Chapter 83: Shadowing Dennis Severs

A menagerie of friends by visage artist Sarah Godard*

Breakfast at Lucy's

Picture the scene. Or maybe best not. Maybe just shut your eyes and skip this first paragraph. There I am, 2pm on Saturday afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table in next to nothing but a slip of silk, tapping away at my laptop, furiously trying to bring together my previous post on Giffords Circus' "Moon Songs". It's been a long time coming and I have a small window before going off to the wedding of dearest friends. We've just had a lazy lunch, and Mr LucyLovesCircus (as he's now known) has just taken the kids to a party, while I am ignoring the clearing up and cracking on, lost in a lunar reverie. The doorbell goes. Shortly followed by a key turning in the door. Crap, it must the be the Estate Agent. I had completely forgotten we had a house viewing today. I have to make a split second decision on what bothers me more - the state of the kitchen or my state of undress. I hear kids voices too and leg it up the stairs just as the door is opening.  Grabbing last night's party frock and slinging it over in seconds, I hover like a ghost. A rather noisy ghost. Instead of rattling chains, clattering with five dirty mugs  looped on my fingers. I manage to sneak back to the kitchen and my laptop, looking with horror at the place. I now see the bags of chips spilling out, a chicken carcass on the side, a riot of dirty plates, a calamity of ketchup, and a pair of gold hot pants flung over the back of a chair for good measure. It's like a Dennis Severs installation brought into the 21st Century. Who is Dennis Severs? Let me explain.

Last Autumn I was taking a Spanish friend, who had been staying with us in South London, to his lodgings in Bishopsgate, as a guest of the CASA Latin American Theatre Festival at Richmix in Dalston. Nel was staying at the Tune Hotel on Folgate Street, to be precise, and once we had settled him in there I registered a rather odd building opposite. Dark and mysterious, it had a lantern flickering in front of the black door, with red painted numbers and rather eerie silhouettes in the window. So I snapped a picture and posted it on Facebook with the question: "Anyone know what's going on here?". Sure enough, my original Circus Space partner in crime Anne, a City of London tour guide (among other things) flagged it as Dennis Severs' house and promised to take me there. We finally got there last Thursday. 

Dennis Severs was an American eccentric who came over to London in the 50s. In love with English heritage, the world of Dickens and so forth, he bought the house, lovingly furnished it over the years with all sorts of antiques he had collected, and lived in it as though from another century. He invented a family of 18th century silk weavers, The Jervis Family, Huguenot refugees, to inhabit the space and transformed the house into their history.  It is not just a recreation of rooms, it is a living museum, with the idea being that each room you walk into has literally just been vacated. You get a sense of the family, as though they are just outside the corner of your eye. Shadows that you can't quite fix on, but you get the impression. Candles are burning, soup is on the fire, half eaten dinner - the life is tangible. The tour is done in silence, no touching of any of the items, and you are invited to drink in the smells, the visual cues and the sounds of street life, clock chimes and the scattering of footsteps. 

Anne, of course, in her inimitable style, had booked us on the champagne tour - a glass awaiting at the end, when speech would be permitted. I don't know which I was looking forward to more, quite frankly. We were joined by another friend, Ange. Our last excursion as a threesome together had been last year for The Alchemic Order's Dorian Gray**, a house that had been transformed to recreate a Wilde evening, and the parallels were striking.  We knocked at the door. It opened and we were greeted by Joel, one of the guides with the most deliciously rich voice of Burtonesque proportions. He took one look at us and invited us to be silent "for as long as you can … [a resigned look] well, at least do try for the first bit". Actually, we did pretty well. A couple of stage whispers here and there, especially when trying to remember a beautiful little motif on one of the samplers 'A woman who has intellect, without the softening of the heart, is … stupid." As no cameras are permitted and we didn't have a pen and paper to hand, we divvied the line into three parts. I failed miserably at remembering my bit (one gin-in-a-tin en route is all it takes) and in the redistribution of parts ended up with simply "stupid" instead. Thanks guys. 

Each room was like a "still-life drama" with guiding notes left by Dennis Severs, directing attention, inviting thoughts. I don't want to say too much, you really do have to experience it blind. The tableau (presque) vivant incarnating a Hogarth picture of carnal overindulgence obviously struck a chord, the integration of a bit of Spitalfields history was fascinating, the kitchen's low ceiling surprising, and the attic, a mock-up of the conditions and house rules that a lodging family like Bob Cratchett's would really have had to suffer, was heart-breaking. If you go in winter, I'm told, you really feel the full force of the harsh conditions, the chill, the draughts, every creak and crack. And it's also worth going in December months as the rest of the house lends itself to festive cheer. 

