Comedy writers sit around trying to dream up funny ideas. Sometimes, in real life, the funny things just happen.
So the classroom was hushed. It generally is because I run a tight but, I hope, friendly ship.
For four lessons the pupils had been working on a piece of creative writing and it took me that long to nail the teenagers' pronunciation, "craydiv" writing.
The particular girl in question had chosen to write a narrative piece so she toiled over the usual important elements such as title, beginning, middle and end as well as the more trivial details like capital letters, full stops and those funny little things you stick in when a word ends with 's'.
She worked it and reworked it to make it more "craydiv" and commanding for the reader.
At the end of the fourth lesson she announced that her oeuvre – about three hand-written pages – was finished but I asked her to read it through one more time to see if she had missed any careless errors and to ensure she was happy with the way it was structured.
So she did. In the hushed room she really could concentrate on finding those pesky errors in her narrative, could concentrate on the form of her piece and on the choice of vocabulary.
Then, in an instant, the peace was shattered. By the girl herself. The explosion combined "OMG", a shriek, flailing arms and a jump from her seat. It was the clap of thunder announcing a storm.
"What's the matter?" I naturally asked.
"It's the ending!" she exclaimed. "It's so unexpected."
Well, the rest of us fell about the place, so amused were we at the disruption caused by a girl who was surprised and shocked by the ending of a story she had just finished writing.
I couldn't think of many comedy scriptwriter dreams like that though a couple of others drifted back.
I have a retired friend who is out walking most mornings and I pass him in my car on the way to work.
As part of our blokey camaraderie I always shout out to him as I pass. "You silly old b*****!" I shout in that critical but friendly way Australasians do so well.
A couple of months ago, I saw him up ahead. There were no cars behind me so this was the perfect morning to make things more furtive and dramatic than usual.
I slowed right down so he wouldn't hear my approach, I lowered the window and bellowed my friendly abuse, "You silly old b*****!"
But it wasn't him!
Whoever it was, I hope you will forgive me. And I hope you haven't given a description of me to the ploddery.
The best of the bunch – and I know I've told this before but it's worth repeating – was provided by my late mother and her sister.
This was during the age of the first mobile telephones, the brick ones. Both women were up with the play and had a brick each.
My mother and I were travelling to visit my aunt who lived in another town. We didn't tell her we were coming. As we neared the house my mother decided to phone her sister but not mention that we were about to pop in.
They chatted as sisters do. There was chatter in the car, chatter as we walked down the side path of the house and chatter as we stood at the back door and knocked.
So, both sisters were still in full conversation mode when my aunt opened the door. She looked directly at her sister and then – into her phone – said, "You'll never guess who's just arrived!"
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.