When the music stops
A jester enters into the presence of the King:
‘Sire, thou wilst remember – for thy powers of recollection are unsurpassed throughout the kingdom – the band of minstrels that performed for her Majesty the Queen’s birthday celebrations last year .....’
‘Yes, yes – The Four Horsemen. Verily, we bent a merry knee to that merry combo. And why do you come before me with this memory test, fool?’
‘Sire, I beg your blessings on my humble head – but there is word from the village that Plague has come! Perhaps he seeks a solo gig at the next court banquet.’
‘Fah! He’s probably gone acoustic and turned into a folk singer, Away with him, or his head will be on the block. Or yours, perhaps for bringing such troublesome information before your King.’
Sometime later ....
‘My liege – I have good news and I have bad news for you.’
‘This had better be good, fool. Continue ....’
‘The bad news is that it’s not Plague the musician – its just Plague. The good news is that at least it’s not a folk singer.’
Being a generally bolshie chap with a happy smile I’ve often sympathised with the role of court jester – or philosopher-fool, as I prefer to think of the Pig-Bladdered-one. Jingling your bells at your Betters – how good a life could that be? Oh, what joy we had. But what do you do when Plague came to the court- when the vandals arrive at the gates – when the Kings is in the counting house, and there’s nothing there?
Lordy lawks – what fun we used to have.
Is this too depressing? Go hit yourself with a bladder. It ain’t over ‘til the folk singer ...er...sings.
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