery win - even though I do also sell a lottery service at 60p a minute."
But if people turn to horoscopes at their lowest and most impressionable, then it's just a case of self-fulfilling prophesy, isn't it? "Yeah. Ha. Couldn't agree more. Bane of my life, that one. If you find the answer before I do, send it on a postcard! But the existence of self-fulfiling prophecy does not ipso facto prove the irrelevance of prophecy, any more than the existence of a placebo effect proves that the drugs don't work."
Cainer used to be suspicious of rival disciplines in what he calls the "intuitive arts", that is, clairvoyancy, tarot, palmistry and telepathy. His late wife used to visit a medium whom he referred to as "that bloody woman". But since Melanie died in a car crash 10 years ago, he has softened his line. Her death left him to bring up five children, including seven-month-old twins, with the help of a nanny, Sue. He and Sue eventually got together and have since had a baby. But he occasionally communicates with his Melanie.
"Guardian readers won't believe it," he says. "And I will never know if I am imagining it. But I still say, listen for the whispers on the wind, because when the dead shout at the top of their voices, you hear it as the faintest of whispers. You have to suspend disbelief. So on the kids' birthdays and Christmas, I take a snapshot and send it to her."
Eh? "In my head! I just take a moment and go, 'Mel, here you go, this is all the kids, we're having dinner, we're having a good time, see how big this one's got, see how happy that one is, see what problems that one's got, but we're dealing with them. I don't know where you are, but just in case, let me send you this.' I send her postcards. And just occasionally I imagine I'm getting them back."
He has also come to believe that, "anyone who fishes in the creative pool is telepathic to one extent or another". Telepathy in this context is just a simile for empathy but none the less, says Cainer, "some of the most stunningly psychic people I've ever met work in television". Really? Like who? "I distinctly remember both Johnny Vaughn and Liza Tarbuck being extremely psychic with random people who would walk into the room."
I try to test out his powers. I am taking part in a car race on Thursday, the other driver is a Cancerian. Who is going to win? Cainer considers it. "You have the natural astrological advantage," he says slowly. "You may want to win more. And you'll take more risks. But, of course," - ain't it always the truth? - " it rather depends on where your moon is."
Article by Emma Brockes source: http://www.theguardian.com/media
