Chapter 158: A Musical Interlude

My life is like an onion. I don't enjoy peeling back the layers. I am private, introverted and risk-averse by nature. Yet there is this little devil inside that drives me on outside of my comfort zone, exposed. Social media accounts and this blog over the past couple of years bear witness to that. So when I say "I don't know what possessed me" when my friend Carolyn invited me to play the harp at the 15th anniversary show at her art gallery, Oliver Contemporary, actually I do: it was this mischievous circus sprite, full of Barnum bravado. You can pull this off, you know, she whispered. 

Learning the harp is a dream that I have had for decades, even saving up for a smaller clarsach at university (only to find lessons were beyond my budget, cue violin), but I only started a couple of years ago, when my daughter was drawn to my sister-in-law's harp. My daughter had glue ear at the time and couldn't hear very well, and I wondered if it was the sensation of the vibrations she enjoyed, as much as hearing the music. So we started learning together on a 28-string lever harp (where the key is changed with levers as opposed to foot pedals) but my practice has been inversely correlated to the amount of time spent training, writing or watching circus. Tellingly the make of my harp is "Dusty Strings". It sounds rather like a burlesque act with cobwebs, the thought of which always makes me smile. The Kiss of the Spider Woman is my game (see Chapter 7 - click here ). Or rather El Beso de la Mujer Araña, because the only melodies I play are all Latin American, notes of tango, salsa, zamba, habaneras, composed by the Paraguayan harpist Alfredo Rolando Ortiz.

Kate Boxer's "Dancing Cowboys"

If that all sounds quite dreamy, please understand that at the time of agreeing to play I really was not very good at all. Mum's reaction when she heard the news says it all. There was a long, tactful pause, and then, as gently as possible,  "But Lucy, has Carolyn actually ever heard you play? ... And does your harp teacher think this is a good idea?!" But here's the thing, I knew I could do this for Carolyn, given half a chance. I was in part banking on the fact that I was not there to give a recital, but for ambient background noise, and as long as the notes were not discordant or down right offensive, it would fine. I was also banking on the fact that people in general love a harp, and what I've learned about any performance through clowning workshops is that if you can gain an audience's goodwill, they will follow you anywhere. And learning circus skills has taught me that if you are prepared to focus and put in the hours required, anything is possible. So for the past month or so I took time, and lessons learned, out of my circus bank and deposited them into my harp, and it paid dividends. I practiced for two to three hours a day, and took up daily meditation to help steady the nerves. I'm sure it helped.

I arrived at the gallery frazzled, with only ten minutes before the proverbial curtain up, delayed by kids out late from school and traffic on the run home. I hadn't even had time to tune my harp. In fact, in the past I had always relied on my teacher for that, but Lisa was away that week. Luckily there is an app for everything, and thanks to her recommendation of the Cleartune app, I was able to work through note by slippery note. Tuning a harp was like being stuck in a pond trying to catch eels with inflatable mittens. I imagine. Well, I did feel like I was on some sort of sadomasochistic Japanese gameshow facing an impossible task ahead, with the clock ticking... Deep breath. It was then I learned something else about performance. I wanted to give up and leg it, but, well, it was too late now to back out and the show must go on. Just as the final note scored a green arrow on the app, the first clients walked through the door. "Ah, a harp! I haven't played mine since that concert in Tokyo", said one, delighted. My heart sank like a stone. So much for the art of humbug charming the crowds, here was someone who knew what to listen for. 

Pulse racing, thighs trembling, fingers fluttery, I began to play the harp gently at first, furtively, tentatively brushing the strings, releasing a whisper of a melody. But like the golden harp in Jack and the Beanstalk, the moment I touched it, it seemed to wake up, call attention to itself and shriek loudly that something was very wrong. I was horrified. This was a living nightmare. Then I realised that the Cleartune app was precise, the harp was fine and in tune, it was actually that I had been practicing on it out-of-tune recently and my over-sensitive ear had some readjusting to do. I forced myself to carry on, and relax. My harp teacher says that a glass of champagne does wonders for performance, and wasn't I lucky that on such an evening it was in no short supply. As I was brought glass after glass I felt a warm glow spread throughout my body to the very tips of my fingers, and soon I was confidently serenading the dancing gauchos (pictured), stationed opposite, and, lost in my own little world, I ended up playing pretty much for about four hours. The gallery was packed out and steamy, perfect for Latin American melodies wafting through the air, all brought together to celebrate 15 years, an amazing achievement when you think about all the independent cultural enterprises that have had to shut up shop in recent times. Kate Boxer, Gillian Beckles, Mary Ford, Liz Hough, Ursula Leach, Clare Ireland, Keith Purser, Charlie Baird, Matthew Batt, Simeon Stafford... thanks to Carolyn, these artists are now part of my cultural landscape, and have enriched my life and those of many others. People travelled in from far and wide - testimony to Carolyn and her vision - and it was a real joy to be there juggling arpeggios across the tightwires. So here's to friendship and harping on about art, and circus everywhere, cheers!

