Last weekend my young son asked me what was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. I was rather stumped. I could think of a few things, but I was certain there must be occasions that brought more real hilarity than these.
The following day the olympian archer's aim of a seagull provided a new addition to the chart.
Yesterday's Johnny Mumbles/Wendi Murdoch incident reminded me of another.
A regular rag week feature in my college days was the 'Baffia'. For 50p for charity I think it was these clowns in gorilla masks would flan the person of your choice, if possible at a time and location of your choosing.
During my first year rag week fell during a once a week whole year course of Philosophy lectures Something approaching 200 students listening to a bearded, bespectacled chap who while he did know his subject, was lacking in presence and dynamism. A rumour went around that there were 5 contracts to be fulfilled during this week's lecture, and a large part of the audience were a little more awake than usual wondering if the hits would take place.
20 minutes in they arrived, and there were indeed 5 flans. It wasn't actually terribly funny. Four of the known targets were quickly located, but they had trouble finding the fifth.
After searching as long as they ought, they decided to leave. The chap with the spare flan was unable to resist the temptation of that beard as he departed.
The lecturer removed his glasses and cleaned them. He wiped the foam from his nose so that he could breathe, and from his mouth to enable him to speak. He replaced his glasses and continued.
The hall erupted with laughter. He knew his lecture off by heart, but to continue with so much foam still in beard, moustache, eyebrows and bushy hair was initially too much for us. He paused. Gradually the mirth subsided until he was able to continue, punctuated by no more than the occasional girlish giggle.
His indignity had an unexpected result. He had our whole, unchallenged attention for the rest of the lecture, and its' message was absorbed. I would not go so far as to say that continued for the rest of the series, but for that lecture what happened benefitted him and us.
Yesterday's events also had unexpected results. Those few misguided steps from the unfunny Mr Mumbles undermined UKUncut, created sympathy for the elder Mr Murdoch, and made an unlikely folk heroine out of a woman previously best known for splitting two (or is it three) marriages in pursuit of her manifest destiny.
Those who witnessed or heard Mrs Murdoch's volleyball spike on the head of the hapless clown will have been impressed by her formidable powers. Though on yesterday's evidence, even she must have been challenged when having decided to increase the size of the family payroll, in getting her husband to rise to the occasion.
This will now be the most remembered part of these hearings, eclipsing anything of more substance. My favourite moment, missed by most commentators, was the look on James Murdoch's face when asked to confirm that all payments for stories were reported to the tax authorities.
No comments:
Post a Comment