Yes, the Booker prize has finally been awarded to a British writer of humour.
I have not yet read Howard Jacobson's winning entry, but - nevertheless - I find it's success hugely encouraging, because the only book I have ever written is basically humorous, and I have pretty much given up all ambitions to get it to an agent, let alone publisher.
Don't get me wrong, I have never had delusions about winning accolades for it, I just think that the whole bloody business may be lightened up a bit by giving writer's writers a good kick up the arse with a not-so-subtle indication that their tortured and tortuous scribblings may be being ousted by offerings which the general public could - after about 42 years - actually enjoy reading.
Mr Jacobson seems to believe (as I do) that no good or useful fiction can be written without a very strong element of humour. Indeed, he goes so far as to assert that all novels actually began as humorous ones, before being hi-jacked by the sort of depressive introspects that have been winning this prize since it was first awarded, all those years ago.
Good on you Howard, and congratulations too.