Well, that’s odd. I was looking for a poem I think surely must be by Spike Milligan (please correct me if I’m wrong) and it’s not coming up on any search engine so perhaps I’d better recite it:

Gregory Griggs cared not two figs

Whether he lived or died.

But when he was dead, he lay on his bed

And he cried and he cried and he cried.

This, to me, encapsulates what the best comedy is all about;  tragedy being mangled back into a travesty of itself.  Life can be so grim.  It can chuck all kinds of rubbish at us.  Correction, that should be ‘death is grim’.  Life is Life is beautiful.  But when death does hurl itself at us in the crappy way it does,  we may as well belt something like this poem out and go laughing all the way to the “box office” as a friend of mine calls it.  It’s only “not funny”  if you decide it’s not;  in which case, I don’t think I can help you.  Sorry, I’m not trying to be offensive or disrespectful or distasteful here, it’s just I’ve met people who refuse to laugh, and they don’t all work for the council or LIVE IN MY NEIGHBOURHOOD!  But that’s a whole other blog.

Inspired by Spike Milligan’s epitaph “I told you I was ill”, I’d quite like this when my time’s up :

(hint: now read it out loud)
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