Those funny People; the Fake Clowns

I reckon most people think that they have a wonderful sense of humour. A bit like most men think they're fantastic drivers.

Or is it just men? I wonder, as I write this I've had the thought that perhaps women aren't as bothered about their own sense of humour as a man is about his. Could it be that us men are just ego driven chimps who strive to be better than the next man? How ridiculous, I can hear David Blacker saying!

I digress, which is one of that things that I'm finding fascinating now that I'm trying my damndest to get my blogging mojo back.

Obviously, being a man, I consider myself pretty damn funny. I read somewhere (I think it was by Edward De Bono)  that a person who is funny has the ability to jump off the road that a conversation is travelling on, to get to a different place, then take his co conversationalist to that place too. The unexpected, combined with someone else guiding us there, is usually what makes us laugh.

I don't know, but it seemed like a very good rational explanation of a tricky yet instinctive concept. How does one analyse something that just happens to us naturally? We don’t hear something funny then assess its pros and cons with our rational mind before deciding whether to laugh. We just hear the funny and spit coffee everywhere, perhaps applying the rational mind afterwards to try to figure out what was funny.

What about those people who just try too hard to be too funny too much of the time? Do you know any? Have you observed any and do they get on your nerves like they do to me?

I have a friend, someone I'd describe as one of those fringe friends, who acts like some kind of clown. He's constantly messing around, either physically or verbally, and any conversation with him seems to consist of him trying to find something funny to say.

And he fails abysmally IMHO.

There are times when he genuinely cracks a witticism, when one slips through the cracks and makes me laugh. But generally I just think "WTF?" to myself and wonder if it's all about attention, like with Chandler and his childhood.

I'm one of three brothers and when I'm with both my siblings we put a lot of effort into making each other laugh. It's how we are and I suspect many sets of brothers are like this. But it feels natural, never forced, to us. Or that might be my inherent bias, I'm not sure. But I don't think any of us seek to do this with other people all the time, especially to the extent that it gets on their nerves.

So what on Earth is is with these fake clown types?

Are they compulsive attention seekers, probably because of childhood issues? Or are they people who genuinely are funny and it’s just you and I who don’t find them funny?

Or what?

Oh Deer!

The Sri Lankan Police Could Learn From This!

Freddie On A Friday

Okay, it goes on a tad too long but is downright hilarious. Have a good weekend out there!

Monday Invalidation

I saw this and thought of you.

Any musos out there, but also normal people, will see this and think of many they know.





Enjoy your Monday morning. It's bound to be a snowy / icy / rainy / hot / cold one.

Search Me

Once in a while I like to peruse the statistics, or stats if you're American, for my blog. It's interesting to look at the words and phrases people have typed into their search engines that have led them to these parts, it often throws up some surprises and never ceases to makes me laugh.

One of my biggest claims to fame, in life in general, is that I'm the number one match if you search for "Elephant House Cream Soda". Well, I am on the UK Google site but have been relegated to third on the Sri Lankan one. And curiously, like many bloggers whom I've seen comment on the phenomenom, I get a good few hits from people searching for sex related phrases that I'm not aware I've ever written about.

Here's the recent top five, finishing off with a number one that I think you'll agree is quite possibly the funniest search term ever:

5. "Condoms in Colombo" - Well it's not funny per se, but it gives me a feeling of pride to know that my blog might be giving advice to hapless fellows looking for raincoats in Serendib.

4. "Sri Lankan big boob young girl" - No, I don't know why. Puzzling, slightly strange.

3. "Why do hairdressers wear black?" - What sort of a person needs to search for the answer to this question? In fact what sort of a person needs to ask it in the first place. Just to clear things up it's so the hair doesn't show up all over the hairdresser's clothing. Fuckwit.

2. "Peeing in urinal for long time" - This is a chin scratcher of the highest order. So some bloke goes into a public urinal, pees for a long time then googles the matter to see why? Or is it another chap who witnesses the event and wonders why it's happened? Perhaps it's a curious woman, trying to find out the secrets of men, the things we do in a urinal. Which is just to pee really, unless of course you're name is George and you used to be in Wham.

1. "Rearranged furniture and dog crapped everywhere" - I don't need to patronise you with narrative about this and why it's so funny. But I will. Imagine what I think can be the only explanation for this. Some random bloke decides to move some of his furniture around a bit. No way was this a woman, I don't know why, that's just the way it is. He puts his settee over there, the chair over here and turns the coffee table ninety, perhaps eighty five degrees.

