Dad strikes again: Part two

Before returning to Libya, a couple of shaggy dog stories, which, may I remind you, are jokes that go on and on, with an unexpected, often absurd punch line (that is, the line or phrase that completes the joke). Since one of the reasons I spend time in this column telling jokes is to help you to enhance your word-power and your cultural awareness, I should point out that for the first joke to succeed you need to bear in mind the word for an aquatic mammal like a dolphin that I made use of last week (the words are often used interchangeably), and you also need to be aware that in the United States different states have different laws regarding, for example, prostitution or the sale of fire-arms or alcohol. Here goes. In California there is a zoological research institute, which has succeeded in building up a remarkable breeding programme: for example, breeding dolphins that live forever. These dolphins have a very special diet, living exclusively on baby seagulls. The unfortunate birds are collected every evening from the beach by one of the staff, Albert. One evening Albert returns to the institute with two buckets full of baby birds for the dolphins. On the front steps he is startled to see, stretched out, the institute’s only lion, an adult and ferocious male. Albert ponders the situation for a moment and then, as the lion is clearly fast asleep and the dolphins grow distressed if they are not fed on time, he raises one leg and steps over the snoring carnivore. At this point the police arrive and Albert is arrested. Why? For crossing the staid lion with young gulls for immortal porpoises. Now, as if that wasn’t enough, here’s another. This one is set in the Nullabor Plain, a semi-desert region in southern Australia and I should explain, in case the fact puzzles you, why I return so often in this column to the subject of deserts. It is because, although they are difficult and dangerous places, they can be astoundingly beautiful. (I can’t resist an aside here. One of my favourite lines in the film Lawrence of Arabia comes when Prince Faisal of Saudi Arabia addresses Lawrence: “It is only you English, El Awrence, who dream of deserts. We bedouin dream of water.”) To grasp the following joke, also, you need to know something about Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. In the vast and arid Nullabor Plain, a traveller has gone astray, crawling across the sand, trying to eke out his remaining drinking water. At a point he raises himself on his elbows and sees ahead five or six brilliant white spots just above the sand. These are gradually growing bigger, expanding and dilating as they do so. “It must be a mirage,” he thinks, “created by the heat and the blinding light.” Then he passes out. When he regains consciousness, he is lying on his back in a bed in what appears to be a small whitewashed cell. On the wall there is a crucifix. Sitting on a chair beside the bed is an elderly nun, wearing a blue habit and a brilliant white headdress or wimple. “Those white dots I saw,” he thinks, “it must have been a group of nuns racing forward to save me, their wimples bouncing up and down. God be praised!” The nun sees he is awake and smiles. “Don’t try to talk, my son. I shall explain all.” She continues: “I am Sister Margaret. I am the Head of the convent of the Sisters of Mercy [helping hand to readers: keep the last word in mind]. We are a very strict order; we live here in the middle of the desert. We are not allowed any communication with the outside world, except to correspond with the Head of our order and to receive medical supplies and treatment. Everything we need to live on we must produce ourselves; the convent is built around a spring, so we have abundant water and we can grow our own crops. Of course, seeing a traveller in distress, we are bound to help them. Now. Don’t talk, just nod or shake your head.” The traveller smiles and nods. “Could I bring you some water?” Shake of head from the traveller. “Some fruit juice?” Shake of head. “I am afraid we have no alcohol.” Insincere shrug of indifference. “A mug of tea?” Eager nodding. Sister Margaret leaves the room and returns a few moments later with a mug of tea, which she holds up for him to sip. Glancing at the tea he sees that on the surface there are tiny blobs of fat and little pieces of furry skin. He grimaces. “Ah” says Sister Margaret. “I should explain. The Sisters of Mercy are not allowed any produce from the outside world except for medical supplies. We cannot grow tea here, but after experimentation we have found that an excellent substitute for this is the dried and grated skin of the koala bear.” Against instructions the traveller vocalizes: “Ugh! Wow! But couldn’t you strain it before you serve it?” Sister Margaret grows quite irate and protests: “Sir! The koala tea of Mercy is not strained!” Chris Dunton