I have a clown phobia. They terrify me. I place the blame squarely on every awful 80’s ‘horror’ film I ever watched.
I spent my formative years viewing movies about clowns that would sit, smiling and apparently harmless, on a chair in a corner of your bedroom ... until the lights went out.
At which point they would suddenly grow very long arms and strangle you in your sleep.
Or produce an enormous meat-cleaver from the folds of their voluminous costume and split your skull open like a watermelon.
So, you understand my reluctance when I recently had cause to take several photographs of a clown.
(I didn’t want to do it, but as it was either that or ‘fessing up on the phobia, I complied).
To my utter astonishment, the clown in question displayed no signs of harbouring murderous intentions, and, instead of beating me to death with a unicycle, actually engaged me in a short but nonetheless very interesting conversation.
(I am still uncertain whether to be pleased or appalled about this, yet it did lead me to wondering if clowns get laid much ... are there clown groupies ?).
Rather than the psychotic misfit I was expecting (hoping for ?), this particular clown was not only well-spoken and obviously intelligent, he was also (shock, horror), kind of sexy.
Ding-dong !
I hurried back into the big top and watched him perform.
He was very athletic !
It was almost too much for me to bear when I realised he was a contortionist !
(I tried not to look at the stage whilst he did his thing, but as it took up the entire tent, it was difficult not to notice that he could bend himself backwards in half at will).
I left that circus tent as a woman minus her clown phobia, but with a burning question taking hold in my mind to replace it ...
Clown suit ... on, or off ? 