Then, on his return from a hard day's work, probably at a furniture shop, perhaps a pet store, he discovers that his dog has taken a dislike to the new arrangement and crapped everywhere. So, he googles the situation and ends up reading about Sri Lanka, some drummer bloke and his mad daughters.

Brilliant. Totally.

The 2009 Lankanosphere Awards - The Funniest Blog

Morning all and welcome to another week in the land of freedom, liberty, democracy and independence. And a big hello to those of you in Sri Lanka as well.

This is the final week of this year's event and the real big boys, the hard hitters of the awards are now looming larger than Sicile Kotelawala riding a rhinoceros and wearing an extra large Chuck Norris T shirt whilst charging towards towards us.

Humour in writing is a strange thing isn't it? When you're looking for it it's hard to find, but when you're not seeking the stuff it can jump out and take you by surprise. That's one of the characteristics of humour; the surprise element is part of what makes us chuckle and spit everywhere. So my search for funny Sri Lankan blogs is a continually challenging one. You can't just google the keywords and find the fellows, it's only when you browse a few blogs that they fall out of the blogosphere and land on the funny bone, which isn't that funny at all. Truth be told it's fucking painful, God knows why they call it the funny bone, which is probably the joke in the first place.

Last year's winner was the laugh so much I think I might have just shit a little bit inducing Dramaqueen and therefore she's excluded from this year. It's weird but true that women are generally far better at doing the sensitive, emotional and delicate writing but it seems us men are better able to make people laugh. I don't know why this is, just look at groups of people out in bars and you'll see men laughing and telling jokes and women talking earnestly about important things, like why they don't write humorous stuff. Strange no?

Dramaqueen breaks all that sexist mallarkey and cracks up her readership with witty observations and stories that have us rolling in the aisles. If I ever get to meet her in real life I'll be sorely disappointed if she doesn't make me laugh like a monkey with a big carrier bag and the key to the banana plantation.

We have three fine nominees this year. They're three blogs that have had me guffawing, lolling and farting involuntarily (more than usual). They are:

1. ASOB, NQIM - Or, the blog formerly known as A Sort Of Beautiful, But Not Insane Mind. It would seem that everyone knows Jerry. He falls off bikes and goes on trips with many in the Lankanosphere on a fairly regular basis. He also has a gift. It's that ability to take an otherwise everyday and mundane situation and tell us about it and make us laugh. Have a read of this post, his quite famous job interview with Batman one, to see what I mean.

Jerry reckons he has "a water-bed of fluff that I had between me, my mind, and the real world" and this post gives us a better idea of where he's coming from. I don't know about the water bed and fluff and mind business but I do find him funny, with a capital h.

2. Cerebral Ramblings - It's written by a girl, she's called Makuluwo and she's funny in a different and more subtle way. Her blog isn't so much of a rip roaring slap your sides as you laugh kind of thing. It's more that you read it and chuckle quietly and knowingly at her slightly bitchy, very cutting and extremely sharp observations. Check this post out. It's about pants, trousers and boys. And it's about Papareboy's Mum, who gets quite a lot of stick. I don't know her so can't say if she deserves it or not. She's a mother, she's Sri Lankan so yeah, on balance she probably does deserves it.

There's something scary about Makuluwo too. Read this, then tell me that you'd go to her as a friend for advice. No, me neither.

3. Sri Lanka Land Of The Blind - This is most definitely a side splitting thigh slapping laughing out loud blog. It's written by a bloke called Da Blogfather and is a bit on the political side. There are good big chunks of text about the Rogerproxys, I don't know what Da Blogfather means but he says that this is what would happen if they ruled the world. Check it out, it's good and funny, or that's what most will think anyhow. At some point in the future this blog may cease to exist. We'll have to see what happens with the whole censorship issue.


Well as is usual there's but one winner. Choosing has been tougher than being brown skinned and getting quick service at the Galle Face Hotel, but the panel has done its job and made a decision. Yes, the winner is................





...............Makuluwo and Cerebral Ramblings

So much for the bit about men being more humorous and all. This is the second woman to take the title in as many years. It proves something, maybe along the lines of women being better than men at everything except getting kicked in the balls and being crap at multi tasking. Men are extremely good at both of those of course.

Our guest judge is none other than Dramaqueen. She had these heartwarming and hilarious words to say about the winner.

"Not everything is worthy enough of dragging me out of the woodwork, save the chocolate sundae with extra topping from Mcdonald's. But this is rather exciting. I've never been a judge before. Well, technically I have, but that was for the Mr. Sexy Legs competition at a family do, so it doesn't count. None of my uncles are sexy.

