Puns and Feathered Friends

I was tootling round the internet and stopped off at my old mate, Jane Finnis’s, blog where she (with a truly awful pun) was writing about blue tits eating caterpillars that munch their way through horse-chestnut leaves.  Here’s the link so you can see that somebody really does make worse puns than I do: http://www.janefinnis.com/

It’s interesting – or, okay, it might not be that interesting, but I’m going to talk about it anyway – why we groan loudly when puns are made.  After all, they’re fairly witty, aren’t they?  I think they’re a bit like the jokes in Christmas crackers.  Because they’re meant to be awful, everyone can join in. If Christmas dinner was actually a feast of wit and a flow of soul, reminiscent of an Eighteenth Century Salon or dinner with Oscar Wilde, it’d leave most of us looking and feeling like numptys, breeding resentment and discord instead of peace and good will.

It’s the same with puns.  They’re awful and they’re meant to be awful – even when they’re really good – so everyone can join in with the pun-fest.

One of my favourite puns though, is the pun that wasn’t.  Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, because it’s one of my favourite stories.

A pal of mine – let’s call her Ethel - was in hospital recovering from a mastectomy (admittedly this isn’t one of the most promising openings you’ve ever heard to a funny story!) when she was visited by her old friend, Yorkshire Sid.  Now both Ethel and Sid were very keen bird watchers, never happier when crouched beneath a rudely constructed heap of twigs with a pair of binoculars, watching Our Feathered Friends going about their everyday business. Sid was lamenting Ethel’s absence from the bird-watching fray.

“Eee, Ethel,” he said.  “I do hope as how you’re up and about and can come out with us again soon.  We’ve had some belting sightings.  We’ve had nuthatchs and finches and some lovely t-t-t-t (gulp) and other birds!”