Chapter 157: Ceirw - Savage Hart

Photo: www.citrusarts.squarespace.com

Nature is a great healer. With a heavy heart, I said goodbye to our holiday home down in Sussex. A gentle summer with family and friends, savouring moments in a hammock underneath the apple trees, wondering at the play of dappled light and serenaded by the rustle of leaves, I was loathe to return to the ferocious whirligig of London living. The car packed up, I had one last stroll down to the bottom of the garden. As I was walking back up, I heard a crash and saw a doe came careering over a hedge, stumbling towards me, having clipped her hind leg in the jump. She passed by within reach of me, had I only held out my hand. But I stood stock still, not wanting to scare her further. She stopped a safe distance ahead, nervous, alert, waiting. A few moments later, a young buck jumped through, clearing the hedge easily in a leap. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me. Our eyes locked. Protective and uncertain, it felt like we were communicating both our fears and reassurances to each other in an instant. Time stopped, my heart thudded. And then he raced passed me to the doe. With his arrival her confidence was restored, her limp disappeared. She trotted off, insouciant, while he turned his head back towards me, a nod farewell, and then gracefully bounded off after her. I got into the car with a great sense of awe and gratitude, and certainty that, in the words of Julian of Norwich, all shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well. 

Small wonder then that I should have been so excited by the thought of Citrus Arts' Bridie and James Doyle-Roberts bringing Ceirw - Savage Hart (cierw is Welsh for deer) to Jacksons Lane, a ballet combined with aerial circus skills, that opened with an encounter between a young woman and a stag in a forest. The tale is set in 18th Century, and tells the story of a wicked baron who is forced to atone for past crimes against nature, including the murder of the stag in the opening scene, by the spirits of the deer's family. It is a Romantic reimagining of Dickens' Christmas Carol, where Scrooge is brought to account by Rousseuian noble savages.

Photo: www.citrusarts.squarespace.com

The lighting and shadows lent an ethereal hue to the set which comprised a table fit for a feast and a wall with mounts for the heads of the stag, doe and buck. The live music by Simon McCorry and James Minas-Blight was a haunting score that framed the grace of the dancers blending both classical and contemporary moves. It was spell-binding. The baron was gratifyingly lascivious, stocky, powerfully built and pugnacious, pawing and sniffing his trophy kill like the beast he was and exercising his droit de seigneur with any female that crossed his path. His wife was a touching mix of purity and chagrin, the ephemeral conscience of her husband, lover of the natural world, in mourning for the death of her stag, her dream, her desire. And if you saw the stag you would understand why. Tall, in tight-fitting ballet pants revealing a body sculpted of marble, conveying sheer animal magnetism. Regal. Dignified. The doe and the young buck, mischievous sprites brimming with energy, were both played by petite women, which complemented the aesthetic contrast in stature with the stag, and I loved the play with gender. The felt masks created by Gladys Paulus were stunning, works of art, collectors' items(!), and the act of putting them on and tying at the back with ribbons held a shamanistic significance. All three performers captured the animal gestures so eloquently and the aerial apparatus (rope, silks, trapeze and straps) gave scope for majesty or playfulness as their character required. I was riveted watching the vulnerable, precarious balances, the smooth transitions, the fluid, tumbling twists and touching duets intertwined in precise choreography. Many harts soared that evening.

There were moments when I wasn't sure I entirely grasped the flow of the narrative, but such is the oneiric nature of the piece that it did not detract from my enjoyment or emotional engagement, I was simply lost in the reverie. In a beautiful twist, nature finally transformed the set: ivy wound around the wall empty of trophies, a confetti of leaves swept across the stage. The baron's savage hart now tamed, he and his wife donned the masks of stag and doe in reconciliation with the world around them, and each other. The ultimate message was an uplifting one. Man is a cruel beast, but not beyond redemption. 

The Cast

The Baron: Zeph Gould

The Wife: Lauren Poulton

The Stage: Luke Bradshaw

The Doe: Hannah Darby

The Young Buck: Charlotte Dawson

The production is currently on tour, for further dates this year visit www.citrusarts.squarespace.com.

