Good Friday, Great Joke

Not to build up your expectations, but I am going to recount the best joke I have ever told (you can judge for yourself what that says about the rest of my jokes).  The reason why I like it so much is that the circumstances leading up to it were so specific that if it were in a sitcom or something you’d think - what an elaborate set-up for a pretty naff punchline.

Anyway, it was Good Friday – so there is a reason why I’m blogging about it today – and Mr Beet and I were travelling through Victoria Station, where there is a shop called (I kid you not) the International House of Cheese.  Mr Beet hates cheese with a passion that stems from a childhood trauma.  So he used to hate walking past the International House of Cheese, because it smelled all cheesy (in fact, since it was next door to Lush it actually smelled of cheesy soap, which is a weird combination).  But this time he was in luck as it was a bank holiday and the shop was shut.

Mr Beet “Ah good, the cheese shop is shut”

Me ”Well, of course, it’s Good Friday – the day Cheeses died.”

I laughed at my own joke for a good ten minutes.

To put that into context, the runners-up in my best jokes ever are:

2.  When my friend Yutaro fell asleep / slumped into an drunken stupor in his kitchen with his head cushioned by a catering size sack of rice.

Concerned onlooker “We can’t just leave him here sleeping on a bag of rice!”

Me “Don’t worry – it’s pilau rice”

3.  When my friend Liz opened her lunch, a massive portion of pasta:

Impressed fellow diner: “That’s some serious pasta salad”

Me: “It’s not serious – it’s fu-silly”

I am clearly obsessed with food-based puns.

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