As Funny As Cancer

Early today, if you had spied me walking along my road towards Waitrose, you would have seen me pause for a moment, make a fist with my right hand, and punch the palm of my left before pressing on with my journey and wondering whether to blog about that moment.

Y'see, in that moment, I had a regret.

The best part of 8 years ago, I said something stupid. And it's one of the things that whenever I remember the moment, I go all cold inside, and wish the earth would swallow me up. Even now, 8 years on. I doubt anyone else remembers it. I've apologised for it, and I have kicked myself - literally and metaphorically - for it many times since.

I suppose I wish the humorous pay-off to all of this was something merely inane and pointless. It's not. It was a joke about cancer on the day of a friend's relative's funeral. Who had died of cancer. To my friend's face. Which, as you can probably imagine, is about as funny as... cancer.

I can't even remember particularly why I did it. I could claim I was trying to lighten the mood (with jokes about cancer?! Yes, that's HOT stuff, right there) but I probably wasn't. I'm fairly sure I was in the eternal pursuit of a laugh, which is something that has trailed me through me life. Presentations? Sermons? This blog? All done for laughs.

Yesterday, at a birthday party with old friends who have seen me go from cute little nerdy kid to the person I am today (make your own jokes...), I was asked several times what the future held in store for me. I struggled, on every occasion, not to make light of their concern. They genuinely wanted to know how to help, how to pray, what they could do. All I could do was respond with sardonic grunts and jokes about becoming homeless.

Which, when I think about it, is kinda funny. Well, funnier than cancer, anyway.

I'm Not A Racist, My Best Friend Is A Stereotype

In conversation with an American friend of mine, she said that I use stereotypes on this blog a lot, particularly when it comes to Americans. In the same conversation, she also said that she only rarely reads this blog, and even then, it’s out of pity. I was surprised that a casual reader would give such a critique, as I didn’t know Americans could grasp irony…

Stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. Unjust, perhaps. Unrepresentative, maybe. But British people will always moan about the weather, Americans will always be fat/stupid/cultural Philistines, and the French will always be cheese-eating surrender monkeys.

Of course, I jest.* Yet a lot of humour is based around the idea of stereotypes. When Omid Djalili comes out on stage and starts his comedy routine with an Iranian accent, he plays to the stereotype. The humour is found in what we recognise, or think we recognise as an Iranian. When he then breaks into his natural Home Counties accent, the joke accentuates itself, as we have to laugh to rid ourselves of discomfort at the slightly racist joke we’ve been part of.

Of course, I never set out to offend, and I often think carefully before I post something. But, as I hope you have realised over the time you’ve been reading this blog, I’m just as willing to laugh at myself, before I laugh at anyone else. However, other people’s mistakes are far funnier than mine.

I recently heard a quote from Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sachs (for all my lefty Jewish readers, I still think he’s a dude), which went something like this: “Righteousness always has a sense of humour. Self-righteousness never does.”

Amen to that.


*Aside from the bit about the French. That’s true. And the British. And I wouldn’t like to say about the Americans – I know some, and they own guns.**

**I am, of course, joking. Apart from the guns. That is entirely true.