Te Radar: And just what do you think's so funny?

What is funny, in any sense, about a cartoon that has a woman's menstrual blood blown into the face of the Pope? asked Prime Minister Helen Clark, on the television news earlier this week.

I watched incredulously as Our Leader remained straight-faced while posing this deeply philosophical question. Her deadpan performance was the most hilarious part of the whole tiresome "Bloody Mary" saga.

Clearly the plethora of journalists and advisers present considered it a rhetorical question, as none of them sought to illuminate Her as to where the humour was to be found.

Perhaps none of them knew, or if they did know, they couldn't find the words to express what exactly it was that some people found humorous.

That's the thing about humour: Sometimes you can't explain why something is funny. People do however persist in trying to define what is comic.

I once had the good fortune to attend a NZ on Air symposium to hear their findings about what it was that New Zealanders collectively found funny. Somewhat surprisingly this information was able to be portrayed on a graph.

There is nothing like a Government agency to narrow the seemingly intangible down to a mathematical formula.

The high point of the day, at least prior to the bar opening, occurred when one of the Government women pointed at a lopsided oblong, located over the center of the graphs axis, and stated to the assembled masses, "You need to be making comedy inside this area here."

It was at this point that her eyes were drawn to one of the attendees, from whose lips had been wrenched an involuntary snort.

This outburst could have been considered either an expression of a dawning realisation, intellectual shock, contemptuous derisiveness, or an amalgam of the three.

However the Mistress of the Ministry and the other assembled attendees interpreted it, I didn't really like the way they were all looking at me.

I endeavoured to stifle any more spontaneous exclamations, while discretely attempting to remove the nasal discharge that was the physical manifestation of my disbelief.

As I did this, all I could think was: But I have been on buses with more than 66 people on board.

Some may wonder why it was that I was struck by this thought, when I should have been trying to figure out where to wipe my hands. There was a valid reason. The survey, which would form the basis of NZ on Air funding decisions relating to comedy for the next few years, had been conducted on a mere 66 people.

According to the graph, what the 66 people wanted was comedy that was adventurous and intellectual, while being entertaining and familiar.

Of the 66 people surveyed, I tremulously queried, how many simply wanted their comedy to be funny?

It transpired that someone had neglected to put that question on the list.

Regrettably none was asked the Prime Minister's question. They may not have known the answer, but at least we may have discovered where the scene fitted on the graph.