“Now, what’s the matter?”
“Oh, it’s silly I know but, well, I just don’t know how to make a soufflé.”
“Is that all? I’ll help you, Miss – er..?”
“Dubois. Martine Dubois.”
“Percival. Percival ‘iggins. Haitch, high, egg, egg, high, enn, ess.”
“No, no, no: ‘iggins. The haitch is silent, as in ‘orse.”
~ ‘The Chef that Died of Shame’
Hancock’s Half Hour (radio), 1955
Despite the fact that Tony Hancock died before I was born, I have long been an ardent fan and was thrilled to find the complete (surviving) episodes of series one and two on audible.com. Some of the humour may be dated, but much of it is as funny as ever, like the extract above, delivered in the usual deadpan style.
Humour seems to live in symbiosis with sadness. I wonder why. I recall going through a very dark phase a few years ago where the only thing I could tolerate was humour, most notably Christian author Adrian Plass and his Sacred Diary series. It was an essential part of my recovery. Nowadays, after I’ve listened to my daily dose of Old Testament, New Testament and Christian book, I love a bit of humour. It’s like the perfect dessert. Keeps me going till the next meal.
A heart full of joy and goodness makes a cheerful face, but when a heart is full of sadness the spirit is crushed.
Proverbs 15:13 (AMP)