Monday, 7 April 2014

Bring On The Lovelygrey Clown

Photo: Sune Frack
Once I got 'chucked', a strange old word but we've all been there, for being funny.  'But how can that be?' I really hope that a lot of you out there are saying.  'Too much mirth just isn't possible!'  For I view laughter in all its forms,  from those little inward titters to myself to  the great big body shaking kind where you are literally doubled up and crying, as the seasoning of life.  There's been some of that this weekend.  I've had an old schoolfriend staying and our reminiscences include stuff about all the mad stuff that we've done in the time we've known each other.  It seems that some folks out there don't share our attitude.

I met a classics student with floppy blond locks and clipped vowels at a university ball.  A bit of surreptitious internet research indicates that he is now a headmaster at a private school so a serious demeanour probably suits. Anyway, when he met me, I was looking at my peak of poshness in a wonderful cream off the shoulder number  that I'd borrowed from a friend. Obviously as it was the eighties I had a luminous red streak running through my hair but even that didn't ruin the air of total sophistication. 'You have a neck like a thoroughbred stallion', was his first advance. Blimey, the Neanderthal blokes from where I'm from in Essex didn't make comparisons like that.  They tended to show interest in more obvious ways like whipping their privates out in the middle of a nightclub.  Yep, that actually happened once!  I hasten to add that it's not a tactic that has ever had much chance of being successful with me.

Anyway back to the story.   For a few weeks, with a lot of hard work, I managed to pull off total refinement.   I hid my 'Wicked Willie' books and instead made sure that my copy of 'The Illiad, for after all I had done O level Latin, was illuminated by my desk lamp.  The pretence was that it was the sort of thing that I read all the time.  I disloyally eschewed The Cure and Morrissey for Faure and Allegri too.  Don't get me wrong.  I still love a bit of the classics but they form merely a tiny snippet of my listening repetoire.

In the end my cover was inevitably blown.  After all you can't keep up an act forever.  Floppy Boy accompanied me and my best friend out for a meal.  He got something altogether different to the intense intellectual discussion that he thrived upon and was expecting.  'It was like being with a comedy double act with her as your straight man,' he announced with a visible shudder as he left for the final time.

Now I've seen a workshop that aims to teach stand up and I'm seriously tempted to try it out once my leg has returned to normal.  Could my experience from youth mean that I might actually be quite good at it?


  1. You will never find out until you try it.

    Go on, I double dare yer!