White Horses and Sages from Lebanon.

The lovely Miss India would, it appears, prefer that I continue my practice of making supremely silly late night posts. Right then... If there’s one thing that’s become apparent over the last couple of months, it is that the lovely people who read and comment on my blog (and to whom I’m immensely indebted, I should say) rarely share my sense of humour. Take tonight, for example. I was giggling like a schoolboy over one of my favourite jokes: A white horse walked into a bar and ordered a drink. ‘Blow me,’ said the barman, ‘a talking horse. Did you know there’s a brand of whisky named after you?’ ‘What,’ said the horse, ‘Kevin?’ Cracks me up every time, but I’ll bet there’s a line of people stretching from Washington State to Scotland to Mumbai to Sydney, NSW saying ‘What’s so funny about that?’ Mmm... Big news, though. I think I finally have the answer to the famed Zen koan ‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’ I can’t tell you, of course, since that’s one of the rules of contemplating Zen koans. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me. (Come to think of it, a few White Horses might.) But, no. You’ll have to work it out for yourselves. It’s really good being mad sometimes. And I’ve ordered a used copy of Khalil Gibran’s book Spirit Brides from Amazon today. I like that bloke, I really do.