Afterwards, chatting over our glass of bubbly with a couple of the guides, fountains of information, we learned that a book is coming out about the house in the Autumn by the author of Hugo. I wondered if the legendary immersive theatre company Punchdrunk*** had expressed an interest in the place, as I can imagine them staging their own immersive tour. Of course they have been round several times and been in talks, though I imagine the logistics would be tricky given the dynamics and the legions of crowds trampling through that a PD production would attract. Dennis Severs himself used to give a tour in the old days, and while I'm sure they have their own candidates, I've mentally cast Dorian's Lord Henry Wooten in the role. He'd be the perfect wit! 

Experiences of the house happen at specific times. But be warned. It's an enchanting place. Both guides I spoke to had started out as a visitor and then never left. And they do all the dusting themselves with tender care. 

For more information check out the site at www.dennissevershouse.co.uk.

There is a Dennis Severs' House  page on Facebook and follow on Twitter @18FolgateStreet.

In Autumn there is book by Brian Selznick called "The Marvels" (illustrator and author of "The Invention of Hugo Cabret" turned into the film Scorsese hit "Hugo")   featuring the house. Here he is talking about it: 

*Sarah Godard is one of a handful of visage portrait artist, a skill inherited from 18th Century France, and captured our friends at our Moulin Rouge house-party for Mr LucyLovesCircus' 40th a couple of weeks ago.  Check out her website: www.silhouettecutting.co.uk

**The Alchemic Order will be back with Dorian Gray in Greenwich in the Autumn. Follow on FB page and on Twitter @AlchemicOrder. Please check out Anne's post on a stellar evening: click here: "Passion for All…Dorian Gray and Immersive Theatre"

***Punchdrunk are currently running a ground-breaking show aimed at children aged 6-12 years old, set in The Maritime Museum in Greenwich called "Against Captain's Orders" - click here for more details - see www.rmg.co.uk.

Finally, please note: round the corner from Folgate Street, British Land are set demolish nearly three quarters of buildings on their site within the Elder St Conservation Area. There is a campaign called "Save Norton Folgate" - find out more about it here:  www.facebook.com/savenortonfolgate and by following the Spitafield Trusts on twitter @SpitalfieldsT.

Chapter 82: Giffords Circus presents Moon Songs

“The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.” 

(Shakespeare: Midsummer Night's Dream)

I have started writing this on Midsummer's Eve, and romance is in the air. Just back from my sister's wedding in Hampshire where she and my new brother-in-law tied the knot, third time lucky for both of them. I am high on the joy, love and laughter that shone throughout the day, meeting the groom's family, discovering many crossover connections, building bridges, embracing family. I am also still under the spell of Giffords Circus "Moon Songs" which we went to see on Monday with the children, and am trying to conjure up words to do justice to some enchanted evening. Giffords Circus is legendary, the byword for glamour and circus chic. I've heard so many tales, about the terrific Nell Gifford and her extended circus family, from friends, shocked that I've never been before. My favourite is the one about the nanny who went to look after the Gifford children and ended up as one of the acts. Urban myth?! For the uninitiated, Giffords Circus is a vintage 1930s style Big Top circus that tours round the Cotswolds, taking its family name, in old-school fashion, from Nell and Toti Gifford. Nell is the one who ran away with the circus, and Toti is her husband, producing dreams together. The circus is so popular that by the time I heard about it arriving at Chiswick House weekend tickets were all sold out, and we opted for the after-school option. The children were delighted. Circus on a school night!

The weekend had been full on, among other things, celebrating our wedding anniversary while hosting a party for twenty excitable 7 year olds and an animal menagerie. Actually, twelve years on, I thought my husband and I as a double act were doing pretty well, until the moment when we were upstaged by a royal python. Snaking through traffic at rush hour the following day, to get to the circus in Chiswick via the Hammersmith flyover, was even more hair-raising. So when we finally arrived at Chiswick House car park, barely minutes before the performance began, I was feeling pretty wrecked. Still, as soon as we crossed into the Secret Space, of the walled garden that was housing the circus, we were hit by a mouthwatering waft of candy that dissolved the stress of the journey. It felt like everything had come up smelling of popcorn after all. The performance really started outside the tent. The stage was set by the smart burgundy and cream of the surrounding caravan trailers, the razzle-dazzle  in the form of the charming bellboy ushers and leggy usherettes in their velvets and tasselled  epaulettes. And we spotted Tweedy the Clown wandering around, thanks to his signature tuft of red hair, dragging along an iron attached via an ankle bracelet. That made me laugh - I'm not the only one chained to the housework! 


