Q: Why do Penguins stay in Pairs?
A: Freezer Crowd
My life is pretty shit right now.
What no one tells you is that there’s this slow middle in glioblastoma. The adrenaline rush of diagnosis and surgery is done. The long slog of six weeks of radiotherapy is done.
And now there’s just a heavy slog of exhaustion. Of sleeping and not-sleeping and doing nothing because there is nothing to be done, and neither of us have the energy to do anything that isn’t essential.
I am so tired. And so scared. And the one person who usually hold me and kiss me and help me talk it through – he’s not here right now. He’s lost in sleep and not-sleep and probably even more scared than me.
And there’s nothing anyone can say or do to help. Nothing helps. That must be horrible for everyone around us.
My Grandad used to collect the jokes out of crackers and off the back of penguin bars. He had a wooden dish in the sideboard and he’d collect the jokes and almost file them away. It was a quirk of his.
My Nana was the serious one. She was the one who would find us a plaster or help us with our maths homework or know why our cupcakes had domed on the top. But Grandad always had a joke for us. Something silly to bring us back to ourselves, to laugh our way out of the upset.
Yesterday, I was crying on the drive to do the food shop. I know the route, and there’s always traffic, so you have to go slowly and you can have a good cry while you do.
In front of me at the lights was a Penguin Lorry. And a frankly quite rubbish little joke.
It cheered me up in a way nothing else has for weeks.
We lost my grandad 20 years ago. But I think maybe he sent me that penguin lorry and that joke.
Sometimes, a rubbish joke is more comfort than all the nice words in the world.
Here’s my favourite:
Q: What do nuclear scientists eat for dinner?
A: Fission Chips
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