I have blog paralysis. I was going to write a ranty blog about this wretched idea of having school children pledge allegiance to the bloody Queen, but the more ludicrous the idea, the more difficult it is to satirise. And no-one likes ANGRY RANT blogs anyway unless they’re about something inconsequential but strangely maddening happening to you on your way to work.
Then I was going to write a blog about a tramp on Wardour Street facetiously offering me fashion advice, but it read very much like a parody of the Victorian ‘And the hooligans dared to pull upon the Young Master’s coat-tails’ style of writing so I ditched it.
THEN I was going to use the example of a Facebook parody about the unfortunate lives of geriatrics to write about how all comedy can be reduced to choosing to find the futility of life’s struggles when the ultimate reward is but misery and death funny instead of depressing. But I don’t trust people who take life seriously more than 20% of the time anyway, so what’s the point?
Instead, I offer you a short extract from Timequake which (in the context of the rest of the chapter) made me shake with laughter, which is quite embarrassing when you’re on a dead-head commuter train.
That the impulse to laugh at healthy people who nonetheless fall down is by no means universal was brought to my attention at a performance of Swan Lake.
A ballerina, dancing on her toes, went deedly-deedly-deedly into the wings as she was supposed to do. But then there was a sound backstage as though she had put her foot in a bucket and then gone down an iron stairway with her foot still in the bucket. I laughed like hell. I was the only person to do so.