The magic continued to work round the back where we chanced upon the stables and the children caught a glimpse of the horses being groomed for the show. And who could resist the enchantment of a tumble of candyfloss when there is a fair organ playing in the background? We scoffed the last wisp at the entrance to the tent just as my husband arrived, and as we crossed the threshold the sticky sweet scent of circus changed to savoury notes of sawdust and starlight. There is a free-seating system and the place was packed, but the ushers managed to squeeze us into the last few remaining seats just by the band. Dressed in satins, topped with conical hats they reminded me of musical harlequins and it felt like we had hit the jackpot. Tweedy the Clown, meanwhile, in his own inimitable vaudeville style already had the crowd in stitches attempting to assemble and sit down on a deckchair.  Looking across at my Swiss husband, on his first visit to a Big Top in the UK, I could see a switch flick off work-mode in an instant, and the kids faces were a study in delight. 

The show is called "Moon Songs", and we had fun spotting the lunar references in each piece of music. "Fly Me To The Moon" struck up during the interval, our first wedding dance, which was a happy piece of serendipity for this anniversary outing. The title also encapsulates the romance and the lunacy of anyone wishing to run away to the circus, like the stellar jugglers, the brothers Bibi and Bichu. We meet them first as children in their African bed, conjuring up a Big Top on a village green that begs the question: did they dream up Giffords, or did Giffords dream up them?! From there spins the world of a fairground by the light of the silvery moon, with the master of ceremonies, the great Orodoff, swapping the ringmaster's red tailcoat and top hat for the trappings of a mesmerising Victorian illusionist, assisted by David, boyishly clad in a sailor-suit. Tweedy provides continuity between acts, forecasting them as Magda, the mechanical clairvoyant in her booth - transporting me back to childhood trips to the Cabaret Mechanical Theatre in Covent Garden (click here) - and as the face of the Man in the Moon, pictured. The latter, a nod to the aesthetics of George Méliès'  silent classic "A Trip to the Moon" (click here for link to film), also reminded me of Robin William's cameo as a planet in Terry Gilliam's surreal "Time Bandits" (again, click here for link to the film). 







David's demonic skill on the diabolo reignited the spark our son had been carrying for the discipline last summer, while Tweedy being fired from the cannon… well, it was a real blast. Bibi and Bichu's star turn with the LED light-changing clubs took us back to our first encounter with Gandini Juggling in a tent at Camp Bestival last year (see Chapter 29 - click here). I especially loved the gravitational pull of the sequence where Bibi and Bichu, suspended by invisible harnesses in the dark, juggle clubs whose trajectory is interspersed with ultra-violet puppet pins on wires, weaving their way in and out in slow motion.  




Our 7 year old daughter was captivated by the four Abyssinian acrobat girls, who sprang from behind the shadows cast on a screen that at one point suggested a multi-limbed Hindu deity. The whole 12-strong Ethiopian troupe was certainly divine, and their banquine and flipping finale at the end was breath-taking. We were also spellbound by the gracefully supine Kata Kliss, seamlessly threading her way through the hula-hoops, pirouetting on her hands, and then, caught like a mermaid in a net, transformed into an aerial siren in a later act.  Our youngest fell head over heels for the pair of Moon Dogs bolting round the ring, and their immaculately choreographed mischief. I found watching the horses rather poignant. So sleek, well-groomed and loved. It reminded of my Polish brother-in-law's story of his grandfather in the cavalry who taught his white stallion to bow to the pretty young school-teacher he was courting. And, reader, she married him.  As for the bear-back riding act, the kids wanted to believe it was a real bear, and in that circus space they were free to do so.  At the end, the children are invited to join the performers in the ring as they dance and gradually the whole audience filters in. As the performers made their exit our 7 year old looked longingly after them and whispered "I wish I could go with them behind that curtain".  Our youngest grabbed my hand and danced with me for dear life.  Lost in the moment. We all were.  

As we left the tent some of the performers were outside saying goodbye. Our joke-telling, Yoda-impersonating clown of a son was over the moon to be high-fived by Tweedy, while our 7 year old was thrilled when she shyly caught the eye of the Ethiopian girls in the distance and they gave her huge smiles and a wave back. Our little one meanwhile legged it back to the stables in search of animals friends to whom to whisper.  At the end of the day, there was a tangible feel of circus family celebrating family life that was incredibly welcoming and made the heart soar. And that there is the magic of circus. Thank you.

