I will let you into a secret. Well it isn't really a secret, it is just one of my weird and wacky beliefs. You see I believe God has a wicked sense of humour. Now if this is wrong, I may well find myself consigned to the fiery wastes of Hell for publicly writing such blasphemy, but the older I get, the more evidence I see of it. I believe that to some extent we are all victims of this, but most of all the miserable, anti fun religious types. I believe that it was no random coincidence that the first miracle of Jesus was to turn water into wine at the wedding feast at Cana. If you read the relevant chapter, not only was it described as the finest wine, bible clearly states that he produced 40 gallons of it. There are roughly 5 pints in a gallon, so that is around 200 pints of wine. Theologians estimate that there were around 100 people at the feast, so they each had 2 pints of wine each. Now bear in mind, the reason Mary asked Jesus to intervene was because the guests had drunk the bar dry already. I am not a theologian, but when I read the bible, I often see sections of the bible where Mary reminds me of my own mother. If I had the gift to perform miracles, my Mum would most definitely be getting me to change water into wine. To me, out of all of the miracles, it is the most persuasive. Firstly because it annoys stuck up, miserable theologians, who hate the idea of Jesus and his mates actually having a bit of a craic, I am sure many Bishops over the years have wished it had not been included. But secondly, and more persuasively (for me at least), it shows that we all need a laugh and a bit of fun with our mates sometimes.
Whatever faults and strengths I have, I have a seriously wicked sense of humour. I get it from my Dad. On occasion, people have asked me where I find the resilience to get through situations. The harsh truth is that life can grind you down, destroy you and tread you into the dust. Often there is little you can do about it. But there is one thing you can always do. You can find humour in the grimmest of situations and I do. I had this problem at school with pompous teachers. They would say ridiculously stupid things, with hugely earnest gravitas and I'd burst out laughing. Only last Friday I was in a difficult situation with someone being extremely unpleasant to me. I fixed the poor deluded fool in my eyeline and I noticed that he had a big bogey hanging out of his nose. The situation was quite tense and stressful. I really wanted to say "Before you carry on, please wipe the large bogey off your nose", but as he got more and more irate, the bogey developed a fascinating life of its own. I was desperately trying to refrian from laughing and I was massively distracted. I realised that as ever, the Good Lord was having a laugh at my expense. I really wanted to say to a couple of people "Did you see the bogie?" but thought better of it, as I am meant to be a sensible grown up now.
In the early days of the blog, I was always noticing such things at Council meetings. In one blog back in 2008, when then Leader of Barnet Council was getting grilled for losing millions in Icelandic investments, my attention was drawn to his leg, which seemed intent on performing Buddy Rich like bass drum solo's whilst the rest of hios body was completely still. Only me and a nice lady from UNISON noticed it, but we actually chuckled so loudly that we got told off.
This is a reason I hate meeting "important" people in formal settings. I've met quite a lot of them over the years and invariably I notice something and find it hilariously funny. Whilst over pompousness is the worst thing to set me, there are many other things that trigger me. What is worse though, is that some wicked people know this and take advantage of it. Many years ago, Tory Councillor Tony Finn was Mayor. His chosen charity was Noah's Ark Childrens Hospice. I decided to make an extremely large donation to this, with a bequest from my Mums will. Now I wasn't a mate of Tony's and I have never been a Tory, but I felt that me giving it a bung and blogging about it would help get money in. We have to rise above party lines when doing good works. I contacted Tony, who invited me over for a scotch to discuss it. He was a tad sceptical at first, thinking it was a ruse to get some indescretion, but when he saw the cheque he realised I was deadly serious. We realised that although we disagreed about much, we had a similar wicked sense of humour and he invited me to his Mayoral Banquet as a thank you. I wasn't seeking that, but it was a nice gesture. I bumped into him at a Council meeting shortly before. I said "Don't you think inviting me will upset Brian Coleman?" (Coleman was then a councillor and hated me). Tony replied that it was the best part of the whole thing. He said that he was looking forward to lavishing praise on my generosity and public spirit and watching Coleman choke on his soup. I was sat at a good table with some lovely people. We had a great evening. A week later Tony asked me back for another scotch in his office. We couldn't stop giggling as he recounted the look on Brians face. The next year, Brian was the Mayor and I wasn't invited again to a dinner.
My siblings are well aware of my wickedness when it comes to humour. A few years ago, I had an argument with one of my brothers, we weren't talking. I can't remember why, but I heard that he was going into hospital and needed strong antibiotics. As we both have an allergy to penecillin, I realised that he'd most likely be given erithromycin. I had a terrible reaction to this and despite the fact that we were not on great terms, I went to see him. He wasn't pleased, but I said "Look, our argument will pass, but there is something I need to tell you. Do not take erithromycin if they give it to you, I had a really bad reaction to it that nearly killed me. He dismissed my warning and asked me to leave. I felt that at least I tried. The next thing I heard he was at deaths door. I was distraught. Much as we often argue, I do actually love him. Eventually after several weeks in hospital, he was discharged. By this time, we'd gotten over the argument. We were having a cuppa and chatting and he made a terrible confession. The Doctor had prescribed Erithromycin, but he was so cross with me, that he did not pass on my warning. Within about an hour, he started to feel very ill and was rushed to intensive care. He realised that there was a very strong chance he'd not make it. What went through his mind? Well it wouldn't have been true, but he thought I'd be cracking up laughing at his stupidity in ignoring my warning. We actually had a bit of a laugh about it. He said that one of the things that got him through was he was determined to not give me that laugh. I am glad he did. I have often wondered whether having a sick sense of humour is genetic or learned behaviour. My mother didn't really have much of a sense of humour at all. My father would do his best to get a laugh from her, but after 40 years of marriage, had just about given up. However I think all of my siblings have to some degree inherited his sense of humour and also his lack of discretion when there is an opportunity to crack a bad taste joke.
I will end with a story my Dad told me, as a night time tale when I was five. A tragic story that exemplified the Tichborne gallows humour. Dad was an Aussie, who volunteered to fly for the RAF. His best mate from Charters Towers joined the Army and was captured by the Japanese, ending up in a POW Camp. They were treated savagely and not given decent rations. After about six months they were near starvation. The Japanese camp commandant had two prize fighting cocks, that he'd entertain his men with, as they fought. One of the cocks broke loose and some of the Aussie servicemen cooked it up. The camp commandant went mad and demanded to know who had taken the cock. When no one stepped forward, he selected a very popular sergeant and announced that he would take the rap. The poor soul was tied to a post for a week, with no food or drink. It was announced that on the Saturday, if no one owned up, he would be shot in front of all of the troops. By Saturday, he was dragged, half dead in front of the commandant and all of his men. The commandant said "I am going to shoot you now, but I will allow you one last request". The sergeant replied "Can I have the other cock for dinner". Sadly he didn't get the cock and the story ended there. Happily his mate lived to tell the tale. The story was true and Dad said that in his eyes, the seargent won, because he was laughing when he was shot. If you can die laughing, you've won. That was what Dad told me and it is what I believe to this day. Fortunately, it seems unlikely anyone will shoot me (although I am sure you will laugh if they do).
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