You have some friends with whom you have laughed.
I mean really laughed.
Some of those friends came to visit me this weekend, and my face still hurts from all the laughing. My ribs hurt too. I’m not entirely sure why – I think it had something to do with the ceilidh – but I can’t be certain.
With these friends I’ve had some high-jinx.
I have fallen off a cliff whilst abseiling, almost been washed out to sea on a raft-building exercise and been stranded (in a tent) on a remote island when rough seas stopped the ferries.
Actually, now I’m writing this, perhaps I should give up outdoor pursuits before something serious happens.
You just can’t make this stuff up. I often wonder why anyone would write fiction when what actually happens is so amazing. And what did we do, in every instance? We laughed.
Hang on a minute, what kind of friends would laugh when you fell off a cliff? Come to mention it, one of them even took the time to photograph the moment for prosperity.
How about you? When did you last laugh until you lost your breath? I’m not suggesting you need to almost drown on a raft; but what if, just for today, you were to throw in at least a few extra laughs? Maybe even a couple of real happy long ones, so hearty that someone else starts laughing too? Your workmates won’t know what has hit them.
Laugh often. Laugh until the tears stream down your face and your ribs hurt. Because apparently, laughter is the best medicine.
And considering the quantities of red wine that accompanied it this weekend, it really needs to be.