Chapter 156: Peta Lily's Chastity Belt

Photo: www.petalily.com

"It's a delightful thing to think of perfection; but it's vastly more amusing to talk of errors and absurdities" 

Fanny Burney in Camilla (1796)

In the recent wave of mass hysteria about creepy clown sightings, Tamara Palmer, spokesperson for Clowns Without Borders, an organisation that brings giggle doctors to children in crisis areas,  said "real clowns don't seek to mask their identities". What she was getting at, I believe, was that, red nose and greasepaint or no, the clown persona is an authentic articulation of a performer's inner truth. A clown for me is any performer who engages the audience through play, and if it doesn't ring true, the audience will just not connect. I had heard about Peta Lily's school of "dark clowning" from friends. While a red-nosed circus clown puts their vulnerability on display for laughs, tripping up and looking stupid, the audience is free to laugh safe in the knowledge they will bounce back. A dark clown reaches into a place vulnerability and stays there, serving it up in a way that that the audience still laughs, only no longer so innocent, rather complicit in the pain somehow, disconcerted, and ultimately challenged. Having signed up time and again for any experience that promises or risks the proverbial pie in the face (cue my audience with Ken Dodd: Chapter 128 - click here), that is a place I'm aiming for with my writing.

So I was holding out for Chastity Belt. In fact, I saw the show twice, first in extract in an evening of comedy sketches, and then the full version a few weeks later, both times at the Lion and Unicorn theatre pub in Kentish Town. What struck me both times was how much of a brilliant word-smith and belting singer, as well as mimic and clown, Peta Lily is. Words tumbled out in cascades of short, striking rhythms, puns and playfulness both gratifying and spell-binding as she conjured up a succession of spirited Greek goddesses, Hindu deities, amazons and archetypes who have all had to withhold to uphold their honour. 

Peta in her crimson tutu and candy-striped shoes artfully toyed with the trope of a girlish ingenue, the coquettish flirtations and angling for a man, only to discard it along with the skirt to reveal a virginal white slip of Diana ("the goddess not the dead princess"). Peta, with her ash blond hair, high cheek-bones and piercing blue eyes, was the incarnation of Diana. She looked good for her age she heard us mentally qualify, and I winced. A fine and funny case is made for surrendering sex. The deliverance from the mess, emotional or otherwise, that comes from all the games, subterfuge, humping, grinding, pumping.  But not without acknowledging the loss that absence of intimacy entails - "no nestling... no spooning... no silken touch..." I felt my heart contract. Peta is no simple cheerleader for the cause of chastity.

Slipping a bowl up the back of her top, I loved Peta morphing into Diana the crone, the hag, queen of the sexual desert, the dromedary who is "quite happy having the hump".  I had a soft spot too for the banter of Lysistrata and her mate Trace in a poetic latter-day reimagining of Aristophanes' play in "The Only Way is No Sex". In the original, the wives deny their spouses' conjugal rights until a peace treaty is signed. Could it work today? Or would the call to arms (or closing of legs) by an older woman be nothing but a "grand empty gesture"; given her "great age" would anyone notice? And there's the rub. That is the blow landed below the belt. Is chastity a choice or a necessary protection, the only option to avoid the pain of finding out whether anyone cares? Serious questions were served up with humour and an innovative twist of lemon, sharp but not bitter, to keep the evening well-lubricated. I squirmed, I laughed, and, much to the amusement of Leonor sitting next to me, I punched the air ("I want a wife!"). Wickedly funny, full of zest, Peta Lily revealed herself to be chastity's agent provocateur for the evening, had us all right where she wanted and clamouring for more.

Oranges are not the only fruit

Note: Peta Lily is running a dark clowning workshop on 26/27 November, open to everyone from complete beginners to more experienced idiots - see www.petalily.com/workshops (click here).

 Chastity Belt is available as a book of poetry on Amazon. Click here.

Chapter 155: House of Burlesque at London Wonderground

Tempest Rose
Photo credit: www.fromtheboxoffice.com/house-of-burlesque

Each year, London Wonderground brings Coney Island to the South Bank offering a wealth of cabaret, circus and comedy, conjuring up all the fun of the fair, with carnyville flair, set against the backdrop of the giant ferris wheel that is the London Eye. It is one of my all-time favourite playgrounds, the atmosphere alone is worth the price of a ticket. So I was delighted to go last week to see Tempest Rose's House of Burlesque, as Jair Ramirez, my aerial teacher at Freedom2Fly in Hackney, was doing a star turn on straps there.

Having spent life in the Sloe Lane in West Sussex over summer, reinforced by a lesson in speed awareness at the invitation of the local constabulary, a night out was also just the tonic for someone feeling a bit rum. I was gutted not to be at the Edinburgh Fringe this summer, and lived vicariously through social media. Not the same as being there, but it was informative, and there was a definite pulsing vibe on certain frequencies. I was particularly drawn to the tweets of @Vendettavain, whose soundbites and appraisals of shows were frank, authoritative and engaging. So when it turned out that my husband was working in Dublin, I invited her along in his place, for where better to meet than at a night watching strong, confident women command the stage? It was grand.

