Clown 1

It starts with a bullshit. A riff. A farcical idea I had for a charity. It was about Sorted.org a fantastical organisation for people who have won the lottery. Life’s lottery. 

I was touched by Comic Relief, millions of pounds raised to help the less fortunate. The generosity of people to hand over their money to improve the lives of people they may never meet. The world is full of suffering and Comic Relief was out to make changes in ways people desire. What a lovely thing. A dear friend Sian works for one such charity supporting by the TV fundraiser. She provides assistance to rape victims. How amazing is that? There are a great many charities, and they all cater for people in need. but where is the charity for those who don’t need anything? For people who have everything they want, long term happiness, health, love, success, respect, friends., security. What if they found themselves wanting. “A withdrawal from their enduring satisfaction,” as my friend Lauren eloquently put it. 

So Sorted dot org was established to fill the gap society disgracefully left. The idea was to hobnob with society’s elite class, and to check that they’re all right. To join them at their garden parties, to eat with them at their tables. I was essentially promoting myself to a kind figurehead in a community populated by leaders and winners. For this I required an obnoxious wage from the charity’s admin budget in order to partake in their extortionately prices past times. I needed a horse. A horse was mandatory. Maybe three. I wasn’t sure.

Taking to the phone I contacted Lenny Henry and requested one of his ninety-odd-million each year to keep myself in clover, and subsequently, in the right circles. He declined the offer  with little grace, laughing at me down the phone. Everything is one big joke to Lenny. He maybe a comedian, but charity is no laughing matter. Without the money I considered an approach to Children in Need, but showed mindfulness and restraint, having remembered that their money is intended for children in need, rather than adults who ostensibly don’t need anything. The Lottery Fund seemed like the next best bet, but their system of buying tickets and waiting your turn, is less effective than the ones at Morrison’s Market Street. I do intent to write to them about that. I just keep getting distracted thinking about food, and the butchers at the supermarket. They do offer some great prices on frozen chickens. 

***

The idea fermented, and speaking to a friend Simon, both tired from talking, waiting for a flight, we discussed his attendance of comedy classes. He is learning to do comedy which is great, because he’s kind of funny, and he could do with improving on that. The thought that grew was how this silly, questionably funny spiel I’d fallen upon could be translated to stage. I wanted to present a piece with the ambiguity it deserved. A comedy club would be too one dimensional. The Charity idea isn’t explicitly funny, and I wanted to keep it that way. Otherwise I’d end up being forced to make cheap gags I didn’t like in order to create an act I would have undermined. 

It was only when I was reading about clowning did the idea feel more achievable. I read about white clowns, or clown blanc. About how they were stern and condescending, aloof and maudlin, while their grand plans were never as sound as they arrogantly envisaged. It seemed like the perfect character for the act. And, because the act was my creation, for me. I could be the white clown. I felt the act could have the potential to humble me. To be a person truer to myself. It was about the ethics of me as a person, expressing what I really wanted to say. Not like a rant at a politician, or a critique of TV show or musical performance (all of which I did by profession). It was about the ethics in the sense of the personal. That ethics is not about the big decisions, going to war or not, feeding the poor. It is about a human being true to themselves. It is a position I imagine Slavoj Zizek would maintain. 

***

This idea was left for some months. In a meeting with an MP I found myself smartly expressing problems that had arisen due to the cuts made to the benefits system, and how I had been affected. and how the cuts were contradictory to the core political position his party had maintained when implementing them. Specifically, they had abolished a grant available to those returning to work. And as a result, I was out or pocket for 5 weeks until my first pay check. I had nothing to live on. Not only had he not read my email his secretary had claimed he had, but he didn’t offer any explanation nor intention to act upon what I was presenting, but he failed to offer any compassion. 

 Only leaving his office and walking onto a high street did I meet Squeeky the Clown, a kind, thoughtful clown with incredible poise, who showed a deep respect for the art form. He was performing his auguste act, and while doing so offered me both spiritual and ethical advice. He immediately adopted a position of council to me. It occurred to me that a clown can perform a greater role in society than a politician.