As I type, I’m eating Spam, which is in itself a silly thing to do. But Monty Python’s Terry Jones, who died last week aged 77, was an extremely silly man, so doing something silly is one way to honour him.
Just rest assured I am not currently playing the pipe organ while naked.
It’s routine to mourn a celebrity in this bizarre timeline where a deranged reality TV show host holds the power of life and death over us all.
Each day, the news becomes more difficult to endure as it presents more reasons to be depressed: from burning continents to a possible pandemic to the sight of senators asleep during the impeachment trial of the president of the United States. And that’s even without considering the screaming idiocy of Brexit.
So, while our civilisation declines, we imprint emotions on celebrities, feel like we know some version of them, and feel loss when they depart. We are sadder and poorer without them.
The death of Terry Jones has been an especially strange experience, because we’ve been laughing at the same time.
While it was heartbreaking to read of his dementia in recent years, especially because a quick-witted, deep-thinking communicator was rendered unable to speak, somehow we kept smiling. He was funny and likeable at the same time.
The day he left, I made my children gather round the TV and to watch things Terry made.
They reluctantly obeyed, long accustomed to life with a weird dad.
We started with the Spam sketch, of course, with its singing Vikings, and the kids started laughing without knowing why.
We moved through the Spanish Inquisition (“Cardinal Biggles – fetch the soft cushions!”) then bits of films Terry directed, including Life Of Brian.
By the time we reached the grotesque, vomiting Mr Creosote from The Meaning of Life, dropping an F-bomb when offered a “waffer-theen mint”, we were howling with laughter.
I hope people smile for the right reasons when I go.
We’ve made such a terrible mess of the world that I truly believe future generations will consider our behaviour criminal, but I hope the good bits endure.
The weird humour of Terry Jones was one of the best bits, and will live forever.
