Side-splitting guffaw best medicine in difficult times

Ihave always enjoyed the company of people with a weird sense of humour. For me, laughter has always been the best medicine. I mean what better way to deal with the trials and tribulations of everyday life than to share a sidesplitting guffaw — what a great word that is — with friends or workmates.

I’m sure you’ve all had that experience. I know I have.

I consider myself extremely fortunate to have spent a significant portion of my working life deep in the bowels of the media industry, a breeding ground for some of the more, shall we say, eccentric characters you will ever come across.

Like the guy I worked with in a newsroom in the South Island 40 years ago who was forever broke and looking to make a few bob.

One day he came by and noticed a brand new football sitting on my desk.

I explained I was coaching a kids’ team straight after work and I’d just gone and bought a new ball.

His eyes lit up. “I bet you $5 I can kick that ball 100m without it bouncing,” he said, I’m picking with a glint in his eye.

I never actually saw the glint. If I had I’d have known he was up to something. All I could think was, “Wow, $5!!!” It was a princely sum back in the days when a young reporter had to pay 33c for a seven ounce glass of beer.

Plus this guy was forever smoking and wheezing, I was pretty confident he couldn’t kick it 50m,, let alone 100m. I couldn’t even manage that myself and I was playing senior footy at the time.

So naturally I accepted the bet and all that was left was to decide where and when. “How about outside right now,” he said, scooping the ball up.

Now I was a bit concerned. This bloke had a bit of a reputation for doing some crazy stuff and seeing as our office was slap bang in the middle of the commercial centre in this particular town I could only see trouble ahead.

By this stage word had got around and we were joined by 10 or so others as the Pied Piper, ball in hand, led the way down the main street to the river which ran adjacent to the town.

Once he arrived at the water’s edge he simply kicked the ball in and we watched it float downstream.

Flabbergasted, I demanded an explanation.

“It’s all good,” he said, “I’ll walk down to the wharf and fish it out. That’ll be about 200m.”

The crowd roared with laughter. Naturally I protested and suggested the ball wasn’t allowed to bounce or hit the ground. I can still see him smiling as he shot back: “It didn’t. It’s in the water and it’s floating.”

I will say he was good enough to buy me a beer with his winnings.

He was good like that. Always kept everybody smiling.

As did the guy I worked with in the North Island who would announce his arrival in the office each day with a Shakespearean flourish and booming voice: “It is I [name withheld to avoid legal action], ready to fight for freedom and justice for the little men of this fair nation.”

You just knew the day would be a hoot when that happened.

Anyway. Just this past week I’ve come across an elderly lady who would fit in well with the zany media brigade of my past.

From what I can tell she appears to be keeping her particular street provided with lashings of hysterics during this latest lockdown.

So, the company I now work for outside the media industry is back up and running with various rules for when I visit a property, such as ringing beforehand to ensure no faceto-face contact and being gloved and masked when on site.

I rang this particular lady from outside her house and she said she totally understood. Normally she’d invite me in for a cup of tea and a piece of cake but she and her neighbour had also introduced their own practices for keeping safe so we were at least on the same page.

My visit complete, I rang to tell her I was leaving. She thanked me and asked me to stand by the front gate.

“You can just take your clothes off there and I’ll be out in a minute to hose you down,” she said, so matterof-factly I found myself actually doing what I was told and standing by the front gate.

Naturally I baulked at taking my gear off as I tried to work out what was going on. Then this little old lady appeared around the side of the house, maybe five metres away, wearing a mask and holding the nozzle end of a garden hose.

I’m not sure whether it was my loud gulp that brought her out or whether she’d been in on the game from the start but the next-door neighbour was looking over the fence laughing her head off, soon joined by the hose wielder in front of me.

The pair of them breathless in one of those “did you see the look on his face” hysterical moments.

I’d been royally had. But I loved it. It really made my day.

I just thought it was great that in such difficult times people can still have a good laugh. The fact they were probably both well into their 70s made it even better.

I’ve decided when lockdown is over I’m going to go back for that cup of tea and piece of cake. I’m sure I’ll get a good laugh too.

Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@northernadvocate.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).