Happiness Quote by Ian St. John

Dismissal can be an art form, and Ian St. John turns it into a full-contact sport. The first move is deceptively mild: "he doesn't make me laugh". It sounds like personal taste, almost polite. Then comes the credentialing: "I've got a fair sense of humour". St. John isn’t just rejecting a comedian or broadcaster; he’s preemptively rejecting the comeback that he “doesn’t get it.” The line quietly repositions him as the competent judge in the room, the bloke with reliable instincts, while the target becomes the one who fails a basic test: producing laughter.

The subtext is less about comedy than class and credibility. St. John’s voice is that of a football-era punditry culture that values plain speaking and mistrusts self-regard. He doesn’t argue the material, he questions the entire premise that this person deserves airtime. That’s why the detail matters: "his show on the radio on a Saturday morning". This is prime, everyday territory in British life, the communal slot where banter is meant to feel effortless and familiar. If it lands wrong there, it’s not a niche mismatch; it’s a social failure.

"Load of mince" seals it. It’s not neutral criticism; it’s deliberately coarse, working-class ridicule, a phrase chosen for maximum deflation. The intent isn’t to debate taste but to puncture status, reducing performance to something processed, mushy, and faintly embarrassing. In a media ecosystem where likability often substitutes for rigor, St. John’s jab insists on an older metric: if you’re meant to be funny, make people laugh. If you don’t, you’re just filling time.