RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume CXII, Issue 32874, 24 March 1972, Page 16

RANDOM REMINDER

HEARD A GOOD ONE LATELY?

In New Zealand folklore, humour is usually a story passed from group to group at hotels, parties and place of employment It may be purely a quickfire adult riddle, or reach the other end of the ribtickler scale and assume the form of one of those dreadfully prolonged shaggy dog stories which usually takes 15 minutes to relate. It would not be an illogical conclusion that the latter type of storyteller places more importance on being the centre of attraction rather than the life of the party. In the main, our native brand of humour is brash and a little blue but slightly more turquoise in mixed company. Laughter, it is said, is the finest tonic of all. And it seems that each nationality has its own special formula for fun. In

Britain, for instance, a fascination for toilets, earthy kitchen sink situations and bawdy double entendres are as much in demand today as they were when the music halls were at the height of their popularity. Teutonic humour, on the other hand has sarcastic overtones and is, at times, unkind. The Russians, who lay no claim to fame as a laugh-a-minute race, take themselves quite seriously and prefer the long story concluding with a proverb rather than a punch line. The Americans, on the other hand, are one-liners; they love the sharp, short snappy and often satirical gags which are sometimes beyond the comprehension of less sophisticated overseas audiences. But there is a universality of appeal for the

spontaneous, unrehearsed wisecrack from a witty friend or even a casual acquaintance. It may take the form of a pun or a topical comment with a twist in its tail. An exceptionally popular practitioner of this particular art lives at Cashmere. Middle-aged and of conservative taste, his increasing deafness has not blunted his penchant for razor-sharp punch lines. Recently he was startled to see his with-it nephew arrive on his front porch sporting a grotesque looking blue and orange striped shirt. With poker-faced professionalism of Bob Hope calibre he glanced at him reprovingly and said: “Would you mind turning down your shirt—l’m picking it up on my hearing aid.”