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Some things in life are funnier than a comedian would dare write

Oct 16, 2016

We are surrounded by humour, if only we are aware of it. On some occasions it’s obvious, and on others we need to be a bit sharp to pick up on it. Here are a few from personal experience over the years.

It’s just not me!

I met a farmer once when I stopped to photograph his property. Nice bloke, but his philosophy is bit different, to say the least.

He explained how the farm had been in his family for 140 years, how he’d added to it by buying other surrounding properties as they came to market. He told me he and his wife had been married 30 years, this was their anniversary, and she was away in Sydney on the honeymoon they’d never had.

“Your wife’s in Sydney on your honeymoon and you’re here…?”

I must have sounded a bit incredulous, but you could have knocked me over with a crowbar when I heard his response.

“Yeah, well, she needs the break and I’ve got too much to do here. Anyway, it’s not really my scene.”

The mind boggles.

What’s in a name?

Some years back, driving on a quiet highway, I saw something shining on the road. I moved slightly sideways but the shoulder of a tyre must have edged it and flicked it up behind me. I noticed the following car pull off the side of the road and then, a few minutes later, catch up with me, headlights flashing. As seemed courteous, I pulled over. We got out of our cars and the other driver handed me a Ford badge.

“Here, mate, musta fallen off ya car…”

At the time, I was driving a Commodore!

Now there’s an idea!

Jennifer was born and bred in the country but moved away many years earlier and made a life for herself and her family in the arts community of a big city. Returning home for a visit to her parents in their rural town, she saw her father putting his hand into a hessian bag and withdrawing fertiliser to spread on his vegetable garden.

“What are you using there, Dad?” she asked.

“Sheep manure, Dear.”

“Oh, do they pelletise it nowadays?”

Um, actually Jen, for quite a long time.

There is information we need…

Anna was a regular customer in our supermarket and always brought her mother, Maria, a dear old soul of Eastern European origin. I saw Anna bend to pick up a 10kg bag of rice but said leave it, I’d get it and take it to the checkout for her. Maria told me, “Thank you, John. Her piles not good since she have her babies.”

Maria cried, “Oh, M-u-u-u-m…!”

Never the twain

Two great-grand nephews from a family with split football allegiances, boys who have both North Melbourne and Collingwood guernseys. They love their game of backyard footie and, good patriotic boys that they are, they sing the national anthem before the game, but it makes a big difference which guernseys their mum has washed. If the same, they stand with arms across each other’s shoulders as they sing the anthem. However, if different, they stand opposite and glower at each other!

Can’t be seen to fraternise.

Poor Harold

As a kid I used to spend a bit of time with a friend and, probably especially, his sister just up the road. I think the dad, Harold, might have been the most henpecked man of all time. Heather, his wife, had a series of different pronunciations for his name.

HAR-old, with the first syllable short and sharp, seemed to be a normal call to arms. Har-OLD, with upward inflection, was the equivalent of “Where are you?”

When called across the paddocks, HAROLD, loud and with equal accent on both syllables indicated he ought to get back here PDQ.

Sometimes, and it seemed to be on Sunday afternoons, we’d get the giggles listening to Heather croon a musical, “H-a-a-r-o-o-l-d…”, especially when we heard the bedroom door close.

And then there was one Sunday when he wasn’t spoken to at all. Harold and Heather sat in church. He was short and fat and, when he sat on one of the hard, flat Myrtle benches, he spread somewhat.

I know you’re picturing this…

Well, on that one special Sunday, just as the parson said “Let us pray” and the congregation became quiet, he farted. The sound frarped out and made everyone turn to look — many of the men seeming perhaps a little envious — just in time to see Heather stand, turn and march straight out. There were a few muted chuckles but when the parson himself laughed out loud it brought the roof down!

From that day on, Heather attended church on her own.