Of course, when one is invited to judge something as glamorous as the RD blogscars, one must approach said duties with the seriousness of an eagle contemplating a paraplegic katussa. It is opportunity not to be missed. To be asked to guest judge the humour category and thereafter to consider a blog a delightful as Cerebral Ramblings for first place... well... this just makes me feel like Sarath won the elections.

Right. Niceties out of the way. To the subject at hand...er..monitor.

There is funny and there is funneh. Cerebral Ramblings is neither. The blogger is in a league of her own, one that not many understand or appreciate, save the head psychiatrist at the Mulleriyawa hospital. If the pen is mightier than the sword, then her keyboard far outweighs the tickliest of feathers. She provides the reader with side-splitting guffaws on the most miserable of days with her mad wit and imagination. When Makuluwo blogs, even Gota seems tolerable. To top it all off, she saves puppies, too. She is living, breathing, blogging proof that women can be interesting beyond their curves. A girl after my own heart.

My heartiest chuckle and congratulations go to Makuluwo for keeping my undies soaked in piss everytime I read her. Long live her funny bone.

Dramaqueen."

Congratulations and well done to Makuluwo. Thanks several dozen times to DQ for the guest judging and the untold emails (about 5 actually but that would be telling).

RD

What Would The Lankan One Be Then?

As much as I'd love to take the credit for this, I can't. I saw it, I laughed a lot, I copied and pasted it for your pleasure.

What would the paragraph for Sri Lanka read?

Alert Levels around the Globe.

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved."

Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorised from "Tiresome" to a "Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was during the great fire of 1666.

The Scots raised their threat level from "****ed Off" to "Let's get the Bastards" They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the frontline in the British army for the last 300 years.

The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide". The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France 's white flag factory, effectively paralysing the country's military capability.

It's not only the French who are on a heightened level of alert.

Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout loudly and excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."

The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose".

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels .

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Americans meanwhile are carrying out pre-emptive strikes on all of their allies, just in case.

New Zealand has also raised its security levels from "baaa" to "BAAAA!". Due to continuing defence cutbacks (the air force being a squadron of spotty teenagers flying paper aeroplanes and the navy some toy boats in the Prime Minister's bath), New Zealand only has one more level of escalation, which is "****, I hope Australia will come and rescue us".

Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She'll be alright, mate". Three more escalation levels remain, "Crikey!', "I think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend" and "The barbie is cancelled". So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.

Have the finest of weekends out there.

RD

What's Happened To Humour In The Lankanosphere?

Seriously.

I've been doing a lot of browsing around the Lankanosphere as research and development for the forthcoming awards and, as far as sidesplittingly funny writing is concerned, there's a distinct lack of it.

The only single blog listed on Kottu that makes me smile, laugh and fart involuntarily is DramaQueen's, but she went and scooped all the awards last year and only writes a post on Thursdays when Halley's comet is clearly visible, occasionally Wednesdays.

There's no shortage of blogs and bloggers who can make me laugh. I've chuckled heartily, like Father Christmas after a night when he's smoked a few too many, at posts by Cerno, Indi, Java and others, but I wouldn't class their blogs as ones that are funny per se.

I've laughed like a demented Hyena leaving the dentist after having some fillings on that troublesome tooth at the back at some of Sittingnut's comments and posts, but something tells me he's not actually trying to be funny.

The "troll" type blogs, those HH Zoltan and Pada Show ones are hit and miss, usually the latter and I fundamentally think that to gain attention by piss taking is quite cheap anyway, far better to create something oneself than mock others.

I've found myself a new funny, no make that hilarious blog. I've been trawling through its archives and I wince and chuckle with equal and copious amounts at just about every sentence. Have a look at it here, I guarantee you'll find it funny. The problem with it is that it's about as Sri Lankan as one of those Great British dishes, like curry.

JCP has morphed into a purely political place and the once clever satire has been replaced by insults and name calling, not my thing really.

I think I'm going to end up with a funniest post award instead of the funniest blog one as I can't find a blog that fits.

So I ask you dear reader. Which Lankan blog posts have you read that made you laugh, that made you pee just a little bit and put a smile on your face in the morning?

Answers on a comment please.

Three Wicked Things

They're different, but here are three random phrases that I've read in recent weeks that have stuck with me.

"Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that's creativity." - Charles Mingus.

"It's sort of like the fort railway station suddenly becoming an exclusive members only club." - Cerno

"You wouldn't know subtlety if it punched you in the face." - Someone on Twitter who I can't recall.

Words can be very beautiful, particularly if they're put in the right order.

A Parody

Apparently.

K And The Drinking

I got up on Saturday morning and made my toilet, as is the habit of many. Then, I sat on it and did a poo, nothing unusual there.