"My soul is in the sky"
(Shakespeare: Midsummer Night's Dream)

NOTES: 

Giffords Circus is on tour all summer. See www.giffordscircus.com (click here) for listings of venues and dates.

If, like my daughter, the experience inspires you to go behind the scenes, Nell Gifford has written about the early days as Nell Stroud in "Josser: The Life of a Circus Girl" and more recently the most beautiful accompaniment to the circus  "Giffords: The First Ten Years", complete with translucent dust-jacket with gold-embossed lettering. 

And an old favourite in our house from the 1930s - so Giffords! - is Noel Streatfeild's "Circus Shoes" (originally "The Circus is Coming") about a pair of orphaned siblings who run away to their uncle in the circus and discover all the hard graft and love involved. Streatfeild herself tented with a circus for a couple of seasons. 

All the photos from the evening are in Giffords album on my "Lucy Loves Circus"  Facebook Page.

Chapter 81: Pole in the Park

Pole is a slippery subject at the best of times. I remember the day I was chatting about my new interest over coffee with a friend. By the time I went to pick my son up from school an hour or so later, another friend asked me "So Luce, you and pole, how long has it been?" About six weeks, I started enthusiastically, and began to talk about this fantastic workshop we had just been on with Cirque de Soleil's Felix Cane. No, no, she cut in, I mean since you were overheard talking about it in the café and it's gone viral at the school gates. Welcome to Suburbia. We've still got the red lights in the hallway after the Moulin Rouge house party for my husband last week, all that's missing now is the pampas grass out front...

Anna demonstrating The Lounging Lady

Learning The Lounging Lady

Because here's the thing. Pole has a Reputation. After all, it has its origins in strip clubs and cattle markets, with nightbirds flaunting their feathers for the lads - the same way, legend has it, that the tango that now graces the Establishment grew out of the bordellos of Buenos Aires. Although, if you strip back history still further, you will find pole gymnastics at the heart of the ancient Indian practice of "mallakhamba" - malla meaning wrestler, and khamba meaning pole. I definitely see polefit as a way of fighting fit, wrestling back my body, building up stamina to keep up with my kids and as a superb well-woman exercise, both physically and mentally. It has transformed my core strength in next to no time, increased my flexibility exponentially and my confidence has soared as a result - and it's fun. As you start practicing pole, the urban landscape changes very quickly into a parkour playground: support rails on tubes; signs at bus stops; fitness poles in the park and water markers on the beach are all fair game for all manner of inversions, swings and handstands. It may be tough at times, but you are never bored and always stretched. 

Apparently there was a time when Sam King couldn't do splits...

Advanced student Lucy Reed, leading the way

Pole isn't that widespread in the U.K., not in my neck of the woods anyway, and not in comparison with the U.S. and Australia, you get the impression. But the movement is catching on. This weekend my polefit teacher Anna pitched up on Clapham Common, round the corner from the Windmill Pub, with three poles and an aerial hoop. Anna is a former ballerina and she was joined by Sam King, who doesn't have a dance background, not that you'd know it as he is a legend on the championship circuits. Both of them, together with polefit instructor Silvia and the more advanced students, displayed a grace and dexterity that astonished, delighted and drew in the crowds. It encouraged passers by to have a go in a relaxed environment.  I took the family along and we had a great time catching up with familiar faces, and some new ones, from polefit classes. We also enjoyed seeing local friends who stopped by en famille. All the children instinctively gravitated towards the climbs and hocks, swinging like naturals, it was a joy to behold. Friends who came along later from Flying Fantastic and Circus Space (check out Isabella Mars Aerial & Trapeze boots FB page) reported a fantastic atmosphere, an opportunity to meet interesting people and to try a new discipline. It's all about education and attitude, and building bridges between communities. Another event is being planned for July. This is just the beginning... 

Pole duo Anna and Sam

Chapter 80: Take That and Circus

I was in the Wimbledon Sewing Shop yesterday, actually in Tooting, buying up my body weight in ostrich feathers and black satin, when Take That came on the radio. Could it be magic? Well, it felt like that for me as I was off to see them that night with some girlfriends, as that's what any loyal wife does on the eve of her husband's 40th birthday. 

