L is for Lennon Brother's Circus

EGG and I ran away to join the circus this weekend. After initially thinking that a visit to the circus was l for lame, I have to admit that I was wrong (and I don't do that too often). The circus was brilliant (I can't think of a sufficiently glowing l word to describe it). And the best bit--all we had to do was sit there and be entertained--no singing, no dancing, no death defying feats. Aaah bliss.

However things were not as they seemed, and it was before the performance began that EGG admitted how truly traumatic it was for him to be there at the circus. Holding my hand he revealed the story.

Years ago, when he was only a tiny boy in a tiny Queensland outback town, he had gone to the circus with his family. He was chosen at random from the crowd to be harnessed up to ride the Shetland pony. He galloped around the ring on the pony's back, and no he didn't fall off. It was much, much worse. The horse galloped out of the ring and little EGG was left dangling in the harness. And then it happened. A clown raced over and pulled down poor little EGG's pants. Oh the shame and humiliation that an act like that can do to a four year old EGG's confidence.

I patted his back in sympathy, holding back my tears of laughter while vowing mutual and eternal hatred of all clowns.

Actually I do hate clowns. They wear awful clothes, too much makeup, have stupid haircuts and sing really bad songs. Oh goodness, it sounds like I'm talking about that poor mite Britney Spears, but I'm not. And why do clowns always do that stupid water joke where they throw the bucket of paper into the crowd? And why do people always flinch--like they don't know it isn't water. This is Queensland people. We don't have water to waste, not to mention the circus company's potential dry cleaning bill.

But anyway back to the acts. There were trapeze artists, the wheel of death, a twisty girl and a pole dancer. I've attached her picture. EGG wants me to practice the pose. That is not going to happen.

They had lions (which I didn't like--I actually hoped the cranky boy lion would bite the cranky boy lion tamer). They had a great dog show, alpacas and geese. It must have been a bit of a comedown for Mr Liontamer to be taming the geese, but I've heard they can be ornery little devils.

The audience was tough. They wouldn't clap. EGG and I had red hands trying to make up the deficit. We didn't clap the clowns though. EGG kept muttering that he reckoned the fat clown was the one who pulled his pants down and he was going to get him.

We left right after the show finished. I didn't want EGG calling the clown outside to settle unfinished business.

L is for Lennon Brother's Circus.

K is for Karaoke

I've long suspected that the way to be a successful singer is simply to add alcohol. Brittany, Lindsay, Robbie--I think I've made my point. So it was with well-lubricated vocal cords that EGG and I set off on our K adventure--Karaoke (and there was a $500 prize).

Can't we go kayaking? EGG whimpered, but I've put my foot down on adventure letters after all my recent disasters, and by god, we were going to sing! Or so I thought.

It is not easy to get a song at our near neighbourhood pub, because there exists a karaoke clique. I thought cliques were all about high school, but no, they lurk in a karaoke pub near you. It works this way (its ingenuity is in its simplicity)--if you're not a member of the clique, you don't get to sing.

I was reliably informed of this by my new Polish friend who I met at the karaoke pub. Clique members also carry a bit of padding around the middle, have had a long pre-karaoke session with the hair straightener and wear clothes a couple of sizes too small for them. They are also clued up as to all the songs that don't have high notes which makes Funky Cold Medina a big hit. This is all true, but maybe my bitterness is making me a wee bit judgmental.

I laughed when Polish Man told me all this. Surely they would be begging for people to sing--I mean is it up there on your Top Five things to do on a Saturday night? No, didn't think so, but as our night started to drag into the second hour, I was starting to believe him.

We waited for TWO hours to sing. The members of the clique sang one, two, three songs each, and I was starting to get a little cross (I was also starting to get a little drunk). But Polish Man to the rescue. He stormed up to Mr Music and demanded I be allowed to sing, and sing I did.
It's a little daggy (OK a lot daggy) but I sang Lipstick on Your Collar off key, wriggled my hips and did a lot of finger pointing (maybe I was more than a little drunk). Then it was EGG's turn. He sang Start Me Up and it was as if Mick Jagger appeared. He waved his arm around his head and then strutted around the front like a little rooster. He couldn't sing, but he got ten out of ten for attitude.

Meanwhile, I was dancing with Polish Man who spent a lot of time grooving up to Mr Music, comparing him to people involved in World War 2, all the while waving his middle fingers while saying a word that starts with and means the same as fornication but is much more effective for expressing your feelings.

Lovely and helpful though Polish Man was we thought we had best cut short our brief association and EGG and I called it a night.

I wonder if we won the 500 bucks?

K is for Karaoke.