Hello Friends,

A clown accosted me the other morning (seriously).

It was 6:30am and the morning Australia made it into the second round of the World Cup so I wasn’t that surprised to see a clown, especially as I had just come from a champagne breakfast where I had been carrying on like one. But at least the ringleader knew me.

Anyway, as I got out of the cab at Circular Quay the fog was so thick that the city felt more like San Francisco. You couldn’t even see the Harbour Bridge or any buildings; you could just here the roar of excited Australian accents screaming Aussie, Aussie, Aussie and boat and car horns calling out, as well as anyone else with a horn.

If the warmth of spirit can lift fog, then it would have cleared in minutes to reveal Sydney Harbour sparkling like a diamond blanket in a way that only She does.

But it can’t and so I couldn’t see anything. But then I could see something. It came in the form of a large man dressed as a clown running towards me. The 6ft 2’ clown was of medium athletic build and wore a green wig and white clown suit with a ‘Kiss me Kate’ t-shirt.

The heavens were farking with me! Not because of the Emma-Kate connection but also because people who call me Kate without the Emma attached is my pet hate.

The clown didn’t really stop running. He swooped me up onto his shoulder and started bolting down the street. I remember thinking, “I know life is like a circus, but this is taking it a bit too far.”

The cab driver was looking at me in shock behind the comfort of his grey steering wheel. Clearly a position with some control...

But he showed no sign of gearing up in the direction of helping me so I yelled, “Who is this clown?” Sometimes I really do wonder about myself.

“Tony,” came a booming accent from the clown.

The clown wasn’t even from Australia (although it’s nice to know we have such friendly tourists). He was from Birmingham. Um, does Australia have some kind of clown training exchange that I don’t know about?

Anyways, I could see the faces of many people as I viewed the world backwards and upside-down-ish.

I remembered that hostages try to bond with the clowns keeping them.

“Um, Tony. When you were young I bet you wanted to join the circus?”

“A little bit,” he said.

Keep in mind I’m still on his shoulder (a large shoulder). Yet I couldn’t help but notice how comfortable it was…

Oh now I was going to fall in love with the clown (it’s happened before).

This was before I put my girlish ‘Jane of the jungle’ instincts in check and realised he was not Tarzan but some weirdo who was running down Argyle Street with me on him.

“I didn’t so can you put me down now,” I said.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

He put me down and I explained that a) I couldn’t juggle and b) even if I could I didn’t like men who are up in the air.

Tony then decided it would be good if we caught up regardless, and asked for my number.

I had one response.

“Tony, don’t be a clown!” Then I stomped on his foot (only semi-mean as I was wearing trainers) and yelled, “Don’t mess with me Bozo!”

Tony looked shocked that I might not want any clown action.

Okay, Tony wasn’t a clown. He was clearly a complete muppet!

I should have realised the clown was a premonition for the day I was going to have and the people I was going to meet. It got me thinking that, in the circus of life, why are there so many clowns? Because in the circus of life, there is meant to be more than one character.

I am a Libran so I think I’d prefer a trapeze artist. They are not afraid to aim high yet are still good with balance. That, or a lion tamer. Clowns are scary and a bit freaky because they have all that make-up on. So they might do lots to make you laugh but at the same time they can quickly make you cry with their dumb tricks. Also, I never trust people that children are afraid of.

Other clowns are just Krusty…

Anyways, I arrived on set as I was shooting a commercial.

If you thought Tony the clown was scary, wait for the guy I met in make up.

First he asked if I’d like a green tea, then if he could touch my hair. Finally he pulled out the big guns with, “Would you like to smoke a joint?”

“Um, no, no, thank Christ!” I said.

“Why are you thanking Christ?” he enquired.

“Because I’m just happy you are high as I’m hoping your freaky stare will wear off,” I replied.

“So you want to smoke some pot or not?” he asked again. (Keep in mind it’s 8:10 in the morning.)

“No,” I replied.

“Really? Why that’s so weird.”

“Listen here you clown. I’m allergic to pot so of the times I smoked it 9/10 I spewed everywhere and behaved like a belligerent teenager. If it made you like this would you smoke it at work when you are grown up?” I enquired.

Oh dumb question, I guess we can all be clowns from time to time.

So, for anyone who has ever wanted to go to clown school, keep your cash. There are plenty on the street who are happy to touch and teach strangers free of charge.

Email me, Emma-Kate Dobbin
editor@tootstar.com