April Fool’s Day came and went without any memorable ‘side-splittingly hilarious’ made-up stories appearing in the press or on TV.
That made me wonder if other than family members playing pranks on each other (“Kids! Come and see what the dog’s done in your porridge!”) April Fool’s Day has become redundant.

Not since the classic ‘Spaghetti tree harvest’ prank that was played on BBC viewers of the early evening magazine programme “Tonight” (imagine ‘The One Show” with ‘A’ levels) back in the 1950s, I doubt anyone has been taken in by an April Fool’s story on the box or in print.

It’s odd that people try and make others laugh on one day a year. Because someone who wants to learn to play the piano or violin doesn’t just ‘have a bash’ at becoming a virtuoso once every 12 months then leave it.

Without getting too po-faced about it, comedy is a skill that has to be learned over time, yet there are people outside of the comedy world who think every weak joke they crack is hilarious and if you don’t laugh as loud as they think you should they accuse you of lacking a sense of humour.
These people are what’s known as ‘The life and soul of the party’ and are to be avoided.
As are people who think they’re superior to professional comedy folk and take delight in ‘putting them in their place’.

Bob Monkhouse used to tell the story about being at a party when an obnoxious fellow guest approached him and said in a not-very-friendly tone “I understand you’re a comedian. Tell me a joke”, to which Bob countered, “I understand you’re a gynaecologist. Come and have a look at the wife!”

I have a comedy writer friend who, having been in the business for 40 years plus, has developed a thick skin – even though he moisturises daily.
He’s had friends and relatives bluntly say things to him about shows he’s written that he wouldn’t for one second think of saying to them about their profession. He shrugs it off these days – but remembers every incident.
They’ll be sorry when his will is read out . . .

Some time ago, while he was staying overnight at his brother’s house, his sister-in-law (a rather ‘bohemian’ college lecturer) asked my friend – in a half-interested manner – what he was working on.
When he mentioned the name of a popular, long-running Saturday night entertainment series which attracted around 10 million viewers every week, the lady sniffed and said, believing she was being brilliantly witty,“It’s crap though, isn’t it?”
What was he to say?
“If that is what I write, they probably wouldn’t be paying me £1000 a week”?
No. Smugness isn’t in his make-up. He just uses a light blusher.
He looked across at what appeared to be a week’s worth of ignored dirty plates, cups and cutlery piled high in the sink and said drily, but without malice, “Well, it pays me enough to afford the occasional bottle of washing-up liquid”.
But the lady was so eager to give her opinions on previous TV shows he’d written, she didn’t have the good manners to acknowledge his barbed comment.
That was some years ago and she’s now his ex-sister-in-law.
He doesn’t know who had custody of the washing-up.