Risoterapia

"Laugh, and the world laughs with you", we are told.
Laughter is indeed a social mechanism, and usually it results from and sometimes results in those emotional bonds 'twixt people. So, good for the soul and good for the health. It beefs up the heart, fights off stress, attracts people to us like a fisherman attracts birds (of an ornithological nature), and generally lightens the mood. Laughter, then, is the Superhero of the world. Batman, you're fired. We shall fight crime using nothing but comedians and tickling.

So when the opportunity arose to test out some laughter therapy and help a friend at the same time, how could I resist? We were promised silly games and finding the inner child within. The workshop was held in some area of Barcelona (can't quite remember where), missing the beginning of the session and having to ring the doorbell at least a dozen times, I'm sure, before being granted entrance to the party atmosphere inside. Everybody else was in a huge circle dancing rather bizarrely to Shakira, or rather they were dancing in a way I do but only ever let my closest friends see. They were doing it publicly! The prancing continued with hands in the air with everone else thoroughly enjoying themselves, whooping in delight, evidently finding the child within rather close to the surface. Mine was obviously that one child at the party who cries and refuses to let go of its parent's hand until the ice-cream is produced: it was in there, it just needed the ice-cream.

The teacher then asked us all to brush off the icky problems gnawing away at our soul, as if they were physical manifestations clamped onto our backs or in our hair like dandruff, so that for the next part of the session all problems were heaped in a corner of the room and we could walk around very slowly and really get in touch with our bodies. I didn't mind this bit; meditation, pondering, walking, chilled out music...piece of cake. We got to know new people via blindfolds and trusting them to lead us with their voices. I still hadn't laughed much by this point but I at least enjoyed meeting my partner, Pepi, who almost banged into the stereo. That would have put paid to the rest of the workshop. After that, we were put in lines and made to mimic crazy movements and dance routines. Now, I don't dance. I stand by the bar with a beer and look cool for a bit until I get drunk. Then I make some sort of movements that from the right angle could pass for dance moves. I laughed here only to keep from weeping.

Then the mats came out. Mats that were put on the floor in a witchcraft pentagonal sort of way (except they were arranged in fours so the shape wasn't so much a pentagon as a criss-cross line) so that we could lie on them and have another person's head resting on our bellies. And we were told to laugh.

Laughing is a spontaneous action, something one can't help doing. What it isn't is the 'ho-ho-ho' / 'hee-hee-hum' sort of thing. It appears, however, that some people can laugh on demand. Or they'd found something to laugh at, something I'd missed. Perhaps the guys from Jackass had walked in and thrown a trout in someone's face. All I know is that I was lying, looking up at the white ceiling (there were a few cracks; I counted) and not laughing. The male teacher loomed over me in his tie-dye floaty shirt; he was probably wondering why I wasn't laughing, wondering if I had no soul, no inner child...he inquired whether perhaps I'd be more comfortable sat at the side of the class. It was at this point I had to suppress the urge to jolt upright and flee the classroom - I mean, running from laughter! Do I have no soul? Am I in fact on the A1 to Mirthless-grumpy-git-ville? I think not. The reason I wasn't shrieking with laughter, as a woman next to me was, was because I didn't find it amusing. There had been nothing to laugh at: no Dara O'Briain wit; no Charlie Chaplin slapstick; certainly no Monty Python. I actually found this part quite disturbing and creepy. The 'unnatural' laughter sounded to me like those cackling evil clowns that always appear in nightmares, coming after you with a chainsaw whilst all you can do is sit tied to a chair. I call it 'unnatural' because it wasn't spontaneous. To me it was forced. And talk about basic reverse psychology; if you want a person to stick their hand in a termite nest, tell them not to and chances are highly likely that they will. I was told to laugh so I didn't. I have that attitude of 'Nobody tells me what to do.' Unless they're my parents, my boss, or generally have more authority than me.

It isn't often I'm in a room and think that I'm the sanest one there. Then that presented a terrifying thought: was I sane? Everyone else was laughing. Why couldn't I? Where was this bond that makes us so human? If laughter isn't the Superhero I thought it was, I say bring back Batman. I've nothing to worry about though because shortly after leaving the workshop my friend and I were cackling over Rowan Atkinson's Hell sketch. I do have a soul.