The Art of Clowning.

Went to Cabaret Boom Boom last night. Thanks to Mothermouse’s immaculate planning we got the front and centre table of a packed village hall, at least it would have been if it wasn’t in the middle of Sheffield. It started erratically with a young woman dressed as a potato, a woman creating her dream date from an assortment of vegetables and a guy shooting a bat from a cannon whilst riding a kids trike clean off the stage; the sort of performances if you didn’t enter into them you’d be left outside a Siberian sauna shivering to death. At one point the potato, deep in its depressed character, stepped down from the stage and asked Mothermouse what it should do. Mothermouse, possibly the only therapist in the room and very used to such a question, was so flummoxed by this novel empathic relationship with a potato she could do little more than whisper, “I don’t know.” Then the professional acts. An excellent violinist who, at 6’3” and obviously way too tall for any orchestra string section, had opted for the more lucrative career of stand up playing, for which he was more adequately proportioned. He required a stooge and alighted on me as a fellow musician. I like the stage and done some clowning so settled into the second fiddle absent minded gullible member of the audience, a role for which I too am adequately proportioned. The crowd laughed and four gins to the wind Mothermouse was in tears; possibly in relief knowing I’m prone to butt-clenching flights of public failure. Intermission. Top of the bill was a comedian juggler. He too picked on me several times and took to calling me Allen because he thought I looked like Allen Titchmarsh. By this time I’d been on stage almost as long as a support act. As he took his bow to rapturous applause in nothing but a skimpy pink tutu, long story, he thanked Allen. Big mistake. The back of the room erupted with shouts of “It’s Brian”. So he ended up having to say, “I know it’s Brian, I was just making a joke that he looked like Allen Titchmarsh.” Walkley Community Hall might be five miles from where we live but in Sheffield we look after our own. And today my name is better known there than here. Very strange, and honestly I’ve played my own music gigs and left with about as much recognition as a fart in the night. So as Covid begins to leave us do value our entertainers. Not the TV ones, the ones with the craft to do it live in front of a live audience and give them a good night out.

Kate Clanchy

Kate Clanchy wrote 'Some Kids I Taught and What They Taught Me' to rave reviews and an Orwell prize. Later three fellow writers complained about her use of dehumanising, ableist and racist language. Clanchy’s 30 years of teaching was to special needs and immigrant children who quickly came to her defence as having a hugely beneficial influence on their lives. Twitter lines were set for stormy weather and her publisher washed his hands of her to keep them clean. But real life is messy and those that indulge in it learn to love by accepting people that way. Clean hands don’t make people laugh, they leave them untouched. Worse they turn one’s meagre fragments of pride into shame. If I’m proud to be Afghan, look as I do and struggle with what others find easy what am I to think when someone says that shouldn’t be said? Only that they must be shameful. And being able and sharing that ability to those less so, by being labelled ‘ableist’ my efforts are also made shameful. It’s a cast of mind to have clean hands. That all with the smallest mote, a faulty fingernail, are beneath you. How comforting. For the past five years I’ve volunteered at a day centre for socially challenged people. We’re a totally mixed bunch but come together as equals. I would never give names but my descriptions would be as lovingly forthright as Ms Clanchy’s, they wouldn’t want it any other way. I know nothing of the literary world but wish Kate Clanchy well, and to add one more ‘ist’ to the already too long list. I suggest, ‘perfection-ist’; one who wish to expunge messy reality in the name of their own perception of perfection.

Bogis Jonsern’s Court Appearance.

S.Yorkshire Magistrates court, 2-2-2022, Bogis Jonsern, theft of motor vehicle. Did you steal a motor vehicle on the said date? No sir. Were you in Upton Street on the afternoon in question? No sir. May I remind you we have photographic evidence that you were? Ah I didn’t realise that sir. Maybe I was then. But only for five minutes sir. Oh you remember that? Oh yes sir. And were refreshments involved? I don’t remember that sir but we was outside the pub you know. So people were drinking then? It’s possible your honour. And you were? No no sir. I was just there to congratulate the boys on a job they just done. I was only there five minutes. I realise that. And in that time did you steal the vehicle in question? No sir. I think I thought it was an ambulance, or maybe a pram. May I remind you we have footage of you driving said vehicle away. Ah well yes and no. You see my main concern is all the good work I do, helping the elderly and generally levelling up our community. And what does that mean, levelling up? Well it’s like the football pitch in Upton Park. We always take the high end cos it’s not level. If the pitch isn’t level you always grab the up end. And that’s levelling up? Exactly. It’s giving people opportunities init. So you did steal the motor vehicle. I may have driven it but that’s not stealing is it. I may have been helpfully driving it home for someone too pissed to drive it, give them an opportunity for a few more bevvies. That I’m afraid doesn’t wash. Alright I’m really really sorry OK and I’ll never do that thing ever again. Can I go now? I’m afraid being sorry is no defence in law Mr Jonsern. But sir I’ve got a wife and er well several children to support. Again the law isn’t concerned about that. I’m afraid I find you guilty. Six months custodial. And may I remind you next time, and I’m pretty sure there will be a next time, it would help the court considerably if you could be far more honest and forthcoming. Think of it as levelling up, you know as a human being.