The Funniest Story Ever

Joshua Pergrave, a hitherto quiet and law-abiding employee of the county clerk’s office, was arrested one afternoon floating at two and a half thousand feet over a built-up area in flagrant breach of the laws of gravity. He gave no resistance to his capture by a helicopter equipped with deep-sea trawling nets, co-operated meekly with the police and offered no defence. In court his solicitor called several character witnesses to testify to the previously earth-bound nature Joshua’s existence. He was fined, bound over to keep the peace, and ordered to wear weighted diving boots during the hours of daylight.

On the following Thursday, two protesters at the site of a motorway development were arrested for offences against the law of conservation of mass. They had become so heavy that the bailiffs could neither lever them up with crowbars nor shift them with earth moving plant. Explosives were considered, but since the protesters were gradually sinking into the ground under their own weight, it was decided to leave them until they were flush with the surface, when work could proceed as normal. Seeing that further protest was futile, the protesters surrendered themselves to the police and a two year prison sentence.

Questions were asked in the House. “Is the Prime Minister aware,” asked the member for Slopton, “of the public’s concern about the split in his party over the European question?”

The Prime Minister rose. “Might I remind the honourable gentleman that there are members of his party who can’t even find their way home without ... without knowing the way!” A roar of appreciative laughter from the Labour benches.

“Let me clarify the position once and for all. There are some who say that we should know where Europe is. Others are of the opinion that we have no need to know so long as we can catch an aeroplane to take us there. This is not a split, this is healthy debate.” Boos and catcalls from the opposition benches.

“Order! Order!” squeaked the speaker. “Really, gentlemen. Order! Please! ... Gentlemen! Might I remind you all of a pertinent phrase from Grommet’s Parliamentary Procedure?” She paused for silence, then continued, “a statesman will always do what is necessary, no matter what the occasion. I think we would all do well to bear those words in mind.” She sat down, flushed with the thrill of having said an important thing.

“Thank you, madam speaker,” said the Prime Minister, getting to his feet again. “That was indeed very important of you. Now, if I may continue. Europe, as we all know, is an issue. Furthermore it is a place. That is the government’s position, and we are all in agreement on it.”

He sat down, smugly complacent at the power of his oratory. Not bad for a failed bus driver with barely a GCSE to his name. He became aware that somebody else was asking about his appointments. He bounced up again and, in accordance with the ritual, referred them to his previous answer.

“Is the Prime Minister aware,” continued the member for Derring Do, “of the disturbing trend towards disregard of the laws of physics? Is he further aware that the physicists don’t even have a code of conduct, let alone the power to enforce their own laws? They are even prepared to change any that are regularly broken. This is an extraordinary state of affairs. What action does the government propose to take to clean up physics?”

Before being notified of the question and looking the word up in the dictionary, the Prime Minister had always believed that physics was an old-fashioned name for medicine. Drink up your physic, ma’am, and you’ll feel well enough for the leeches. Now he had a vague idea it had something to do with that wheelchair freak with the robot voice. Hawking, or whatever he called himself. He seemed to be the ringleader. Maybe he was the only one who did any, since nobody he’d asked had been able to come up with any other names.

Anyway, this one shouldn’t be anywhere near as hard to crack as the Custodians of Christmas. When churchmen began casting doubt on the traditional version of the nativity, the government had been quick to step in. They’d taken Baby Jesus into safe custody, together with his crib, shepherds and lowing cattle. The Custodians of Christmas now had full parental rights over Baby Jesus from birth to the end of cuteness. The Church could do what they liked with him after that. There had been considerable commercial pressure to have the wise men bring gifts of Teletubbies and Bob the Builder toys, and the Prime Minister was very proud of the fact that he had resisted temptation and stuck to the traditional tale. It ranked alongside the Smelly Neighbours Hotline as one of his finest achievements.

So it was that physics, so far as anyone in the government knew what it was, was handed over to the poets, and when friendly bombs fell on Slough everybody just shrugged and said, “it wasn't fit for humans then, and certainly isn't now.”