If I had three wishes – alas, no lamp or genie! – after “1) Peace in the fraught places of the world, and 2) cures for life-limiting diseases, so we can all of us just grow old and die of natural causes” – I’d squander the third on myself: “Please make me funny!”

I’ve always wanted to make people laugh. Which is a joke, because as those of you who care for me know, and I freely admit, I can tend towards the intense. You also compliment me on being sensitive, which is sweet – not oversensitive on my own account, but attuned to others’ feelings. I’ll take that.

And I do have a sense of humour. I covet the gift of comedy because I love being made to laugh, and admire your talent and skill in shaking me out of my solemnity. If you find me in Rodin’s “The Thinker” pose – not during a comfort break – please knock me off my plinth. You’ll make my day.

I’ve started a first draft of a second novel. It’s tragic, in places. Which means, for me as the writer, and out of consideration for you, my potential readers, the comic scenes make the fictional world – as in real life – something us mortals can just about navigate. They have to be part of the fabric, or there will be no survivors – be they characters in, or consumers of the story. So I took an online class in “Writing Funny”. Can I do it?!

I read the tutor, Sophie Tanner’s, own novel, Reader, I Married Me – you’ve got the plot – which turns romance on its head: the author organising her wedding-for-one in solidarity with her protagonist, to much media acclaim and helpful book marketing. I believe actor Emma Watson has declared a similar relationship status, without going through the actual ceremony.

It was out of my usual range – it’s good to be adventurous – both situationally fun, and full of witty observation and dialogue. I befriended the younger and sillier self the romp evoked in me. And at its core were real emotions that connected me with people – intense, and sensitive – who often fall beyond the reach of some snootier books. In short, she brought me on side.

Come the class, we unpacked a toolbox of dramatic devices: exaggerate in favour of the ridiculous; use parody, satire, irony, sarcasm, absurdity and nonsense, wordplay and malapropism; juxtapose opposites, and subvert expectations with plot twists – surprise. All good stuff.

Then we took our individual pulse, “How to find your funny”. For which think “my funny”, each to our own – but, and this is not Sophie, but me talking to you now, It will work for you. “What makes me laugh? What is my unique point of view?” This next – “Don’t overthink it” – the biggest challenge for me; but I did, as Sophie encouraged us, let my personality come through.

For the scenario she asked us to imagine, a real-life awkward moment earlier that morning came to mind: on the street outside our home, I’d reversed badly into our garage with no fewer than three male drivers tapping their steering-wheels waiting for me to clear out of their way – oh, the agonies of being that stereotypical woman in a rather traditional culture, I could only laugh, not cry.

It reminded me of when I took my driving test in London 35 years ago: I thought I’d failed because I went up on the kerb when I reversed around a corner – misery. But the examiner, right at the end, had me parallel park – perfectly, for probably the first and only time in my career – and passed me. When I asked, “Are you sure?” and gushed my thanks, he replied, “Go, before I change my mind!” It definitely wouldn’t happen now! But Sophie was right: “Comedy comes from the truth, and all we have to do is lean into whatever in our experience sets us apart”.

Funny is everywhere, if we’re open to it. I was waiting in the car opposite the supermarket in our village, for a friend, a young mum who’d dashed in for a couple of pizzas for supper. The little girls were at home with their daddy, this was her moment. I was catching up with emails on my phone when a text plopped in: “Sorry, the queue is very long, and there’s only one person serving.” As a metaphor for life, and God, this had me steaming up the windscreen with laughter.

It may not strike you the same way. But something else will, and that’s what matters.

In this season of festivity, fun, and funny – with or without lamp and genie – may all your wishes come true.