Driving home after our Humour Group, Mr B and I were trying to work out why it hadn’t been so, well, funny. Nowhere near as funny as our Cribbage Group the previous evening when we were all rolling about with laughter.
Even though neither Mr B nor I won a single game all night which you might have thought would have plunged us into gloom and doom.
Perhaps it is because, as Avril
of the Cribbage Group sagely remarked, humour has to be spontaneous. So last night Mr B told his famous joke about the faith healer, the guy on crutches and the chap with a stammer. Most of the family have heard this joke many, many times before. But
not the way Mr B told it last night. He started off: “There was this spiritualist...” which left me thinking this was a joke I hadn’t heard before. When I realised which joke he was telling, well I felt I had to insert a few judicious
corrections. Between us we had our little audience of four creased up with laughter. Whether or not they actually understood the joke is neither here nor there. It was really, really funny.
This morning Mr B told the same joke at Humour Group. He started off by telling everyone that I didn’t like this joke. This wasn’t strictly correct as I think I might have quite liked it on first hearing. About
24 years ago. Then (clearly with the benefit of practising on the Cribbage Group the night before) he told the joke (more or less) word perfect. Everyone laughed, it is true, but it wasn’t quite the side-splitting guffaws he drew from the Cribbage
Group. I read my poem (see yesterday’s blog) and a Max Boyce offering in honour of St David’s Day the previous day. There was some polite laughter...
There was no port to oil our funny bones. We had to make do with Instant Coffee at £1.05 a mug. But as it was rather chilly in the room on the first floor of the Tennis Club where we meet, that was £1.05 well-spent in my book. Someone had
brought along little Easter eggs to add some Chocolate Cheer. A new member told a joke about the Pope and Elvis. Someone else read the poem a workmate had written for her on the occasion of her wedding to “some bloke you met” which was sweetly
funny. There were a couple of jokes about horsemeat, which was only to be expected. In short, we all did our best but we couldn’t quite transport ourselves from the Tennis Club to the Comedy Stage.
I remember watching TV one evening with the Youngest of the Darling Daughters. On the screen before us, a man and his wife, sitting in front of an electric fire. As we watched, the fire stood up on spindly legs and scuttled,
crab-like, to the door. At which the woman turned to her husband and remarked, laconically: “Fire’s gone out.” Well, I kid you not, the Y of the DDs and I couldn’t stop laughing. We were literally clutching each other for support, weeping
with laughter. Every time we composed ourselves, one of us would say: “Fire’s gone out” and it would be enough to start us off all over again.
you may well be puzzling over the above and wondering what’s so funny about it. Because you just had to be there to appreciate it, you see. Which is why last night’s Cribbage Group was so much more fun than this morning’s Humour Group.
Of course it may be that we weren’t “in the mood”? Or perhaps the pressure of being a member of something called a Humour Group is starting to tell on us? Maybe if we called it The Totally Serious Group it would be more of a laugh?
By the way, the fire’s gone out...