#NB : Trust me; this is not a paid review or freebie…this is simply my life as a mum. x
Roll up,
Roll up,
For the happiest show on earth….
Or is it?
We were off to the Circus.
I was excited. Husband was pumped; and the kids were jumping off the walls.
After tipping the money from our pockets for tickets (whoa there; bearded ladies must be charging loads more than when I was a child), we were confronted with another wondrous sight. A tiny fair surrounded our entry; walking through a minefield with toddlers shrieking, “clowns, tea-cups, jumping castle. MORE MORE MORE.” This was a million times sneakier than placing chuppa chups at checkouts. Fleeced the pockets again and we hadn’t even stepped inside. Oh..and suprisingly…no photos allowed in the Big Top. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the charged photo opportunities for kids at half time and everything to do with not distracting the performers. Tight wad I am not, but I was grateful we had actually brought along our own sandwiches.
Drum rolls, strobing lights, almost pants wetting excitement, funky thumping music and ENTER THE RINGMASTER. He was everything and more; think The Fat Controller, with sparkly jacket(s)- (plural : this guy had more outfits than my 2 year old has peppa pig hair clips) and a perfect booming voice.
I was hooked.
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| #NB : Note the serious use of filters and black and white editing |
As was Husband when the dancing ladies made their appearance. Quite the saucy ‘G’ rated dance by the way (just…by the skin of their leotards) and a quick glance sideways showed Husband goofily nodding away to their little hat tipping number.
As they shimmied away, I realised we were seated right near the gated chute – dear Lord along came the lions, right beside us. What did the big glittery fella say about about exits in case of emergency?? Mmmmm…still not sure how comfortable I am with this. Much was said (numerous times) about the impeccable and approved RSPCA standards of care for these animals, but watching little jungle monkeys paraded around on the back of ponies did not sit right with me.
Anyway; the show must go on.
There was trapeze, twirling and tightropes.
There were claps, squeals and ‘squeezing’ from us…yes…my daughter’s little hand was gripping my arm tighter and tighter and tighter. As the music amped up, the crowd began rocking, and as I belted out Katy Perry’s “Roar, ROAR, ROOOAAARRR,” a tiny voice said, “I want to go home.”
Really? Did I hear right?
My cheeky, fearless, wild child?
Then came the clowns.
And…
Then came curtains…well for my daughter and I, anyway.
“MUMMY; I WANT TO GO HOME!!!!”
Yep; no mistaking it this time.
No hastily whispered conversations about wigs, makeup and microphones that were turned up way too loud, would calm her. It seems we had discovered her achilles. And so I tucked her under my arm and ducked my head, half walking, a lot running, and made for the light.
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| My view for the second half |
And that’s where we stayed.
Outside.
And it began to rain.
Luckily we had some cover, but our show was over.
Despite briefly convincing her to try again, who should pop back for their encore, the clown, with dogs this time; did I mention she’s not a fan of dogs?
“HHHHOOOOMMMMEEEE!”
We returned to our seats outside the big top and watched the beautiful hat ladies stock the fridges, dip dagwood dogs in batter and pour ice in the slushy machines. Full make-up still, but no longer in the sparkling lingerie costumes. The magic of the Circus had all but disappeared for me by now.
So I consoled myself with that magical food that can only be found at a carnival.
Amen for donuts. Hot, sugary donuts went some way towards making up for the fact that apparently the finale was the best.trapeze.act.ever…
or so they told me…
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