Off on a Mini Adventure

Take That is a group that I've grown up with, and resonates on so many different levels, as for most people, but for me with mixed emotions. They came out when I was a teenager at a school where I did not fit in. So while the rest of the sixth form bopped away to live Take That concerts on TV in the common room, I retreated to my bedroom with Aladdin Sane and took comfort in a couple of kooks. And I am still cringing at the thought of launching forth to local Dad Mark Owen, having been introduced by a mutual friend as "Lucy who is learning trapeze", about Circus Space, aerial tricks and the whole circus zeitgeist. I only twigged much later that he and his mates had filled Wembley Stadium with Circus years before it had flipped onto my radar, and that just maybe he knew a thing or two more than me. So then I bought the Circus CD in penance for my evangelism and have myself been converted. The songs are fun and upbeat, or boy ballads, and straight from the heart. Although my enjoyment of the album was tempered with a touch of regret that I never saw them in concert, on days when life drags, that music is just what the doctor ordered.

So last week, mucking out the Aegean stables of housework with three kids on half-term to entertain, an email from a friend inviting me to the opening night at the O2 was just the ticket. The evening  itself was warm and balmy, and as we sat outside - albeit in a bar inside the O2 village - having a drink and catching up with half of Wandsworth. Easily pleased, I'd have been happy enough with that for the evening to be honest. But as we entered the arena, it was blindingly obvious that it was the right call to drag ourselves away from the bar. Soaking in the atmosphere, surprisingly intimate, excitement grew exponentially as  the empty seats next to us were occupied by really old friends of mine. In a crowd of 15,000, what are the odds, right?

Joe Dieffenbacher

The set had the feel of Fritz Lang crossed with Gene Kelly, think Cirkopolis meets La Soirée (see Chapter 67 and Chapter 51), but still I buttoned down my expectations of any circus. So you can imagine my delight when first up on stage was a clown. Not the red-nosed, flat-footed Big Top variety, but Cirque-style, the  consummate physical comedian, part-acrobat, Joe Dieffenbacher (www.nakupelle.com - see video at the end). A wheel that I thought for a split second could be a unicycle, then became half a penny farthing under the tinkering ministrations of the  clown-cum-inventor-mechanic. There was a giant hamster's wheel (of life) in which he begins to run, then spins, going nowhere. Hustling and bustling flash-harrys appeared with suitcases of goods to sell on the never-never, passers-by in raincoats and trilbies with places to be weaved in and out, tableus vivants of city-living in an alternative world.

The set then exploded in riot of colour, later with technicolour powders recalling a Diwali festival - there was a rainbow myriad of umbrellas, and then amidst a blaze of pyrotechnics in colour-blocks of suits emerged the trio of Gary Barlow, Mark Owen and Howard Donald: "and we're what's left of Take That". And they could afford to take the mickey, because they were stellar in their own right. As this was my first concert, I can't comment on the change in dynamics, but my gut feeling is that Robbie Williams is one of nature's soloists, and while Jason Orange would have worked well as one of the boys, a threesome is always an interesting balancing act. Bromance was the order of the day (though not a Cyr wheel in sight!*), and later there was a stunning, rather heated, dance duet performed by Mark and Howard to one of Gary's ballads that upped the ante.




Circus topped the bill in the order of music, kicking off with "Hold Up The Light**" from the album, so by the time "Up All Night" came on, I was in seventh heaven. There was a magical set in an underwater paradise, the floating jellyfish being my personal favourites, and the beauty of the shadow puppet art on a nautical theme for Circus number "The Garden" completely took my breath away. In terms of classic hits these tracks were up there with  "Relight My Fire", with a flamingly beautiful circus act with Circus Space's Katherine Arnold on cloud swing (video at the end) I also really enjoyed the numbers from the latest album III, which are truly contemporary and progressive, not a whiff of nostalgia.  "These Days" is a cracking number, while "Let in the Sun" (see video) is now seared in my memory together with another sizzling aerial performance from Katherine Arnold, spinning in a sphere at first while other performers attached patches of lights, like countries being fitted onto a globe, until it looked like she was spinning in a ball of fire, and afterwards spun from the base, hanging from straps.

Flight underpinned the concert and a beautiful flock of puppet birds (pictured) prefigured the grand finale where the trio take off, skimming over our dear tumbling clown, with Gary and Mark like the Wright Brothers on the now airborne penny farthing, with Howard in the side-car attached. Boys with their toys having a field day.  It was great to see, because the thing is when you see other people living the dream it gives wings to your own. At the end of the day the evening with Take That was a chance to sing at the top of our voices, dance with wild abandon, wind back the clock, reset it even, and act our (teen) age again. As one of the girls so rightly observed, the thing is Lucy, they are still boys, which technically speaking makes us still girls. And that's why we love them.

