The last few days in Welsh politics have been so chaotic that mockery and laughter is fully justified. And there's plenty of it. But I've stopped laughing because it is damaging my nation.
I read an article in yesterday's Telegraph about inappropriate laughter. It seems that in Sheffield, toilet roll holders are springing open and hitting innocent lavatory users on the head, inflicting injuries. The Department of Education has issued a memo assuring users that these faulty holders are going 'to be replaced at the earliest convenience'! The memo also insists that this is not a laughing matter. This set me thinking about when laughter really must be suppressed.
And I recall an incident many years ago when I was out on my farm picking mushrooms. A clearly distraught neighbour came up to me to tell me that her husband had 'sat on his b*lls'. It was deeply serious because she was so upset, and had called for an ambulance. This somewhat unusual feat had been achieved following on from major surgery in the general area. I remember being torn between concern for my friend and an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh.
And as typing, another painful memory returns. Please suspend your imagination for a few moments. I was a newly married young man and for some unaccountable reason decided to enter the marital bedroom after my late night shower with a sort of Nureyev/Geronimo leap - cracking my head on the solid oak door frame. To this day, I don't know whether my new wife laughed as I lay naked, bleeding and unconscious on the bedroom floor. But I do recall that as I was coming to my senses she was laughing like a drain.
Perhaps it is this last recollection that causes me not to laugh at the utterly ridiculous behaviour of the Welsh Liberal Democrats.