Putting the "sin" into absinthe... Tempest Rose & Betsie Bon Bon

The vintage glamour of the 1920s style Spiegeltent in the Wonderground was the perfect setting for an evening of faburlesque outfits and millinery concoctions. Tempest Rose sauntered in with a glass of red wine woven onto her head with vine leaves that particularly tickled my fancy. This was burlesque "Straight Up ... The Next Round", a toast to alcohol and the loss of inhibition. 

"Are there any burlesque virgins out there tonight?" she teased, ready to suck up the cherry from the proverbial martini glass, with both a wicked line in ad-lib and a siren voice for singing. I liked the opening tease of a group of Beefeaters. It struck me as a skit on the Bearskin routine of the girls opening the Crazy Horse cabaret, though later I realised it was more likely to be a nod to the brand of gin. Either way, that captures the spirit of burlesque for me: it is a pastiche, a burla or laugh, the art of mixing up and stirring, along with a whole heap of attitude. 

The acts that followed covered a myriad of tones and styles that celebrated the sheer diversity of women and women's bodies. Highlights for me included a great sketch involving Leonie Soprano and a lecherous hand puppet, the hilarious reverse strip of a hungover performer in drag make-up getting ready, late for work, (made me think of Betty Grumble at the Fringe), and for sheer beauty, the multiple butterfly act. I took my sombrero off to a sensuous tequila dance routine and to Betsie Bon Bon, with her signature Bettie Paige bangs, soaking up the applause in a giant vodka glass. 

Jair Ramirez in his element

That alcohol was a metaphor for intoxicating love was made clear by Tempest Rose in the final address: "This show is about love... the love that we have for our art form...the love and the joy that we feel being able to present women on stage as we see them, as we admire them, everything they can be, everything they are... " and as love makes the world go round, these words paved the way for an onstage proposal by one of the performers, the gorgeously charismatic Trixie Kixx, to her beloved girlfriend. It was incredibly special and touching to witness.

Love was in the air, and Lucy loves circus. As such, Jair's act was in a different bracket to the burlesque for me, and "in a league of his own" according to my husband, Xav, who had landed an earlier flight and made it at the last minute too. As a student in Jair's classes, of course I know that this man is a machine when it comes to drive, hard work and dedication to his craft, but seeing Jair for the very first time fully unleash his skill in a professional performance was something else. Moving like lightning with a precision and speed on straps, at points slowing movement right down to holds in impossible positions for interminable pauses, he would surprise with such sudden drops that my nails left marks in the palms of my hands. It was exhilarating to watch. Adrenalin-pumping circus crack.

#lifeisbetteringoldlamé

I am somewhat mortified at the thought of Jair having to watch my ungainly attempts at clambering up silks again this term - ironically, for this would-be circus strongwoman, my personal nemesis is a position called "The Amazon" - but I love the Freedom2Fly community and it has been motivation to crank up the pull-ups again, ahead of my return to training. Of course I don't aspire to the lofty heights of a pro like Jair, but that is not the point. It's about reaching up to those faraway stars in the sky and in the process finding you've stretched, grown a little taller, and can hold your head up that little bit higher. And the burlesque girls have had me daydreaming too. After a seaside postcard of a summer, scant of clothes and bare of make-up, those ladies reminded me of the sheer fun to be had, and the power at play, in dressing up, unleashing your inner diva and letting rip...

Chapter 154: Sean Kempton and Stuff

Photo credit: Arturo Franceschi 

Funny, and beautiful, the random conversations that come up. Take yesterday, with the supermarket delivery man. I'd never met him before, but it was a lazy summer evening and, with time on our hands, we got chatting. Turns he happens to share a birthday with my son, and has kids of his own. We ended up talking about life and love, and his youngest, born with in a hair's breadth of his birthday too. 

"He's not my child, you understand, but I love him as if he were, and when my pension came in I got him a Junior Gunners season ticket to the Reds. We've gone to every single match together ever since."

What a Dad. My own used to tell me regularly to go back to the orphanage where I belonged. To be fair, this was normally when I'd go in and jump on their bed first thing in the morning... Dad is a regular joker, born on April's Fool, so I was totally at home this year spending Father's Day this year watching another clown in action - Sean Kempton in his one man show Stuff. This is a show that explores love, drawing on experience of all sorts, including that of Sean's as a father himself. The show was part of the London Clown Festival (click here), the first such festival in the UK and "barely a red nose in sight". This was a festival celebrating contemporary clowning - that is to say unconventional physical comedy. (If you're looking for a convention, check out the Clowns Annual Church Service in honour of Joseph Grimaldi every February - click here). 