I meandered into the sitting room, which is combined with the kitchen area and drum practice area, of RD Towers and made myself a cup of tea. I used the pack of Sri Lankan tea bags. It's one of life's little dichotomies; the tea bags are Sri Lankan, I don't want to waste them and I want to be patriotic. Unfortunately they taste exactly 0.14 times as good as PG Tips pyramid tea bags. I know this because I've measured it.

So I'm working my way through the box of tea bags, wishing that I could throw them away and buy a box of proper PG Tips, knowing that such an act would probably make about fifteen tea pluckers redundant. I have a social conscience. Next time the chimps get my business though.

As I plunged into the golden nectar I opened my laptop and went to my usual places, ending up staring at my home page on the book. One of the first things to catch my eye was the status message of A, the fifteen year old. It had got about twenty comments from other people and it caused me great concern. The comments said things like

"What happened?"

"She must be in so much trouble"

The status said

"My little sister (that's K to you) got caught drinking"

You know K. She's smart and dangerous. It was only a matter of time before this happened but I hadn't expected it so soon.

I knew she had gone out to the cinema with friends on Friday night and guessed that she must have returned pissed and got in trouble.

As a person I was tempted to chuckle heartily at the situation and brush it off with humour and a good natured shrug. As a parent I wanted to tell K off, to make sure she didn't do this again for a while and that she kept on the straight and narrow. Then, as a divorced parent, the one who doesn't live with them, I wondered if I'd even get to officially find out about this. There was every chance that the girls and their mother would close shop, not telling me and keeping it amongst themselves.

And being a FB friend of them is a tricky business. JapSach's post about his mum on the book made me chuckle as I could totally relate to it from both sides; the child and the parent. It's a great means for me to keep a track of what the girls are doing, but if I do too much with the information I run the risk of being deleted as a friend, then having no further access to that side of their lives.

This situation made me decide that the last thing I should do was to ring up and say that I'd just seen this on Facebook and demand explanations and the like. They'd close ranks and I'd end up with nothing.

I called them and, after a few attempts, got an answer. I chatted with A, she told me nothing. I asked for K and was told that she was still in bed. "Hmmm... with a hangover" I thought, but didn't say, there was a definite element of A covering up for her little sister.

By midday K still hadn't been raised from her slumber. I texted her and got no response. Then I got a phone call from their mother. I expected a very serious "you need to talk to her about this" type of conversation. Instead their mother seemed to be amused.

"You'll never guess what happened" she said.

I told her that I probably would as I'd seen it on A's FB page. She told me the rest of the story. It went like this:

On Friday evening she'd come home from work to find their living room in a total and utter mess. There was paper all over the floor, evidence that someone had been cutting up paper and left the remnants everywhere. It was a shambles. A was the only child around and she grabbed her and told her off, to be told in believable tones that A wasn't responsible, that it was all down to K, who was out.

A little while later K waltzed back, plonked herself down in a chair and said nothing. Her mother said to her

"Well Miss, you're in serious trouble, what have you got to say about this then?"

K looked at her with a startled and scared look and, after a bit of hesitation, said

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean it. I just tried a bit and hated it anyhow and then spat it out."

Her mother was confused, her sister was equally confused.

"You what?" said her mother.

"I just tried a mouthful from yours and didn't like it"

"Of what?"

K realised that there was something wrong at this point.

"Ermm, of your vodka bottle"

"I was talking about the mess in the front room"

"Oh" said a rather crestfallen K who now knew that not only was she in big trouble for a crime she had committed but she was also in deep doo doo for a crime that she'd just confessed to that hadn't been even uncovered.

I lost track after that, mostly because I was laughing too much. I agreed that I wouldn't say anything to K, as she was on the bus on her way to see me.

I couldn't resist a couple of jibes that afternoon, just to keep K on her toes. It was funny to watch her eyes, when I asked her if she'd like a beer or something, almost hearing the cogs turn in her devious head as she wondered how much I knew.

I must admit I was pleased that my initial fear, that she'd gone out and got drunk with her friends, was unfounded. In this case "caught drinking" meant that she'd had a swig of vodka and hated it.

The worry is the next time. K learns quickly and I'm sure the lessons from this episode will be most valuable to her.

By Sunday morning all evidence of the episode, the status on A's facebook page and the many comments, had mysteriously disappeared. I'm certain that K had protested to her sibling and, in a rare case, said sibling had felt pity and deleted the evidence.

Sometimes these sisters can stick together.

Too Fucking Right

"Can you wear a sarong if you are Sri Lankan and you are a man?"

was the phrase someone in South Africa recently googled that led them to my blog.

Does the Pope shit in the woods?

