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Our Crack Tongue & Groove

yogalaught.jpg What fresh hell is this?
 

Laughter Yoga (the “health and fitness craze sweeping the world”) is a real thing apparently, and somehow manages to combine my two least favourite things: having fun and stretching.

Disclaimer: Without ever trying it, or talking to anyone who has ever tried it, or read any testimonials of anyone who has ever tried it, I suspect - against the wishes of every molecule in my body that are currently screaming “Noooo!” – there is something in Laughter Yoga. Who doesn’t like a laugh, right? According to the Laughter Yoga website: “We initiate laughter as a body exercise in a group and with eye contact and childlike playfulness. It soon turns into real and contagious laughter.” Laughing, apparently, is good for us in all sorts of ways. They go on to say: “The concept of Laughter Yoga is based on the scientific fact that the body cannot differentiate between fake and real laughter.”

That’s the rub though, isn’t it? The body may not be able to tell the difference between fake and real laughter, but my brain certainly can, and my brain would be frantically flicking its ‘fight or flight’ switch if it encountered anything even resembling Laughter Yoga. I would honestly feel more at ease waiting for someone to make the first move at a swingers’ party organised by Nigel Farage – cowering in the corner in my underpants - than I would sat in a room full of strangers laughing at precisely fuck all.

The health benefits said to come from Laughter Yoga include reduced stress and a sense of well-being etc, but I can get all of that from simply popping down the pub for a few pints. Lager Yoga - who’s up for it? Guaranteed no soul-mangling sense of embarrassment AND you get a supplementary next-day morning session I’m tentatively calling Greasy Fry-Up Yoga.