Sean Kempton is a natural clown. A jester who can get away with serving up home-truths by virtue of being immensely likeable and knowing his audience. Originally an actor, Sean moved into the world of circus when he was selected to train up as one of the acrobats for the Millennium Dome extravaganza, jumping off pillars 150 feet in the air. So he knows about taking the plunge as he takes his new show to the Edinburgh Fringe this month. Sean was one of the key members of the Generating Company, a touring circus company that puts on large-scale events around the world and which was at the forefront of the UK circus scene moving into the 21st Century. Since then he has been lead clown for a number of years in Cirque de Soleil shows like Kooza, Quidam and Varekei, and was on stage in Vegas with epic life-aquatic Dragone show "Le Rêve". In short, he's a bit of a legend.

Stuff is a show on a much more intimate scale than any Cirque production. It is a responsive, dynamic piece in which Sean uses the audience to weave together a tapestry of connections, exploring what binds us together, while in one brutal moment he takes the stage alone to demonstrate what happens to a body when a heart is ripped apart. 

The opening track summed up the vibe of the show for me: Amélie accordion crossed with Marc Almond-style lyricism conjured up love in all its kookiness, vulnerability and wonder. The rest of the show used a fabulously eclectic soundtrack that frames each scene, and we were taken on an emotional journey from the birth of love in a heartbeat to its development, and a look at the science of it all. Sean is a brilliant physical comedian. Without needing to say a word, he communicated all the awkwardness and hilarity of love, embracing those slapstick moments of failure and rejection when you slam again, and again, into an unresponsive, impervious brick wall, as well as the soaring points when you feel at one with the universe.

Sean explored how love makes you feel, and what it represents, through the use of three verbatim testimonies from his daughter aged 6, a young woman in her 20s, and an octogenarian lady. They are each a heart-warming, frank and honest response to gentle, respectful prompts. The audience gets similar treatment. Even a closest exhibitionist such as myself shudders at the words "audience participation". Often on the cabaret and fringe circuit that can be brutal. Not here. Here, the name of the game is connection, not humiliation. Ultimately the only risk is carried by Sean, as inviting an audience member into the game exposed him to the possibility of rejection. But as with love, when you take that leap, it can lead to the most beautiful of moments and there was a lot of fun in the play that brought the audience together.

What is love? Love is... Stuff.

Stuff is at the Assembly George Square, Omnitorium, 4-29 August 2016 (not 15th). 4.30pm. Running time: 1 hour.
Word to the wise: you'd do well to sit in the front row and make plenty of eye contact. Trust me...

Tickets: https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/stuff (click here)

Chapter 153: A tease of pictures and a pat on the... Ssshhh!

Presenting a tease of images from our circus cabaret at Postcards Festival, Jacksons Lane (click here) and a pat on the ... Ssshhh! 
Photo credits: Shauna Summers (Instagram: @shaunasummers_)

Strength

Huge  to @seankempton @MrDannyAsh @Michaelaoconno6
 @MollyOrangeST @brettrosengreen @Red_Sarah @HamishTj et al in @Lucylovescircus' #ssshhh!
The Circus Diaries @CircusDiaries

went to @jacksons_lane last night to see @Lucylovescircus #Ssshhh absolutely insane evening def want to see more!!!

Fran Kate @frannerkate

Tease

What wonderfully skilled and weird acts last night @jacksons_lane during #Ssshhh curated by @Lucylovescircus for #Postcards16.

Two Tongue Theatre @2tonguetheatre

Adoré el espectáculo!!!
Maria Helena Doering @mahelenadoering

So much fun @jacksons_lane last night seeing #Ssshhh. Well done @Lucylovescircus on getting such a multi-talented bunch together. BRAVO all!

Leonor Lemee @LeonorLemee

I've totally fallen in love with this cast and @Lucylovescircus #nicestpersonIknow

                                         Michaela O'Connor @michaelaoconno6 

Playfulness

Happy families! Stunning premier of Ssshhh Cabaret 2 a sold out @jacksons_lane's #postcardsfestival crowd!

Danny Ash @MrDannyAsh

Thank you @jacksons_lane for another great night. Congratulations @Lucylovescircus for getting together such a fab group of performers!

Lumo Company @lumocompany

Thanks for everything! #Ssshhh #Postcards16

Jacksons Lane @jacksons_lane

If the quality of this evening @jacksons_lane #PostcardsFestival is anything to go by, bloggers should curate events way more often #Shhh

Katharine Kavanagh @TheCircusDiaries

I asked for an ensemble piece and you delivered a show!

