# 14
When I heard David (“Call me Dave”) Cameron using the “Calm Down, Dear” riposte in Parliament last week I confess I laughed. Not much, just a little. It was mildly humorous and it was effective. What else can you say? At the time, it seemed to put most of his opponents on the Labour front bench into states approaching apoplexy[1]. I’m choosing my words carefully; avoiding saying ‘hysteria’ because of the obvious sexism still associated with that word[2]. Now, I’m told it wasn’t funny, it was patronising – especially his use of the word ‘dear’ - and that I shouldn’t have laughed. Whoops!
Sorry; but laughing is what I do when I find something funny. And to be honest I can’t promise to check out everyone’s political and cultural sensibilities before laughing. There isn’t time. It’s a reflex action. In life, I find, some things make me laugh and some things make me cry. As I get older I find I am becoming less inhibited about both. Afterwards, I am happy to analyse why I laughed or why I cried. I have yet to be ashamed of crying but there have been times when I’ve felt guilty or even downright ashamed for having laughed. Could it be that knowing you shouldn’t laugh increases the likelihood that you will?
I hope I would feel remorse if I had laughed at something that was intentionally racist or sexist – but I’m not sure I can guarantee absolutely not to guffaw at something that turns out to be hideously politically incorrect. I am a product of the 1950s – at school, our playground humour was frequently smutty and/or exploited the misfortunes of others. I still love old seaside postcards – the one that comes to mind has a man lying in agony and an irate doctor saying to a nurse (guess which was male and which female), “No nurse – I told you to prick his boil!”
Nowadays I hear a lot of jokes and comments at work which are meant to be funny but which don’t make me laugh. If I don’t laugh it’s because the intended ‘joke’ simply wasn’t funny or really was unpleasantly racist, sexist or culturally insensitive. Most times, finding something ‘offensive’ is as much a reflex action as the opposite impulse which would have been to laugh.
When you think about it, quite a lot of humour is generated by the misfortunes of others. I love that German word Schadenfreude [3]. It’s surely a very ‘English’ deceit to have adopted a German word for responses that we all feel but which we know, deep down, are thoroughly impolite – not to say unacceptable. It’s a good let-out for us: “We don’t have a word for it but of course the Germans do. Well they would, wouldn’t they? Heartless bastards.”
The basis of good humour has to be self-awareness. You have to be able to laugh at yourself; that’s the starting point. If only the Labour front bench had had the collective nous to mutter loudly back at Cameron, “You stupid boy!”[4] Would that have made them all feel better? I hope so, but I fear not.
To me, the worst part of the whole sorry (but minor) episode was that I found myself Googling the words ‘Calm down, dear’ and that chucked-up (sic) a piece written by Richard Littlejohn for Mail Online[5]. I’ve heard of Littlejohn but I thought he worked for The Sun – a tabloid newspaper which, like most rational beings, I avoid like the plague. Mind you, I wouldn’t normally read The Daily Mail either for reasons that are not dissimilar. The dreaded Littlejohn (Wasn’t he previously something big in Sherwood Forest ?) confesses that he “roared with laughter” not at the put-down but in anticipation of “what the splenetic reaction would be.” He then goes off on his own primal rant, unburdening himself of all the slights and scowls he has suffered from leftwing political opponents for some years. Better out than in, Richard, best to get it off your chest. Except that this type of diatribe is apparently your stock-in-trade and it must be what makes your similarly diminished punters keep coming back for more. More hurt than joy, Richard – it’s not good for you.
Personally, I felt I needed to gargle or at least wash my hands after reading Littlejohn’s outburst. I knew for certain that my reflexive laughter was / is / and will always be very different from his. Come to think of it, he did remind me a little of Jeremy Clarkson who - for all I know - also writes a column for The Mail (Does he?) Clarkson though is different. Unlike Richard Littlejohn you can sense that Jeremy knows he is a buffoon and his humour therefore has the saving grace of being generated by his talent for self-mockery. Self-deprecation, Richard, that’s the stuff! I never warmed to Bob Monkhouse as a comic until, quite late in his life and at the pinnacle of his career, he came up with;
“Years ago they laughed at me when I said I wanted to be a comedian…Well, they’re not laughing now, are they?”
And finally…I confess I did enjoy the humour, intentional and otherwise, generated by the Royal Wedding. Okay, I avoided most of the spectacle by going to Sainsbury’s on Friday morning. But later, that cart-wheeling verger coming down the red carpet did it for me. Carry-On Verging, my dear old thing! Is it possible for his act to be incorporated into all future Royal Occasions? Could he become the warm-up for the Archbishop (you know, the one who looks like the lead-singer from Jethro Tull) doing a routine on the parallel bars? In full cassock and mitre, of course. What else? Well the stroppy little bridesmaid at front left of the ’Kiss’ photograph remains a hoot and I also enjoyed reading Grace Dent’s Wedding Watch in The Guardian[6]. (Littlejohn wouldn’t be at all surprised to know that I’m a Guardian-reader). One of her Highs was described thus, “Tara Palmer-Tompkinson’s electric blue vagina-inspired hat, plonked centre-stage on her forehead with the lower lips pointing at her new nose. Brave.” Am I wrong to find that funny?
Next week: It takes a lot to laugh. It takes a train to cry[7]
[1] Apoplexy: such a fit of infuriation that one might seem to be about to burst a blood vessel. Gr apoplexia from apo– (expressing completeness) and plessein to strike. Chambers Dictionary 9th Edition. 2003
[2] Hysteria: Gr hystera the womb, with which hysteria was formerly thought to be connected. Op. Cit.
[3] Schadenfreude: malicious pleasure in the misfortunes of others. Ger, from Schade hurt, and Freude joy. Op.Cit.
[4] Capt. Mainwaring (frequently) to Private Pike in Dad’s Army.
[5] Calm down pet, this is completely barking. www.dailymail.co.uk 29th April 2011.
[6] The Guardian, Saturday 30 April 2011, Wedding Souvenir Section, page 10.
[7] Bob Dylan ‘Highway 61 Revisited’ Columbia
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