I ask you.

Women And Boxing

As I drove into work yesterday morning I listened with interest to a radio article about womens' boxing. It was there because Olympic chiefs were meeting yesterday to decide on the issue of allowing womens' boxing as part of the 2012 Olympics programme.

Now I'm not really a boxing fan. Fundamentally I feel that a sport with the objective of physically beating seven, or eight shades of crap out of your opponent and winning by being the best one at it is wrong. But, if people want to do it and are willing participants, then I say they should be allowed to. I just don't really want to watch it.

And as far as I'm concerned, if men are allowed to do it in the Olympics then women should be allowed to as well.

It was all so simple in my mind. Men are allowed, so should women be.

Then I heard something that messed up my mindset. It was the fact that one of the reasons cited for womens' boxing not allowed in the Olympics in the past was that, and I quote, hence the quotation marks

"premenstrual women boxers become overly emotional putting them at greater risk of injury."

Well I don't know about greater risk of injury but I know a little bit about premenstrual women. My observations are not that they'd be at greater risk of injury in the least. No way. There can be nothing more scary than the thought of a pre menstrual woman in a boxing ring.

Give me a choice between jumping into a boxing ring and facing a woman in the premenstrual month, for I know that the condition lasts for about a month, or an angry Swan with a hatred of Sri Lankan drummers I know exactly what I'd do.

I'd face neither, I'd bugger off to Odel and buy a shirt or something then hope they'd be gone by the time I returned. Or at least they wouldn't recognise me if I had a different shirt on.

Trust me here. I know about these things.

Only Slightly Funny

Humour Is A Funny Thing

I've been meaning to write a post about this for some time but was prompted and arse kicked by yesterday's post about women and humour and the lengthy but considered comment from G12. I don't know how to link to a comment, or I would. And, for the record I used the term "arse kicked" because, in the context of arses I'm British, not American. I'm referring to my arse not my donkey/unicorn cross bred thing.

The Gyppo says:

"I also think it has more to do with where you live than gender. People are just funnier in Britain or in Australia than they are in Sri Lanka. I don't know - just another way of looking at it I guess."

and it made me think, one of my hobbies anyway. These sense of humour things, are they that different according to nationality and is it fair to say that some nationalities are funnier than others?

Despite all my abundant words about identity, all my whining when someone tells me I'm not Sri Lankan because I use the indicators when I turn, that sort of thing, I think I've got a very British sense of humour. I've put a lot of time into trying to figure out what a British sense of humour means, what characterises one and what the recipe is.

Wikipedia has this entry, but it's probably written by an American academic who's just done a PhD on the subject, something that is ironic, something that is a key constituent of British humour. We Brits laugh at ourselves, we parody ourselves and take the piss out of each other in ways that other nations don't, though other nations do take the piss out of the British.

I hesitate to blow my own trumpet bang my own drum but I've been told that the occasional person finds my blog slightly amusing because I scribble things that are about Lanka and Lankan life but with a Brit sense of humour. To me it's just a sense of humour, like Joey and the Chinese food business.

The Brit sense of h is very brain based. That's about the best explanation I can come up with, that its foundations lie in jumping ahead with one's thoughts and then leading the audience along the path that took you there, or took one there. Once the audience sees the connection they hopefully find the joke funny.

In contrast I think the Sri Lankan sense of humour is more about everyone jumping together, the whole crowd being involved in one big leap to funniness, if that makes sense. It seems to be more of a group thing. Lankans have much more belly laughter than Brits, I think, but should add that I'm talking of my observations about Lankan humour in English. I don't understand the Sinhala language so can't make any kind of commentary on Sinhala humour, or the Tamil variety.

Often I feel as if the Lankan flavoured humour struggles to mix with the Brit stuff. There are many occasions when I've watched a crowd of Lankans crack up over something and I just haven't found it funny, despite understanding why they're laughing. There are many more when I've cracked a witticism to a Lankan audience and they've looked at me as if I was at a Michael Jackson fan club meeting and had decided to narrate some of the jokes that we've all heard lately.

Only a couple of weeks ago I was out for dinner with a group of Sri Lankans and I came out with a particularly funny line about a Brazilian. It was a line I'll use again, just with the right crowd. These people, who'd been laughing and joking for pretty much all the time leading up to my corker, went silent and looked at me in disbelief.

I, being the considerate type, mistook the looks of disbelief for looks of "Pardon me but would you say that again as we didn't hear you?" so I did the only thing a chap could do and repeated it. It made things twice as bad. They were young people as well, can you imagine that? There was tumbleweed everywhere and that Clint Eastwood whistling thing going on loudly in my head.