Adrian Berry, Artistic Director at Jacksons Lane 

Kookiness

Ssshhhout out!

Physical comedy by Danny Ash

High energy trapeze by Michaela O'Connor

1920s inspired musical saw by Lucy Frost aka Molly Orange

Neo-burlesque by Esquire de Lune aka Brett Rosengreen

Blindfolded fire act by Red Sarah
Aerial pole by Cheryl Teagann

Aerial rope and kettelebell juggling by Hamish Tjeong

Clubbed to death juggling by Onni Toivonen

Host for the evening Cirque de Soleil lead clown Sean Kempton

Click on the performer name to visit their site. 

POSTCARDS FESTIVAL 2017: a whole new Shhh! returns to Jacksons Lane on 29 July 2017
Book tickets here: www.jacksonslane.org.uk/whats-on/shhh-cabaret

Chapter 151: The Big Night... Ssshhh!

Danny Ash, Molly Orange, Michaela O'Connor, Sean Kempton, Red Sarah, Onni Toivonen, Hamish Tjeong, Cheryl Teagan, Esquire De Lune 

SLICK! SEAMLESS! PHENOMENAL!!!

"Luce, it was hot and it was sticky, it took us over an hour to get there, but we'd do it all again in a flash for a show like that.  We laughed our heads off. It's kept us pepped up all day today!" 

Ange

"In a bonkers world, of so much tragedy, you have all brought together an evening of sheer joy!" 

Iona 

"I asked for an ensemble piece and you delivered a show!"

Adrian Berry, Artistic Director at Jacksons Lane 

María Helena Doëring & Jair Ramirez

Jacksons Lane was jam packed for the rafters last night. A sold out house, the only returns available went to four Colombian holiday-makers who had wandered into the foyer earlier, and in my best Spanish I encouraged them to come back later to see our show. I also said that with a bit of luck, they might bump into a friend of mine who is an amazing Colombian aerialist. To my astonishment (and slight panic due to the ticket situation), they did come back, just in time for the last few returns being released, and I was able to introduce them to Jair Ramirez. Jair then in turn informed me that the beautiful Maria Helena, to whom I had been merrily chatting away, was a Colombian television superstar. They were so excited about the show, and the music, afterwards, it was a complete joy. "Next you need her to give a shout out on social media", joked Ade when I told him about the coincidence, and I woke up the next morning to find that she had. 

I love the synchronicity of that story, because it illustrates a theory to which I hold: that people of "sympathetic vibrations" gravitate towards each other. In fact, I used that principle when curating this show, gathering together performers I was drawn to from different disciplines and communities (contemporary circus, pole, outdoor arts, cabaret, London, Bristol, Finland) who didn't necessarily know each other beforehand, and throwing them together to see how the chemistry worked and what would come out of it. The teamwork was then woven together by Sean Kempton and Michaela O'Connor, who make one hell of a double act. It was a huge success. Video and photos were recorded, so you will be able to see the footage soon, and why there has been such wonderful feedback on Twitter, but in the meantime, I hope the words below give you a feel for the evening...

Watching Ssshhh! as a regular punter was utterly magical. The technical run through on the day, looking at lighting and sound cues, had not prepared me for the costume, the colour and the ambience. I was spellbound from the word go, as Sean Kempton played around with light in the darkness and had a light on a long pole bouncing from one random audience member to another. It was beautiful. As he turned to go back to his desk a giant of a figure materialised from the shadows. It was Onni Toivonen,  a cross between Lurch, from the Adams Family and Loki, god of mischief, messing up Sean's game as he tried to write notes for the show. Pages came out of a book of light naming acts for the evening ... Pole... Trapeze... The next one was blank. And then it went up in flames. A voice came on overhead, in an interview. It was mine. I'd heard it enough times by now not to visibly squirm. Who is this Lucy Loves Circus? What is this evening all about? What are the three, no wait, make that four, qualities you'd like to see in the show tonight Lucy? Strength... kookiness... tease... playfulness... spotlights alighting briefly on a corresponding performer with that quality, the last one left on Michaela. Those really were the buzzwords driving the evening with this oddball family.

Molly Orange: Leave. Now.

