I am a freak. I was born without a sense of humour.

I have had to spend my life pretending to get jokes and trying to laugh at just the right moment, at exactly the things that other people, people with senses of humour, laugh. This is a constant strain, particularly since I have to concentrate so hard on not looking like I am always concentrating, which is a definite giveaway that I have no sense of humour. You see?

Since I have been old enough to wear baggy trousers, I have been able to conceal a prosthetic sense of humour device made of feathers, which has proven itself to be very useful. It helps a lot; although it does get hot sometimes and the constant muted buzzing forces me to decline invitations to anything not extremely serious at the theatre.

Additionally, since it runs on batteries, I find my humourous response is quite variable in a way that suggests moodiness but is not.

Prosthesis on:

Prosthesis off:

Prosthesis on again:

Prosthesis off again:

Well, I suppose you get the idea.

Here is a list of some serious things that I have written which show quite clearly my complete lack of any sense of humour whatsoever:

• Asian Longhorned Beetles
• Tibet
• Joan of Arc - Maid of Orleans
• Ngawang Sangdrol
• Great Thirteenth Dalai Lama of Tibet

Some people may say that including such a list in this Entry is a blatant case of self promotion, which shows a lack of humility as much as any deficiency in the humour department. They may be right. Or they may be joking. It is often difficult to tell.

I am told that it is a good thing occasionally to give my prosthetic sense of humour 'a good run'. 'Run it until it gets hot,' they say. Of course, I have to take it on trust that running a prosthetic device in one's trousers until it gets hot is, in general terms, a good thing, or whether that too is a joke of some sort.

In any event, here is a list of some things that I have written in order to exercise my artificial sense of humour:

• Whale Watching
• Saturday Matinees
• Dripping Taps

Whether or not any of that is actually humourous depends, of course, entirely on how fresh the batteries were in my prosthesis at the time of writing.