The big commonality between Brit and Lankan humour is the way that they feature in the make up of each society. They may be fundamentally different but it's fair to say that both nations love to laugh. Rarely have I had a good evening, either in London or Lanka, that didn't involve copious amounts of laughter and a little bit of wee leaking out accidentally. Java's like that though and his bag can leak sometimes.

And what about the Americans? Well their's is a different one too. Like most Brits I find American humour to be hilarious at times and totally predictable and boring at others. Friends was/is funny. The American version of The Office was just painful, I know not why. American stand ups always seem too obvious for me. Sometimes they're very funny, they just lack the sophistication that other nations have. Some people might even go so far as saying that about the Americans in general. I wouldn't.

Here in Britland we have a stereotyped view of the German sense of humour. It's possibly unfair, though I can't think of many German funnies or programmes. I do know that the Germans take their humour very seriously indeed. I've also noticed that they do it all in German, how mad is that?

Maybe sense of h is impossible for us to even consider if it's conducted in a language we don't comprehend. As I said before that's certainly the case for me in relation to Sinhala or Tamil but I don't even think about the Danish sense of h or the infamous Spanish one. No one ever expects the Spanish sense of humour though.

So it's fair to say that we can only evaluate a nation's sense of humour if we speak the language. Therefore, when we're translating a "foreign" language back into our own mother tongue, surely we're bound to lose a huge amount of the intrinsic wit anyway?

Or what do you think?

Are some nationalities just naturally funnier than others?

Humour - Not For Women?

You'd be perfectly entitled to think that, at the ripe old age of forty three, these bombshells wouldn't hit me anymore. It's not that I know everything, more that I feel as though I learn things that I really should have figured out when I was in my twenties. Perhaps the advent of the internet and the easy access to knowledge and information has got a lot to do with this. Or maybe it's just that I'm intellectually insecure, if that term exists.

This time I can't blame it on the boogie internet, it's more that the vague hint of a theory came to me, like a sharp and focused mist, out of thin air. For fear of being attacked, ridiculed and isolated by any of the female brand of readers I must state that this is not meant as a sexist or antagonistic post, it's a genuine inkling that I'd really like to pursue and discuss with intelligent, perhaps some not so intelligent, people.

What dawned on me the other day is a simple, obvious but barely acknowledged fact; women have a totally different approach to a sense of humour to the way us men approach it.

What do I mean?

Well, to put it a bit more bluntly, by and large, women just don't have humour like men. It's not as important to the everyday woman as it is to the man.

Here, like in the margin in an exam, is all my working out:

Us men, apart from the really serious ones like Dinidu, amble through life attempting to be funny. We crack unfunny joke after unfunny joke in our attempts to make each other laugh. Many of us look for humour and laughter in just about any situation and take great pride in our ability to be as quick witted as Michael Schumacher driving around a German joke factory. Of course, if you're a regular here, you'll know that I'm not one of these fellows.

A night out for men with other men MUST involve jokes. Jokes about farting are preferred but ones about belching, sex, women and religion are also acceptable. Women probably don't know this as their presence will usually make one of these groups of men change their behaviour, just a little bit.

If I'm with a group of blokes we're usually all battling to be funny. Of course I'm invariably up there on the podium at the end of the evening but there's always a race going on. When with women, I find that I'm often the only person attempting humour, usually unsuccessfully.

I don't claim to be a representative sample of all menkind but, in my own life I know and have known many women. Some are brilliantly intelligent, some are highly stimulating conversationalists, some are great fun and some are all of the above. There have been stupid ones, sexy ones and there have been funny ones.

But, the funny ones I can count on the fingers of one hand, a hand with two or three fingers missing at that. On the other hand, when I look at my male friends, sometimes referred to as men, the majority of them I would consider to be funny.

The dating/romance/partner, whatever you want to call it, thing is interesting too. Studies and serious articles in intellectual magazines like Hi!! tell us that the ability to make his woman laugh is possibly the most important attribute in a potential Mr Right. Certainly it's way up there in the rankings, perhaps after "looking exactly like George Clooney".

On the man's side, we tend to look for a woman we can laugh with. That's the official line. The truth is that "laugh with" means "laugh at our jokes", even the most feeble ones. We want a woman with a sense of humour, not one who can tread on our territory by coming up with jokes herself.

This may be the key to the phenomenon. Territory and manliness.

Comediennes are often funny. I can watch Jo Brand and other comediennes and merrily laugh my sides off. I can sit there and guffaw at their jokes with the best of them. But I'd be quite scared at meeting one, let alone dating one.

Taller than me? No probs, most women are anyway.