You can dance if you like

You can sing every song 

No, you don't have to steal the show

It was your show all along.
(from Hold Up The Light**)

Hold Up The Light from Circus tour (2009)

*STOP PRESS: You may have missed Take That, but if you fancy a spot of bromance you still have time to catch circus boys Bromance, winners of the 2014 Total Theatre Award for Circus and at the Udderbelly Festival, Southbank, 24th June-19th July.  Click here for more info:  www.udderbelly.co.uk 

Chapter 79: Geek Love

“There are the those whose own vulgar normality is so apparent and stultifying that they strive to escape it. They affect flamboyant behaviour and claim originality according to the fashionable eccentricities of their time. They claim brains or talent or indifference to mores in desperate attempts to deny their own mediocrity.” 

Katherine Dunn, Geek Love

*Cringe*. I'm re-reading a classic this week, Katherine Dunn's Geek Love. The title "geek", back in the 80s, (Dunn writes in the revised introduction) like now "carried overtones of arcane obsession, but it also reeked of acne, wretched hygiene, and unsavoury personal habits. Over subsequent decades the usage has shifted and evolved. But the book uses the original, much older meaning. A real geek was a circus or carnival performer, presented as feral or psychotic, who bit the heads off live chickens." 



I once went to a cock fight, while staying with a flamencophile friend, her lover and his family in a gypsy enclave on the outskirts of Valencia. Barely 20 then, I can still picture the scrawny, bedraggled birds running round in circles in the pit, often losing their head. It was an alien experience, both absorbing and recoiling at the crowd's bloodlust to the point where it felt like I was slipping out of my body and hovering ahead, detached. Trauma? Or maybe my own initiation into the grotesque carnival of life. 

And so in the book we enter a world where glamorous, aristo-geek  "Crystal Lil", of the exquisite chicken choppers, hits on the idea of boggling vast quantities of drugs to sire a bona fide freak show: a power-hungry waterbaby, sultry siamese twins, a telekinetic prodigy and the narrator, a bald, albino hunchback dwarf called Olympia. Through her, Dunn's words slip like a dagger into my lectoral vertebrae, and then it's twisted. It's both cruel and unsentimental, while being raw, romantic and deeply human.

However this week I have less time for reading than I banked on and barely progress half a dozen pages. Half-term with the kids on the South Coast has passed in a whirl, spending time on the beach juggling boules (pictured), whittling Big Tops out of sand (well, with a little imagination that's what they could pass for!), catching up with friends and family, and reading bedtime stories without curfews. But the thought of my bedside (table) companion keeps ticking over. As do the words.  Geek love. Geeks and circus. Circus Geeks. Actually I saw Circus Geeks for the new millennium in action with their show Beta Testing at Jacksons Lane recently, again part of Canvas 2015 (see Chapter 75- click here). What did I know about them beforehand? That these guys, Arron Sparks, Jon Udry and Matt Pang, are self-styled circus nerds whose show took seed from a blog, a series of posts exploring the juggling continuum, and that they are superb technicians. 

For me the term "geek" has always denoted a dogged passion that is ahead of its time. It connotes a curious mind, a certain scientific detachment in the research of an obsession or quirk. Well that's the type I gravitated towards at university anyway... And I have a soft spot for jugglers too, dating back to membership of the varsity juggling society (not that you'd know from my skill-set). I feel that while the raison d'être of ethereal aerialists soaring above is to be looked at and admired, jugglers have to work from the ground up, connecting and drawing their audience in, often through comedy and (street) theatre. So juggling geeks were always going to get my vote. 

From left: Jon Udry, Matt Pang and Arron Sparks
Source: www.getwestlondon.co.uk

The show is a TED-style talk - the audience is acknowledged and addressed, and information is deliver with the dry humour of  a Hitchhiker's Guide to juggling. We are briefed on the juggling lexicon, talked through tricks and given insight into what goes into being  a professional performer. We laugh. When we have enough breath. Each of the performers plays a set role:  Arron Sparks is the super-smart super-geek, Jon Udry is  there to needle him in a spot of one upmanship and haddock bashing, and Matt Pang plays a role akin to an exhibitionist younger sibling (says the youngest of six), quietly getting on with it and when the other two are preoccupied, grabbing his moment centre-stage with a knowing wink. I was so taken by the show that to find each of them pitching their own solo show later at Canvas was heart-breaking - it felt like a boy-band break-up, a betrayal of the bromance dynamic they had so convincingly portrayed. Maybe I had identified them as - or willed them to be - graduate buddies, like mine of old.  Luckily, as Matt Pang later patiently explained to me,  it turns out they've been working on their own stuff for years and that this is the first show that has brought them together like this. You'd never know. 

