I’ve made the decision that I’m actually not that funny. Notice that it’s a decision and not a realisation: that I came to a while ago.
It has taken a while for me to actually come to terms with such a devastating fact, but It’s a certainty I’m not alone in this admission. There must be millions of people who are funnier in their heads than in stark reality.
It’s not that I think I lack a sense of humour. I can be quite witty when cornered, and many of my friends (whose humour I appreciate lots) laugh at my comments. I just think that the biggest problem is style-based. I use puns/double entendres/play-on-words, which by their very nature are normally rubbish, on a regular basis befit of an Englishman. Such is my lot in life, and it is both a blessing and a curse (the inherent humour more than my nationality.)
I shall take a leaf out of the Borg’s book and assimilate some new styles, though I have my suspiscions that this tactic will not yield results. I mean, the Borg (or should that be The Borg) have taken over many, many civilizations. Even within one little sub-culture there must be loads of people who are really witty, and yet the Borg are never, ever funny. Never.
I took Freya to church today, to a weekly (non-religious) sing-song that is organised by Jesus or someone. It was only when I had sat down and let Freya wander around with the other small children that I realised something: watching small babies interact