I have three standing jokes which I have shamelessly exploited in old and new company for the last few years.
My own family know them well and at gatherings, which are the proving ground of the jokes, they have even taken to pre-empting me and setting up spoilers that I am getting ready to say them.
I don't really mind that.
They still get said anyway and the reaction is still of sufficient uproar and humour to make it worthwhile. In fact, comment is made at the dinner table if we have got through a get-together and meal and coffee has been served if I have not managed to introduce them into a conversation, however tenuous or vague the relevance.
The first standing joke is a seasonal one.
It can only really be done at Christmas and specifically when the crackers are pulled. After the initial tension about who to pull the cracker with so that everyone at the table gets a go there is the reveal of the novelty item be it a set of miniature tools, a pack of cards, a shoe horn or sewing kit (Marks and Spencer £9.99). It is then the almost afterthought and very much anti-climax of reading out the witticism on the small piece of paper which has been tucked up, by the sweat shop staff in a Chinese industrial conurbation, into the folds of the party hat. The party faithful shift supervisors will no doubt be ruthless in their searching out of any handwritten pleas for rescue or respite which may be substituted in the crepe paper crown. After all, the enjoyment and sensibilities of the Westerners must not be upset by such potentially distressing revelations of the regime, nor everyone's Uncle John deprived of his annual, and a little bit tipsy, hilarity.
The usual jokes are there about what is black and white and read all over, what is yellow, smells of almonds and swings though the jungle, where does Napoleon keep his armies and so on and so forth. The owners of the intellectual rights to these classics must live out a luxurious and wealthy life on the back of, perhaps ten seconds a year in each and every celebrating household.
The answers, in the same order? A Newspaper. Tarzipan. Up his sleevies, of course.
When it is my turn to read out the contents of the cracker I ignore what is written and go for "What is the secret of good comedy?. Timing". The last word is pronounced immediately after the slight uplift of intonation in "comedy?" and before anyone has an opportunity to muse, ponder and hazard a guess.
Believe me, when first sprung on my family in the last century it was pretty funny. As you can well imagine the impact of it has waned just a little bit upon each successive telling. Nevertheless, an audience is an audience and one made up of loved ones is sympathetic and kind in its reaction. It is a gig in your home town. What can possibly go wrong with that?
The second standing joke is visual. It requires only one item for a performance.
A paper bag.
The purists do stipulate that a plain brown paper bag, about the size of a coffee table book is preferred for maximum effect. In these days of recyclable materials the brown paper bag is an endangered species. A single use is the best that can be expected and so they are rarely used in their traditional role at the high street grocers, the fruit and veg shop or other sources that in the past could always be relied upon. They have been replaced with those flimsy, almost transparent biodegradable plastic based carriers that seem to commence decomposing as soon as you take up the strain of the hand-cutting handles at the checkout.
It is now a surprise to find yourself with a brown paper bag but immediately the possibility of a performance looms up.
The best opportunity in recent years has been with the weekly delivery of my Takeaway Pizza (Thursdays). The generic white, corrugated cardboard box embossed in a red, white and green representation of the Leaning Tower of Pizza arrives in a large, reasonably heavy duty brown paper bag.
Before the food is served I enact the trick with the bag.
This involves holding it, open mouthed (the bag, not me), with a hooking action of my middle, ring and pinky digits on my right hand.. The thumb and index finger are tucked in just behind the top of the bag and out of sight of anyone else in the room paying attention. With the left hand I make the motions of throwing up an imaginary object and low and behold as it invisibly enters the bag I make a flicking action with the concealed thumb and finger which, to, again, anyone paying attention, gives the amazing impression of something of substance embedding itself in the bottom of the bag.
I do fear for the future of that particular joke. This is from the ongoing scarcity of the main prop and also the much higher expectations as to what constitutes a proper trick amongst the younger generations.
The third stalwart works on the basis of intrigue, suspense and usually the overhearing by the target audience of a small snatch of conversation, the end of a sentence.
The modern curse of the silent telephone call has proven to be the salvation of this particular joke. We have all been plagued by some distant auto-dialling machine that selects our home telephone number at random. (I personally lay the blame with Readers Digest for profiteering in the selling on of the personal details of the recipients of winning chances in their Prize Draw).
The first rings prime the machine and if picked up and answered then we are either prepared for an instant connection or in the loop for a callback within a few minutes.
If I am lucky enough to get to the phone first and hear that distinctive white noise I can start my joke to the effect of saying to the empty line "Yes, I understand. Yes, I am prepared. Heathrow, 9am tomorrow, flight to Caracas, use the name Mr Blue, Thank you, yes, I am committed, Goodbye".
Chances are that those who did not move to answer the phone are ear-wigging just in case the call is for them.
I re-enter the room, quite matter of fact and nonchalant but showing enough edginess and sophistication to be a credible member of a Sleeper Cell. Even after many, many performances on this theme I do get a good reaction of concern and anxiety from my children.
As for me, I am still awaiting my first real code-shrouded call. It will come one day and I am in a constant state of readiness to respond.
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