I spent my Sunday in the company of clowns.
Once a year a host of clowns gather in a church a few minutes from my home for a in memory of Joseph Grimaldi.
I've been meaning to conspire with the clowns on this special occasion but have managed to miss it each year. I am glad that I got to sit in and marvel at their colourful reverence.
Despite many hours of contemplation, I cannot put my finger on it, I just cannot put into words what it is that fascinates me about clowns. I suppose, if pushed I would reason that my enthralment lies somewhere between the stark white faces, the metamorphosing of character and the unnerving "something" that lingers "somewhere" in their air.
I know that clowns aren't for everyone, but for me, I think they are mesmerising. It must be great fun answering the question; "so what do you do for a living?" by answering, "clowning".
"I remain just one thing, and one thing only, and that is a clown. It places me on a far higher plane than any politician."