There were threads running through the show that set up the characters. Michaela O'Connor, Little Miss Playfulness, was gloriously geeky in her twee knitted jumped, and then stripped off down to a razzmatazz of a red velvet number with the help of her gorgeous assistants Hamish Tjeong and Onni, there to give her a helping hand (make that thigh) up onto the bar, and carry her off at the end. Meanwhile Molly Orange (Lucy Frost) was there in the wings, looking daggers at Michaela. Red Sarah, doyenne of flame, mistress of the blindfold, with a touch of clowning in there from Sean, promised to have her wicked way with you, in the sultry score by Imelda May that accompanied her sizzling number. Sean then came on with white gloves tipped with lights, and boards that flipped over a rail for a game of call and response, getting the audience to clap, stamp and make all manner of noises, while  Danny Ash proceeded to hoover up the applause with a fab lip-synching Freddie Mercury routine. Hamish's aerial rope act was heartbreakingly beautiful as an infinity of loops knitted and drops spun out a poignant goodbye. That thread was then picked up by Red Sarah who brought on a cape, relic of a tragic love, and ceremoniously laid it on the ground. There it was ready to whisked up by Esquire de Lune (aka Brett Rosengreen) who twirled it around in a flamboyance of flamenco before selecting a victim volunteer who he led up to the stage, nuzzling her, telling her to kiss him on the cheek before turning his head at the last moment for a smack on the lips (reminding me of Tweedy the Clown doing that at Giffords Circus recently - I still fell for it when I was the stooge in a practice run, thanks Brett!). He struck gold too, picking someone who went with the flow and played up to it. She seemed vaguely familiar too, but I couldn't quite place it until I bumped into her in the loos at the interval and was delighted to find that Donna was someone I had met at The Island, a circus training space in Bristol, back in January, just before that date with fate, Ken Dodd and the custard pie at the Slapstick Festival (click here). Pause. Michaela came in strutting around with an Intermission board. Molly Orange strode across, and in a flash sliced her arm with a cleaver. It looked gruesomely realistic, gasps from the audience. Michaela's look of astonishment was priceless, then she fell to the ground and dragged herself off along the floor, very, very slowly. Molly Orange meanwhile calmly picked up the board, brandished it and gestured with the knife that everyone should get the fuck out of the auditorium. Now. 

Michaela O'Connor and Sean Kempton

The second half opened with Sean and Michaela doing a dance off  in matching white shirts and gold lamé leggings (left behind by those Water on Mars boys?!! See previous post - click here!). More and more performers joined in until a voiceover from yours truly explained what she didn't want to see in such an evening, so goodbye sleaze...grime...tack... jazz hands... you get the drift. As the penny dropped for Sean the music cut from a ghetto groove to classical finesse, to showcase some slow free-style contemporary dance from the performers, where again Sean's clowning chemistry with Onni came into its own. Huge guffaws from the audience. On came Molly Orange, kookiness personified, with her musical saw act, about the girl who "now she sleeps with one eye open". And the beauty of this is that her mistreatment of Michaela had set up this character and added piquancy to the story. The ballad had elements of Kate Bush, I thought, and I loved the instrumental with the musical saw itself, it was terrific. The point where she turned her back to the audience and gouged out her eye was horrifically clever. Someone did actually question whether it was real blood, which I guess was in itself an accolade. One of my favourite moments was the clean up after, where Sean came on with a towel, whistled Onni over to mop it up, and Onni just gave him a look, the power play swapping in an instant so that in no time at all Sean's whole body was lying atop the towel like a virtual mop-head being pushed back and forth 'til it was clean. Another clown then took the stage as Danny, the voguing sheep, took another willing volunteer from the audience, sat him on a chair and delivered a monologue to the baasstard Mr Farmer, who had, it transpired, already moved onto the next sheep. How very dare he. It was surreal, it was funny, and it was highly original. Again, applause to the volunteer, who really followed Danny's lead... literally when the noose was put round his neck in the bleat of a heartbeat and he was led off stage and up out the stairs for a wander! 

Another of my favourite moments followed as Hamish came on in a dressing gown, pink socks and slippers, carrying a pair of scales. Onni was there to read out the number. 82 kilos he announced, in a comically flat tone. Hamish went out, came back with a kettle bell, then another and then finally he lifted up Onni and took him onto the scales. Onni bends his head round to read the number. Pause. You broke the scales. Then came the kettle-bell juggling, disrobing from the dressing-gown to reveal a pair of hair waisted tight gold shorts, which one of my dearest friends who is Russian noted with delight was a nod to the wardrobe of famous kettle-bell legend Valentin Dikul. I doubt the knee high pink socks were though! I have to say this act was the scariest for me. I had heard them thud thickly on floorboards a couple of days before and the noise made me jump every time. I had also played around with picking them up. Not easy. The one that is 32 kilos in weight was a killer! So watching Hamish swing them around, flip them, toss them up onto one hand, had both a weighted beauty and was also rather nerve-wrecking. Comic relief came at the end as Molly Orange strode in with her minion Michaela in tow, each grabbing a bell and struggling off, while Esquire De Lune walked in, nonchalantly picked up the lightest thing there (the scales) and casually wandered off.