Smarter than me? See above.

Better looking than me? It's boring now but see above again.

Funnier than me? Hmmm...now that's a serious threat to my manhood.

Ladies, Gents, what do you think?

Are women just not funny?

Do men just think they're funny?

Or am I just talking total tosh?

Answers on a comment please.

Men, Women And Noises In The Night

It was Sunday night, some would call it Monday morning. Either way it was the middle of the night, that deep sleep period. I was fast asleep, not that I can actually remember it as I was unconscious, in a sleeping way.

C was fast asleep next to me in the spare room (hello Aunty) and things were peaceful.

Then the noise came.

There was no gradual build up. There was no warning, no linguine building up to a freschetti, or whatever it is that these musicians say in French.

A sudden burst of electronically generated tone, either a B flat or an A sharp, I couldn't be certain. But it was loud, it was shrill and it was constant.

I shot up in the bed, like one of those movie women when they've gone out, got really pissed and ending up sleeping with an ugly bloke, then woken up sober in the middle of the night with a shock as they've realised what they did. In my sleepy haze I pressed the snooze button on the alarm clock, then looked at the time.

It said 3.30 AM. I say "it said" but what I actually mean is that it projected cunningly onto the ceiling. For RD Towers is a hotbed of advanced technology as well as design. My projection alarm clock is one of those objects I rather adore. If I were an astronaut I'd take one up with me in my spaceship and use it to project the time onto the surface of the moon. I'm sure it could do it easily. Come to think of it I might try it tonight just from my bedroom.

"3.30" I thought. Weird. I also thought, but not in inverted commas this time. As I stirred into consciousness it dawned on me, though it wasn't yet dawn, that the noise wasn't actually the alarm clock. Hitting the snooze button was a reflex action and the noise stopped soon after, but it hadn't come from the alarm clock (projection type).

In the dark, with the light of Kingston Town shining in the bedroom, I wondered how I'd woken up in Jamaica, then realised it wasn't that Kingston Town. I waited and listened, hearing nothing but the distant rumble of silence. The noise, in its B flat or A sharp had made a hasty retreat. I sensed, with that man's intuition we're famous for, that it was hiding somewhere.

C, who is a person, not a note like A or B, not to be confused with A, the fifteen year old daughter of course, asked what the noise was. She had strolled into my bedroom from the spare room and was fully robed with only her eyes showing, maybe a bit of ankle too. There are notes who go by the name of C as well, I should mention for the sake of fairness.

We were puzzled about the noise. When I say "we" I mean me really. The woman's view on these sort of things is along the lines of

"There was a noise, I woke up. Now I'll go back to sleep and forget about the thing totally."

The average man, which I consider myself to be, or should that be whom I consider myself to be, is very different.

I went back to sleep with half an ear and half an eye open, waiting for the noise to come back but ready to catch it. I don't really know how you catch a noise but the idea made sense at the time. I was like a hunter feigning sleep to let the animal creep up, then I'd pounce and grab it with my bare hands and win a long and arduous fight.

The noise, possibly because it was an old and experienced one that knew my tactics, never returned. Or, if it did return it crept around silently without waking anyone. Noises are clever like that. I've lost count of the number of evil but silent ones I've met in my time. Some of them are invisible too. A noise that's silent, invisible and harmless is often the most dangerous.

The first thing I said to C in the morning was that I wondered what the noise was. The first look that she gave me was that woman's look, the one that goes "why the fuck are you still bothered about that?"

At work I told Gaz, one of my business partners about the noise. He, being a man, fully understood the importance of solving the mystery. We had a decent ten minute discussion about it, the possible causes and sources. Gaz suggested that it might have been a boat going past. It's still plausible. Not only that but I know there's a ships that pass in the night joke hidden in there somewhere, I just can't think of it.

We've considered things from mobile phones to smoke alarms and come to no conclusion. We're none the wiser.

Monday night saw no show from the noise. Perhaps it's been scared off. Maybe it's still lurking in RD Towers and biding its time. I should check behind the Superdry shirts to see it it's there.

Either way I'm still pondering on the matter.

Men will understand my need to solve this deep mystery. Women I reckon will frown with dissaproval, as if this is a trivial matter, as if there are far more important things in life to think about.

But, that's another topic. Can anyone tell me what the noise was?

Any advice on the best way to catch it would be much appreciated.

Psst...Wanna Be My Next Of kin?

There I was, casually filling out a form the other day. Come to think of it now I can't remember what the form was. Ah yes, it was a piece of paper that needed filling out, that was it.

