THERE is a resolutely tough attitude held by Glaswegians towards comedians. Or should I say wielded. It runs thus. Laugh? Make me.

The bar is set high for any notion of showing a comic that their art is appreciated. Laughter should be rationed and only doled out to the accomplished. In my case, this was learned in my early years.

In the manner of the Spartans placing their newborns overnight on a rock to toughen them up, pater would sit us in front of the cathode ray tube to stare at English comedians. These included Arthur Askey, Ted Ray and Harry Worth.

Our expressions were once mistaken by a passing anthropologist (you could not move in living rooms of Glesca of the 1960s without an anthropologist poking his nose in) as a homage to the Easter Island statues. We were impassive.

The English comedy set-up generally involved a vicar, trousers falling down and a mix-up over a dinner at home for the boss. This was all as alien to us as a sitcom about life on Mars and spoken in Pashto with no subtitles.

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Frankly, this comedy was as funny as a failed PCR test on your last day on holiday in Melbourne as your phone simultaneously pings to tell you that your credit card has maxed out.

Comedy was something not to be consumed mindlessly but appreciated, at first unwittingly and then with some recognition of the craft. This was demonstrated by Marx brothers' films, Morecambe and Wise television shows and Billy Connolly LPs. All stand the test of time, at least to this curmudgeon.

It is, though, a blessing to be introduced to a new source of laughter. This happened a couple of years ago when I fell down an internet rabbit hole labelled Norm Macdonald. I don’t know how it happened but it did. It maybe had something to do with watching re-runs of David Letterman but, anyway, Norm strode into my life and made it funnier.

He was a Canadian comedian with a background at the Comedy Store and on Saturday Night Live but had a style that was oddly individual. At first, one thought that his delivery was stumbling, even shambolic, but his style was irresistibly engaging to me.

He played the fool, at least the naïf. In conversation with Letterman he riffed on Hitler as if he was a fairly obscure figure in history. His verdict? “The more I learn about that fella, the less I care for him.”

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He died last year, aged only 61. He had been suffering from cancer for some time. Few people knew he was ill. He carried on doing interviews on talk shows, making his own show and appearing on podcasts. His death affected me more than was expected. Never met him, knew little about his life beyond the mic, but I was saddened beyond the normal.

Norm was simpatico. He was funny, of course, but he was also a gentle purveyor of truth.

His reaction to being asked about New Year resolutions has stayed with me. He declared that his resolution for a particular year was to have a haircut. He felt he was right in setting the bar low. His example is inspiring.

This year my resolution is to have resolve in adhering to the principle of settling the bar low. Some may see this column as an early marker in this regard.

But the fundamental principles will be, first, to do one thing at a time and, second, to do nothing at all.

Thus when I am listening to music I will not be walking and listening to music. Thus when I am watching telly I will not be watching telly and checking my phone. Thus when I am reading I will not be wondering what I am going to read next.

It seems simple but already it has been testing. My regular walk in the woods has had me feeling for missing earphones or for the phone that has been left at home.

The second element goes against all imperatives of modern, Western life and most of the lessons taught at home and in school. It is this: just do nothing.

It is difficult. Once I thought I was doing this by embarking on a meditation practice that has stumbled on until this day. But, increasingly, I have learned that I view my meditation as a means to an end. I look at it as a way to calm my racing mind or find some appreciation of the moment. These aims are laudable and have, at times, been achieved.

But now I am lowering the bar. I am going to dedicate time to doing nothing. This practice, ironically, needs some work in terms of preparation. So the plan is to sit and ruminate. Or just sit. To walk and ruminate. Or just walk. I may even lie down and ruminate. Or just lie down. Early test runs suggest that all may prove beneficial if I don’t work at it.

It all rebels against the modern notion that to do is to be. Most of my generation learned that at an early age. It proved beneficial at times and in certain situations. Increasingly, it has become tiresome to me, like the comedians of the 1960s gogglebox.

I am going with the Norm Plan of Underachievement and Low Levels of Labour. It could be beneficial but it should be a laugh.