I was talking to someone the other day who told me they could communicate with animals: dogs, cats, cows – whatever. And even though I was a little sceptical, it was an interesting conversation with maybe some great possibilities.
They also told me they could come into a workplace and talk to the spirits and find out what is good and what is not so good.
It reminded me of a time when I was very sceptical of anything like this. At that time, Old Mate got her palm read. It was that long ago, the lady who did it recorded it on a cassette which I was made listen to.
At one stage, it got a bit interesting. Just after she said we would buy a house with a round window, she asked Old Mate if she bet on the horses. The dry reply was: “No, but my d*ckhead husband does.” So the tape went on to say that No.10 with jockey Brent Stanley meant something.
I stopped listening after that and, for the next few years, backed B. Stanley every time he was on a 10 – or, basically, anything that he rode that breathed – with not much luck. That was until Old Mate found out and told me that she thought she would have to back it, not me – “So, stop being an idiot and wasting my money”.
Anyway, about five years later, I was at a golf day in Canberra and got paired up with a couple of jockeys, with B. Stanley being one. It took me about six holes and six beers to work up enough courage to tell him the story, to which he replied, “Guess why I am here? I got suspended last week and guess the number of the horse I was riding: 10!”
About two years after that, we moved house … and it had a round window in the bedroom onto the patio, like a porthole into the future. So, I then became a total believer. I had my palm read in India by a real dodgy-looking dude with snakeskin shoes. He gave me a special lucky stone and told me something good would happen on my way back to Australia if I kept the rock. And he was right, but that’s another story.
So, the lady who can talk to animals may have something. Maybe I could take her to the races and get her to talk to the horses – something which would have been handy before the Melbourne Cup. But I would probably be better served getting her to talk to George the kelpie-cross on why he doesn’t like the postman carrier.