So catch Beta Testing and keep an eye out for their future productions:

Arron Sparks who with his small-scale and intimate "Down-Up" is as much a moving story-teller as a legend with a yoyo. 

Jon Udry "Punches Gravity in the Face" with a witty meditation on the nature of juggling, a beautiful balloon sequence and is a stellar turn with a teabag.  Showing as part of  the Postcards Festival on 16th July at Jacksons Lane - click here. 

And Matt Pang with his PanGottic company hat on, innovatively miming to a pre-recorded pitch for the show "Fluke" showcased remote-controlled contraptions that would not be out of place in an inventor's windmill, and kept me on the edge of my seat throughout.

Circus Geeks show Beta Testing is on at Udderbelly on the Southbank until 21 June - book here:  www.southbank.co.uk

Post-script: 
In the past few days Twitter has been on fire in response to Douglas McPherson, circus groupie and author of Circus Mania, condemning the funding of all performance arts from the public purse in his blog post for The Telegraph: A critic's plea: stop all arts funding now

Check out these two sound responses:
Kate Kavanagh @BustingFree: Come one, come all?
Dorothy Max Prior via @TotalTheatreMag: The funding question: oops, what a palaver

Chapter 78: On tightwires and wrong turns

Over the past 48 hours I have taken a couple of wrong turns. The first was trying to find a short cut to the Lyric Hammersmith on a Friday night for Bugsy Malone. Two bleeding hours. Though I have to say, aside from the music and a stellar cast, the show was worth it for the choreography of the boxing scene alone. The second was navigating my way from Sutton on Saturday morning to the South Coast. Should have taken an hour. Triple that. Short on sleep, food and caffeine after two hours of flex and pole classes, missed my turning off the M25 and ended up half way to Dover. So I've had plenty of time to do nothing but reflect. And here's my conclusion. Learning circus skills, for me, is a lot like travelling up Fulham Road on a Friday night, or Junction 9-10 on the M25 the morning after. Progress is painfully slow. You try to take a few smart-arse short-cuts, wind up in a dead-end and find yourself on a one-way system back to pretty much where you started. Bump. Goes the ego. And you wonder why you bother. In fact, I was close to calling time on the whole damn adventure and entitle this post "I give up!" but there's another lesson I'm learning - I give up too easily, and there comes a point when you need to hold fast. 

Take learning tightwire at Circus Space (National Centre for Circus Arts), where I am currently on my second beginners course of Equibrilistrics Level 1 learning tightwire, unicycle, globe walking and rolla-bolla. Over the past four weeks I have fallen even more deeply head over heels for this particular balancing act. Literally on one occasion. In fact I still have the bruise to show after being sliced on the wire like a fine Welsh cheese as I slipped walking backwards - note to self to tread more Caerphilly… Unlike aerial, where from the word go you can learn a few neat tricks to impress the folk back home, on a tightwire as a beginner it's a struggle to look anything other than a klutz (in my case). So I was enthralled watching the gracefully adept trio Dizzy O'Dare (pictured, see www.dizzyodare.com) on a double-crossing tightrope at Circus Space during Canvas (see Chapter 75), making it look so easy as they sprang from one wire over to another, in Gaulthieresque costumes that made me think of a circus tribe of Amazons. Phenomenal. I'm looking forward to seeing the full show of Wires, currently in production, and will keep you posted. What I have learnt from watching Dizzy O'Dare on tightwire, and my own practice, is that you really have to commit to every step you take, and fight for it.  Too often my mind is too busy and I rush it, speeding up, conscious that there is a queue waiting behind me. I give way, and encourage my class-mates to overtake. My posture on a wire is stiff and it sucks. My core is strong, but my shoulders, tight from aerial training and hunched from carrying kids, resist allowing the arms to raise correctly, allowing the balance to flow from the forearms. It's a real battle.

So I put in the hours at a local playground where there is a tightrope that is on the way back from the school run, much to the delight of my three year old. I record each small step of progress publicly on Instagram - if ever there was an incentive to press on...! And I armour myself with handmade leather tightwire boots, suede ballet sole, from the ever-encouraging Isabella Mars (who you may recall also made my aerial boots - see www.isabellamars.com), shoemaking magician, fellow student at Circus Space and performer with Airealism. The boots are both a good luck charm, and an investment, and the first night I wear them I cross the wire! When you do cross a wire and  it clicks, there is a sense of zoning out as you enter a meditative state, focusing intently on the point ahead and trusting your balancing body to get you there. It is addictive both as a challenge and a game and I find a great sense of peace and achievement in the process. Headspace. But I haven't yet achieved the consistency required to pass the course, and have finally outgrown the playground. At Circus Space there are practice sessions open to Level 2 students and above, which I can attend thanks to my L2 static trapeze class, but for the time being an extra evening a week is just not possible. So is this really the end of the line? Of course not. Even if it means signing up for the beginner's course yet again, I can promise you one thing Isabella, there is no chance of your beautiful boots gathering dust - they were made for dancing, and I just can't get enough …

