The Horse Might Talk.

I once heard what I gather is an authentic Tudor joke. I’ve told it before, but different people are reading the blog now so it bears repeating.

A man was standing trial before the King on some capital offence. He was found guilty and sentenced to death. In an attempt to extricate himself, he made the King an offer: ‘If you will delay sentence for one year and release me, I promise to make your horse talk.’ The King was intrigued and released the man on the understanding that the horse must talk within a year. Later, the man’s friend admonished him, saying it was impossible to make a horse talk and he was only delaying the inevitable. The man replied: ‘Who knows what will happen over the next year? The King might die, or I might die, or the horse might die, or the horse might talk.’

This is why I have so much difficulty planning anything. It isn’t that I can’t do it; some things have to be planned and I can do so if I have to. But I don’t like it at all; I need to go with the impulse of the moment.

Tomorrow, circumstances might change; tomorrow, I might change; tomorrow, somebody else might change; tomorrow, the horse might talk. If there’s one thing I trust least of all, it’s the vicissitudes of life.