Reasons to forget about death, part 2..

Following on from my last, rather lugubrious, blog, I have been considering ways of taking the mind off the inescapable fact of death, and – in common with other great thinkers I believe – I have come up with a small selection of useful methods: namely: books; sex, chocolate and comedy.

Not all at once, I hasten to add – in fact any combination of the above is risky in some way. Deciding to finish that fantastic novel you were reading in bed while your partner has other ideas conveys at the very least a dissatisfaction with said partner’s technique. As for comedy – laughing at your partner when he strips off is not guaranteed to endear you to him either. Sex and chocolate have already been discussed – if anyone is tempted to mix the two I can only refer them to Ponderland Series 1, topic – Love.

Chocolate and comedy sound a good combination and indeed a recipe for a good evening in – but beware! I have actually laughed so hard I snorted chocolate up into my nasal passages. Painful and unpleasant.

No – I would advocate enjoying these pleasures one at a time – any one, if of high enough quality, should be enough to dispel gloom.

Comedy is useful because – if you like me have a stock of DVDs of your favourite shows and comedians – it is usually readily available, so you don’t have the situation of wanting chocolate to relieve your ennui, yet being too lethargic to actually go out to the shops to buy any – naturally the last time you did get some in you ate it all…

But I find comedy (like sex) can, if you don’t take precautions, have an unexpected and prolonged effect on your life. So before you settle in front of that DVD, please take this as a sort of ‘Safe Comedy’ message.

I can – and do - watch good comedy repeatedly. This means I find myself quoting bits of Blackadder, Bill Bailey or Hancock at opportune (or inopportune) moments, earning me questioning looks from non-addicts.
Worse still, key phrases come into my head in certain situations. My trips to the supermarket, with mental subtext, usually go like this:

Approach shop; see fruit display.
Eddie Izzard: They put fresh fruit there to show this is a fresh shop – everything here is fresh. If they put toilet rolls by the door you’d think, this is a poo shop – everything here is made of poo…..

Go into shop, approach display; do the ‘Squeezy Test’, still with Eddie’s voice doing a running commentary. Look at the Stalinist oranges (decide not to buy – Stalin was a nasty dictator); refuse to buy pears because they wait till you leave the room to turn to mush….

Approach tea display.
Simon Amstell: Which is better, organic or free trade?
Spend two hours on this vexed question before moving on….

Pass bargains screaming – in Russell Brand’s voice – ‘Only a pound, only a pound..’

Make purchases as quickly as possible to avoid giggling in public.

By the checkout there will inevitably be a selection of canvas bags for sale.

Greet checkout assistant, realising that you are audibly singing Tim Minchin’s ‘Canvas Bags’ aloud. Apologise and pack your purchases, girding your loins for the final challenge: the chip and pin machine. If you have seen Russell Brand’s description of chip and pin protocol, and can still manage to get out of the store before you’ve broken into a chorus of ‘Wild Boys’, you know you’ve won.

But if you hear of me having been taken away from the local Tescos in a white van, declaring it’s not my fault – blame Eddie, Russell, Tim, Simon… we ran out of gas….there was an earthquake…IT’S NOT MY FAULT!! - you’ll know why.