If video below doesn't work, click here for YouTube link:

Chapter 77: The Circus Mum and Bedtime Stories

The fact that it was Mother's Day last Sunday in many parts of the world would have gone unremarked in our household but for one simple fact. Tidying my son's room that evening I came across an envelope addressed to me, and inside a card he had made, but forgotten to give to me, back in March. He was fast asleep by this stage, and there watching my sleeping boy I read his thoughts. I gazed with bewilderment and awe at this child who likens me to a magical ring, taking him on adventures, and a bed, warm and comforting. Happy dreamer, I think. Which is good to know because in this crazy whirligig of London life it sometimes it feels like I'm fighting a losing battle for my children to have the space just to be, not needing to prove. And not a day goes by without me wondering about the balance, justifying carving out my own circus space and weighing up the demands it places on family life. The circus training is the least of it - that's just the same as making time for the gym. It's the writing, the self-imposed deadlines and the reaching out on social media that is the real juggling act. There are Sunday mornings, like today, when I sit at the kitchen table tapping away, oblivious to the cheerios and milk sploshing onto the table. Emails to friends slip through the ethernet unregistered, letters unanswered. If you want to keep up with me read my blog, join me at circus events, or find me on the school run - you won't see me for dust otherwise.  

So watching part of Upswing's Bedtime Stories at Canvas (See Post 75 - click here), really struck a chord. It is a beautiful piece of circus for the family, a coming of age story really, about keeping connected and sharing time together. The location in The Albany, Deptford, a space in the round, was perfect. Mattresses and pillows for the audience to cosy up on encircle the action, creating an informal space to enter a magical realism together where a child's imagination takes flight. Stars rained down on diaphanous curtains, silks were graced by the young girl, peels of childhood delight rippling through, with an imaginary friend straddling worlds. Then came her mother, distracted, overwhelmed, losing it under reams of papers and admin. My stomach lurched. See the beautiful trailer below for a glimpse of the alchemy of technology, dance, circus and acting that immerse you in a spell-binding world that I can't wait to share with the children. It's on at at Stratford Circus over half-term, where they will also be running parent and child workshops, and returning to the Albany in Autumn. 

Learning the ropes at  Flying Fantastic

The experience of Bedtime Stories brings home to me how circus has enriched our family life and influenced how we spend our time together.  It has introduced me to family shows like these that might otherwise not have come onto my radar. It has introduced me to exemplary Circus Strongwomen - taking their kids to circus, learning circus, teaching circus, running circus companies, circus schools, big tops, performing circus, choreographing circus, writing circus, producing circus, directing circus, leading the way.  It has introduced my children to the world of juggling (my son, the diabolo demon), aerial skills (my elder daughter, in seventh heaven in classes now at Flying Fantastic) and tightrope (my three year-old - we've found one at the local playground on the way home after dropping her siblings at school). We hula-hoop in the garden together, juggle on the beach, perform handstand against climbing frames and acrobatics on monkey bars - child's play on some levels, and now I can do it with them. 

 a Circus Mum hanging around

And it's a funny thing, but today happens to be the anniversary of my launch onto Twitter and into the bloggersphere. The blog started life as an open letter to friends and thanks for performances I have enjoyed. Last summer at Jacksons Lane, wondering where it was going, I said to a new friend, Thomas, that I would give it a year. No, no, he said. Make it two. I thought he was mad, but he spoke with authority. Now on the cusp of 80 posts, pushing 17,000 hits from all  over the world (the Ukraine is my number three following after the UK and US, neck and neck) and followers on Twitter from all walks of life, that to me speaks volumes about the growing interest in circus in the UK, a circus that is exploding in all directions, and now more than ever it is important to speak out and spread the word. Feedback is always welcome - I find, as with feedback on motherhood, it generally has the most unlikely and providential timing. As for the rest, I just have to believe it's going in the right direction and I'll take it, as Barnum might say, one brick at a time …

Note: if the above video doesn't work on your mobile click here for YouTube link. 

Bedtime Stories is at Stratford Circus from Thursday 28th - Saturday 30th May, and will be returning to The Albany, Deptford in the Autumn. 

See  www.upswing.org.uk - click here