Shouts From Down Under

That was the best dinner I've had today...

The following is a YouTube video of VSauce's that explores the subject of humour.




In that video, Michael attempts to explain the reasoning behind "Why did the chicken cross the road?", among his other usual entertainment.

This chicken thing reminded me of a chicken my wife and I saw today, as we were leaving the Latrobe Mersey Hospital, here in Tasmania.
Among the parked cars belonging to Doctors and Nurses was a happy hen, scratching away on the grassy verge. That's the sort of place we live in here. Only in Tasmania...

In the previous blog entry here, I discussed with you, the readers, that technique of writing we sometimes (me-often) don't get, not for ages, and wonder why everyone else is successful, and why I am mediocre. The writing that's NOT there, the stuff that is said, because it's NOT said.

Well, humour can be like that I suppose, in a big way, and here's the thing ( williampadgett I say it too ), if jokes are successful enough, they move slightly out of the realm of "dad jokes" and become funny. People grudgingly grant you "credit" for the joke, even if it's a real groaner. I rarely approach this category.

When I was younger, to tell a joke meant attracting the attention of the rest of the family. Our family was an extended one, with my cousins living with us, so if you held the floor, it was a scary floor to hold. Mum and Dad were a lot gentler than our siblings and cousins, let me tell you.

They weren't that bad, I suppose, but I could never tell a joke and not A. forget the punchline, B. be told off before I got to the end, or C be talked over the top of and no one realised I'd tried to get a word in.

I was the youngest, and a bit of a runt. I had a quiet voice.

These attributes aided in sneaking out during the last tenth of the meal time, with my cousin K**** , so that we avoided the dreaded washing up, but being nervous or quiet in a crowd did nothing for your confidence.

It was the same at school. I could hardly hold a conversation, let alone have the confidence and balls to stand up, tell everyone to shut up, and tell a good knee slapper.
I'm mostly the same these days, a quiet, shy (cough cough!) bloke, but have learnt to do just that; to wait for a chance, stand up and tell it, in a nice way, and to ignore my beating heart, ignore that the joke may fall flat, ignore the worry of donkey braying relatives' derision, at my stupidity.

I learned that mostly, people carry on at you because they like you. Mostly.

So. Humour me with this blog ok? It does have a point somewhere, probably at the pointy end.

Mr Bean was once interviewed in Australia, on Bondi Beach, of all ridiculous places, and they asked him what he thought of it. He said, "this is the best Bondi Beach I've ever seen."

There are thousands of jokes, comedians and failed punchlines, only one Carl Barron of course, and only one of each of us on WDC.

So it seems to me, all the Publishers and Publishing Agents out there who work so tirelessly to assess people's submissions, that the joke is really on them. I say this tongue in cheek of course, having just submitted two novels to www.harpercollins.com.au

Because, you see, our work is one of a kind. It may fall flat, and may not be funny, but it is unique. Just like Bondi Beach.

Yesterday was no laughing matter for me. Even though our dog wagged her tail at my sad tale, this morning at 3 am.

I was on my way to the loo for the umpteenth time, and on purpose! Yes, the medication I had to take was for a good cause.

I took it and it made me go.

That should be enough said.

So, today I waited on a gurney in the Mersey Hospital in Latrobe (yes, the place where the chook crossed the car park), with a headache you could jump over, and had the dreaded deed done by deliberately direct doctors, under dopey sedation, thank goodness!

Without going into ANY detail (being the things NOT said say more than those things that are, and also trying to be sophisticated here) I was banned from eating anything after breakfast yesterday morning, and then only clear liquids. For someone who loves their food, this amounts to torture.

Yes, the dog was grinning, I'm sure of it, not just at my hunger, but at the regular trips from bed to bum bench.

The procedure was a quiet success, the hospital staff did a fantastic job, my wife picked me up just before lunchtime and we went for a sandwich and coffee at a cafe in Devonport (not Devenport thank you, Google Earth and Facebook).

Even after this "snack" I could have cheerfully eaten the side out of a cow, and while sitting in our local library, I even contemplated munching on one or two of the "healthier" patrons but was forcibly removed by my wife before 6 pm.

Good news! Tonight, just now, I had a plateful of the best lamb "cutlasses" and veggies in two days.

Bad News! I'll have to watch the added salt and meal quantities. My obs weren't so good, as you can see.

Obs


Subs


Cutlets


Many thanks to people who keep buying me tickets in raffles, sending me fantastic stuff on WDC and that sneaky Pay it Forward one I received. What the? How do you..? What the...?
So, here's a collective thank you to everyone.


Sparky