I came to a bit in which I had to write my next of kin. I faltered, I halted and I stumbled, rather like a really crap triple jumper. You see it's actually a good few years since I had to fill in a next of kin thing and I didn't know whose name to insert.

Next of kin in terms of money, estates and all that big stuff is all taken care of in my will. Next of kin in terms of who should be called if I get hit by that proverbial bus is another matter. For the record I should tell you that I think bus drivers get an unfair hard time on this issue. We talk endlessly about what would happen if we "get hit by a bus" and there's no need for it. Pilots, truck drivers and car drivers never get mentioned and I think that's wrong and harsh. I might start a campaign about it you know.

For almost twenty years I would have put my ex's name in the next of kin bit. Of course that isn't really an option now for all the obvious reasons. And putting C's name there is a seemingly logical choice, if it weren't for the fact that she's usually found in the depths of Singapore, hardly great for a quick dash to my bedside.

I then contemplated writing down A or K and promptly rejected either of those options. From what you know about K I'm sure you can totally understand this and, as for A, well she's at that huffy teenager phase and any request to her is usually met with lots of sighs and mutterings along the lines of

"God Dad (huff) you're ruining my (huff and sigh) life"

Then my mind strolled in the eternally dodgy direction of siblings and parents.

Parents, I thought to myself, would bring to the accident scene a whole set of potential problems. The first one being that my Dad, when arriving at the scene by car, would most likely cause several more accidents as he tried to park. This could be fortunate in one way, as the emergency services would already be there, but distinctly undesirable.

The second and biggest problem would be my Sri Lankan mother. Were I the age of Dinidu or one of you youngsters things would be okay, but I'm not. I dread the thought of the firemen going home in the evening and telling their families about the forty three year old bloke who'd fallen off his drum stool and almost broken a stick and the overly fussy and protective Lankan mother who turned up and tried to take charge.

Academic Bro was very carefully considered then rejected, mostly because of his geography, ironic as geography is his subject, but I mean the fact that he's usually not around. Music Biz bro was considered and rejected too.

So it was down to friends. My first thought was bandmembers. They got turned down. They're a good bunch and reliable but I had to think realistically. The fact is that they'd only be concerned if something happened to me on a gig day, maybe a band practice day. On top of that their major concern would be to ensure I was fit enough to play, perhaps to teach someone else the set if not. Frankly we don't gig enough for me to think that my life would be in safe hands with these fellows.

My mind meandered casually over to the area of the Sri Lankan blogosphere, the Lankanosphere as I've heard it called. Of course my first thought was David Blacker. He'd be a good next of kin I reckon. He's good in a fight, he likes cars and he can write about things afterwards too.

Then I thought of Cerno, another near perfect choice. He's innovative and imaginative and he can do things with Google Earth that makes James Bond look on with admiration and awe. He had to go on the shortlist. And most lists with Sri Lankans are short lists.

Java Jones sprung to mind also. A fellow who I feel I could rely on, who would always help a friend. Receiving the kiss of life from him has potential dangers though. Getting knocked over by that bus, receiving the kiss of life from Java and then waking up totally stoned has attractions, I'm just not sure on it.

Pradeep Jeganathan was considered and rejected quicker than you can say "fry the prawns for a minute or two with chilli powder, balsamic vinegar and vanilla custard." If I wanted someone to cook my body beautifully then take even better pictures of it, then publish an academic paper on the matter, he'd be in my top five choices. But I don't. These academic food loving photographing and blogging chaps are all the same you know.

Of course the reality is that the distance between London and Lanka makes all in Sri Lanka impractical. So I thought about DD of ViceunVersa. He lives in this neck of the woods and he'd understand the requirements. The kiss of life would be unpleasant, both for him and for me. That, in itself is probably enough to reject him. Women all over the world dream of receiving the kiss of life from DD, just not this one man. But it seems that he's, in the blogging way at least, has ceased to exist.

So vut to do?

Any takers?

RD Completed The...

"Which quiz are you" quiz with the result brilliant in a compared to a quiz way.

You are the quiz that gives you an answer along the lines of exactly what you'd like to hear about yourself anyway.

You're (insert swear word) intelligent and (insert long not often used word) witty with the precise brilliant and admirable characteristics that you told us you want others to see you as anyway.

You're confident but feel a need to take quizzes way too often. Your results in one of these quizzes will always be good and positive. That way we can ensure you forward the quiz to all your "friends", most of whom you've never actually met or spoken to, but they'll probably buy the products that we "intelligently" advertise to them.

You're often misunderstood and undervalued and anything else that applies to almost everyone in the world.

You have access to the internet and a Facebook account.

You feel quite pleased with yourself after reading the results now don't you?