Cheryl Teagan on aerial pole performed a haunting piece in a diaphanous white skirt overlaying a silver tunic as the tease. It was an ethereal, beautiful act and my goodness how elastic and fluid were her movements. The flawless performance prompted Michaela and Molly Orange to set their sights on a new target and they ran across the stage after her, new BFFs with daggers at the ready, while Red Sarah was bringing a flaming torch up the rear (!). It was rather gratifying, and not a little hilarious, to hear that my neighbour's husband thought that the pole dancer was me wearing a hairpiece, and thinking of Tweedy again, in a blonde wig doing the cancan routine with Giffords Circus, I'm wondering if there isn't scope for a little clowning piece in there for me. I've put my audition piece on Instagram, but I've yet to hear back from Sean...

Last up was Onni Toivonen juggling, and I was really excited about this moment, because here's the thing: pole, aerial, fire, and all those sideshow skills had a wow factor that people warm to immediately. But many people simply couldn't give a toss about juggling, and if anyone could change that, I knew it would be Onni. I was gutted for him that the whole Gandini Juggling family were in France for the weekend for a reunion of "Smashed" and "4x4" (click here), but there were still a fair few exceptional jugglers in the audience able to witness his brilliance from a technical viewpoint, and several fellow Finns in the crowd as well watching his UK debut. Onni performed his graduation piece from DOCH (the university of dance and circus in Stockholm), from where he has just graduated and it was utterly brilliant. Sticking to clubs, so keeping it simple, accentuated the complexity of the movements and tricks he was executing. I loved the balance of three clubs he made on his head, the cascades, the flips, the sense of humour after a drop giving himself a swift clock on the head with another club, or taking advantage of a pause to pick out a piece of cotton wool stuck between his toes left over by Danny's Shaun Sheep! The way Onni carried on and persevered to lead to the most triumphant and astonishing finale led to a triumphant and thunderous applause. I lost track of how many people said to me (and I wonder how many to him) "I never thought juggling was my thing, but seeing Onni has changed all that..." So yes, Onni was the showstopper I always knew he would be, only the show didn't stop there...

Danny Ash, Molly Orange, Onni Toivonen, Michaela O'Connor

For the finale his old pal Sean came on, looked up to him and the music "Careless Whisper" came on. Brilliant. Wordlessly Onni declined the implicit invitation to dance with Sean. As did Michaela, and then each of the performers in turn followed suit and went to the audience to bring back their own partner, leaving Sean on his own. After a minute or two, at his cue, all the performers bar Sean departed, and the volunteers had to follow Sean's lead in the dance steps to Sinatra's "Young At Heart". I was delighted to see one of them picked is Jair, so I guessed our new Colombian friends would get to see him perform after all! 

For the grand finale, set to "Brazil" each volunteer was invited to perform their own solo, while Sean announced them by name. They were all brilliant, from the shimmies to the leaps and bounds, a cheeky cameo cartwheel from Jair and a quick handstand dance off with Sean. A handstand from another volunteer as well was fab. Ah, it was brilliant, everyone got into the spirit of the music and the applause brought the roof down. Afterwards we spilled out of the auditorium and into the bar, which luckily was open til midnight. Bravo! Encore, guys! 

Some of my favourite people in the world were at the show last night. Latitude and summer holidays robbed me of a fair few more, but the good luck cards sent in absentia came with me to the theatre, including one from the Outer Hebrides from my virtual friend Hannah, who I have never actually met, but is very much a kindred spirit over in the Twittersphere. Her thoughtfulness touched me beyond words. It meant so much to me that my husband Xav, some of my siblings and my niece were able to see the show. I have put so much time and energy into the circus scene and this blog over the past two years, often at their expense and they have quite rightly called me on it time and again. It hasn't been easy. To share this evening with them, to show them all that I love, and why I love it, has been a real gift. And as for all those complete strangers, who showed their appreciation for the performers so vociferously, well, it was just wonderful and beyond my wildest dreams. So if anyone out there saw the show and would like to see it again, or has any ideas about how we might fund it, please let us know! 

Thank you Ade Berry for inviting me to curate a night at Jacksons Lane, and to Flora Herberich and the team who have been there every step of the way. It has been an incredible opportunity, a very steep learning curve and a fantastic experience. 

As for you, Sean, Michaela, Danny, Lucy, Sarah, Cheryl, Brett, Hamish and Onni, what can I say?! You have given far more than I would ever have dreamed of asking for. Thanks for all those good vibes, you are terrific and it has been a lot of fun. But don't tell anyone... Ssshhh!