Let's be clear: it had been my husband's idea initially to take me to a male revue for our wedding anniversary (see previous post). It was only a few days after that, though, that I twigged that Head First Acrobats were over in the UK at Sadler's Wells. Think Magic Mike, but with circus, the Wizards of Oz.
I first came across Head First Acrobats a while back in a life before sailing. Let's Circus needed help taking down their beautiful black and white circus tent (The Magpie - click here) in Chiswick, and I volunteered as a roustabout. I turned up, without a clue to find Head First Acrobats Tom and Cal, strapping lads, lifting deadweight poles without breaking sweat. Fat lot of use I would be. But I had a lot of fun. Cal and I swapped notes on singer Frank Turner. He loves a bit of circus too, and at one of his pop up concerts in Brixton I'd arrived to find Cheryl doing the warm up act on flying pole (See "The Electric Pole Star and Frank Turner" - click here). An act I'd already booked her in for the following month in the cabaret I curated at Jacksons Lane (See "A pat on the ...Shhh! click here) . Back to the boys. Tom and Cal showed me how to crack a whip, and after numerous attempts slicing my back, I like to think I got the hang of it, with a satisfying pop. The sound it made reminded me of the mascleta, the sound crackers let off to mark festivities and Fallas in Valencia. Great craic. A couple of years later, sailing from France to Australia on board our catamaran La Cigale, our steering cable snapped on a hair-raising night sail past St Vincents in the Grenadines. We improvised for the next 12 hours, and I ended up whipping up and out a lasso to pull us in to dock in Rodney Bay, St Lucia. I thought of the HFA boys. Maybe the trick should have been recorded for an audition tape...
But I keep missing Head First Acrobats shows. First at the Edinburgh Fringe, then at the Brisbane Fringe, when La Cigale was moored down the road on the Gold Coast. An Australian girlfriend, El, from another sailing family who we'd been sailing with since the Canaries, had offered to drive us both to see Elixir, HFA's anarchic zombie cabaret, but we had the kids on board and a family night in the offing, so for once I stayed put. If you can call 18 months at sea "staying put".
Then one night of the World Cup, England v. Croatia, I popped onto Instagram on a hydration break to see if anyone else was watching, as no-one else at home was, and I was looking for company. There I saw a story by artist Barbara @artbarbaralt, who was legging it back for the footie after watching GODZ, and was raving about it. I had come across Barbara thanks to a recent trip to Giffords Circus' Waterfield (see Chapter 233 - click here), and love her work, especially a recent series of watercolours that capture the essence of the show and performers. She was so enthusiastic and encouraging, that within minutes I was double-checking our calendar. There were only a few performances left, it was term time, school functions and all sorts so nope, zero evenings coincided. And then I spotted the Saturday matinee. My husband looked at me through narrowed eyes when I broached the subject. He knows my spending habits and that I would quite happily mortgage my soul for circus. Not so much careless, as carefree. "I've got this," I assured him. Cheapest tickets in the house, albeit restricted view, but I knew the Godz would smile, and so they did.
Preparation is key. The term at school was taking its toll on my back (following an operation I had last year to remove part of a bone digging into a nerve, not to mention a couple of herniated discs that didn't appreciate doing the Official Big Half with the school running club), which is why I've had to resign, limping through to the end of term. So I booked myself in for a restorative pre-emptive massage the day before. Time to get Greece'd was the tagline for the show, and was in part the inspiration to get oiled up. Floating out afterwards, a bright red and pink satin Zara dress in the window of a thrift shop caught my eye. A bargain! We were off to the Peacock Theatre, after all. Next stop Superdrug, to take the radioactive glare off my legs, yet to see the Valencian sun. A complete novice and in need of a helping hand, I was lucky to have one of my sisters on speed-dial to navigate the aisle of mousses, mitts and sprays. Sorted. Next a bit of height. Out came my old pair of tango heels. I may not be able to walk in heels right now, but I can certainly dance in them, and where better than Sadler's Wells?!
Dress zipped, legs out, heels on, off we went. Half the fun of going out with my Swiss francophone husband is the journey, riding pillion on the Vespa. Mais oui, ciao amore! We zoomed into town, though my heart lurched at Waterloo as police stopped us for a demonstration coming by. I could just make out the first two letters of a placard "Re...". Dear Godz. Reform. Farage. Bloody hell. Here we go. I steeled myself for the onslaught of Lairy Neanderthals. Only I didn't have my glasses on, and as they got closer, re-read "Remain" and my heart soared as wave after wave of Cheery Cosmopolitans marched past, to huge applause. The last time I had seen HFAs bringing down that tent was a week before the Brexit vote, when the idea we should ever leave Europe, our family, had been ridiculous, and a bubble of us thought we had it in the bag. There is still hope. Isn't there? As an erstwhile languages teacher seeing the knock-on impact on secondary schools of the closure of MFL department at Nottingham University, and the hundreds of impending redundancies in Humanities, including languages, at Exeter University, the jury is out. But good to see people speaking up and out.
At the theatre we took our seats. A box for three. The third seat, previously empty, was now filled, and I felt for the punter who clearly did not want to play gooseberry to a couple of lovebirds, and had his own interest in being there. So I took my husband by the hand and we moved up a level. To the gods. Les enfants du paradis, as the French call it. The side box up there we had to ourselves, and the view was superb. Restricted on paper, but no limits. And now, on to the show, watch this space ...
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