The Phoenix Motel languishes at the end of a long dusty highway, the bugs on your windscreen betraying how hard and fast the drive has been. The rooms are filling quickly as they always do this time of year. The smart money is getting locked in for the scorpion's moon.

Not all moons are created equal. The journey through the deep treacle of the Aquarian balsam is no ordinary dark mooning. Descending like an otherworldly cloak as beneath its soft sparking folds you are transported, this caravan of selves.