‘How interesting.’
I was to learn that even though Her Majesty spoke plainly, her tone of voice communicated a hundred different nuances of meaning. ‘How interesting’ was a phrase she often used, but depending how she said it, it could mean anything from ‘do, please, tell me more’ to ‘you are boring me to tears, I do wish you would shut up’. In this particular case, both voice and bright-eyed enquiry communicated keen interest.
‘The theory came about when some faculty staff at Harvard University did a study on their own children. A group of them were given marshmallows by their teacher. They were told that the teacher was leaving the room. Any child who hadn’t eaten the marshmallow when the teacher returned would be rewarded with a second. Some kids ate their marshmallow immediately.’ There were chuckles around the table. ‘Some folded their arms and resolutely waited till the teacher got back. Others agonised, picking up the marshmallows, sniffing them, trying their hardest to resist temptation.
‘Where things got interesting was that, several decades later, a researcher found the results of the experiment and decided to follow up on the children, who were by then well into adulthood. What they found was that the children who had been better able to resist temptation went on to achieve far more with their lives than those who hadn’t. This backs up Mr Ross’ point about impulse control.’
‘Hmm.’ The Queen glanced over to where I was sitting, face between my front paws and my two back legs stretched back behind me, listening to the conversation. I wondered where her thoughts were leading. Was it to the moment when my atavistic urges had got the better of me that morning and I’d tugged free of Detective Lewis, desperate to herd the ducks into the pond? Or to the moment when she had paused outside Palace Newsagency to discover what, precisely, had caused the equestrian world to be reduced to a state of shock? ‘I think I might have eaten one of those marshmallows,’ she admitted. ‘Only this morning, we were reminded how difficult it is to reign in our impulses.’
Her Majesty’s guests didn’t know quite what to make of this enigmatic statement, but that was hardly surprising. I had no doubt she was saying it for my benefit.
‘Is this impulse control something one develops early on?’ she wanted to know.
‘Mostly,’ said Cameron. ‘The encouraging thing is that EQ, or willpower, can be developed at any time in life. But one needs a strong sense of motivation. Some would say you need to be goal driven.’
Her Majesty wrinkled her nose momentarily. ‘Such an ugly phrase,’ she said. ‘It seems a little desperate and quite self-centred. One thinks of the brave people who fight against the odds for wider causes.’
A faraway look came into the Queen’s eyes. ‘Like one’s father, for instance. His stammer. Overcoming that required a great deal of effort.’
There were murmurs of sympathetic agreement from around the table.
‘Perhaps a better phrase,’ she continued, ‘might be a sense of purpose.’
‘Indeed, ma’am!’ Cameron was enthusiastic.
‘A strong sense of purpose is what inspires one to strive to overcome obstacles and reach a particular objective.’
Although the conversation had started on the subject of jockeys, it had broadened considerably. And there could be little doubt that Her Majesty wasn’t speaking in hypothetical terms alone. Rather she was offering a rare, personal insight.
‘The great challenge,’ said Armstrong, ‘is discovering what that personal purpose might be. Most people are so caught up in their busy lives that they never give the matter much thought.’
‘It’s not something that someone else can tell you,’ observed Cameron to general agreement. ‘You have to work it out for yourself.’
‘I’d even say,’ continued Armstrong, ‘that many people don’t believe there is any purpose to life, beyond taking pleasure wherever you can find it.’
‘Another day, another dollar,’ said ano
ther trainer.
‘He who dies with the most toys wins,’ wisecracked Ross.
The pathos of the conversation was reflected on the Queen’s face. ‘One of the great privileges of my position is knowing that wealth or toys are not an enduring source of contentment. Some of the most miserable people I know are among the most wealthy and powerful in the world. It’s a great pity when people find themselves distracted by things that don’t have any real meaning, when the things that could give their lives real purpose pass them by.’
‘But would you agree, ma’am,’ asked Cameron, ‘that purpose is something for each one of us to find? That there’s no ready-made formula?’
‘Only up to a point.’ Her Majesty was firm. ‘We all have our own temperaments and interests. Our natural abilities are all quite different. What matters is what we do with them. I have learnt over the years that the most fulfilled and purposeful people are those who have turned their abilities to a cause that’s greater than themselves. Whether it is a brilliant research scientist seeking a cure for an illness, or an elderly pensioner working in a charity mailing room, there is always the same application of energy for the greater good.’
Around the table, there wasn’t so much a murmur as a clamour of agreement.
‘I would like to hear you say that on TV,’ said Cameron.
‘Your next Christmas message?’ offered Ross.
Her Majesty smiled. ‘I don’t know. People don’t like being lectured to. More important to show by actions rather than words, don’t you think? Better to lead by example.’
Household staff arrived to clear empty plates. Sorbets were produced as palate cleansers. The Queen turned to Cameron. ‘Returning to impulse control, what exactly can be done to develop more of it? It seems to me this would be very useful and not only for our jockeys.’
‘Indeed, ma’am. There are a number of things that support strong impulse control. Having plenty of sleep is one of them—when people are tired, they’re more vulnerable to temptation. Nutrition is another. When we’re hungry, our will is weakened.’