Firing Cheeseballs At A Dog

I came to the worrying realization last week that I couldn’t remember laughing at anything in the previous couple of months. My life was devoid of hilarity, like Tyke Tiler, the boy who sold his soul in exchange for nothing much in particular. I began to worry more and more about this, suffering some kind of performance anxiety where nothing could get me to even chuckle.

Today I forgot to eat properly, and the wheels fell off by mid afternoon. I spent my early evening talking to some salespeople when I should have been at home peering at my daughter, then had to go back to the office, now faint with hunger, rather than go home. When I did get home, it was to find my wife had locked me out. In general, then, I was having a fairly rubbish evening. Having gained access, I couldn’t even bounce my baby upon my knee, as she was convalescing after her vaccinations.

Finally though, we sat down to watch Greg Davies’ DVD, and I found myself laughing again, at long last. It’s an hour and a bit of the alternately stern, camp and surreal Davies, talking about his miserable time as a drama teacher, of the horrors of school nicknames that haunt you for the rest of your life, and of sado-masochistic family pets. All fun stuff, obviously. The cheeseball-firing-at-a-dog anecdote is dealt with very early on, leaving the rest of the show to be a somewhat Zen Buddhist consideration of what it is to live in the moment, rather than worrying about irrelevancies. An examination of living a life unexamined, I suppose.

I guffawed throughout (except for the exploration of mortality than he bravely closed the show with) and felt quite recovered by the end. We’ve now exhausted the supply of fresh comedy DVDs in the house, which is a little concerning: what if I don’t laugh again? I could ask my wife to tickle me, but that usually ends with me convulsing violently, and I don’t want to kick her in the head just to raise a minor snigger.

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