Send in the Clowns

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Circuses are like motor racing for me, for three reasons. The first is that I have absolutely no interest in them at all, slapstick comedy, glorified dancing and animal cruelty are quite low down on my list of interests where they are kept company by petrol, engines and institutionalised sexism. The second is that I only seem to watch them when I am with my sister. Whenever I am at her place there seems to be some endless, noisy race on the TV. Cars or Bikes going around and around aimless like flies around a light bulb and her little boy Cam is obsessed by circuses; so quite often it’s Uncle Jeff who’s the man to take him. And finally if I ever find myself watching either of these so called entertainments, all I am hoping is that something goes spectacularly wrong. 
That’s what I was thinking now as I watched the ringmaster crack his whip and lions prowl the ring. But I was suffering from cognitive dissonance; as a dedicated and responsible uncle, I would hate for my young charge to be exposed to something that would scar him for life, but as a bored 40-year-old man, I longed to see the lions gain revenge, rip the pompous ringmaster into little pieces. 
I’d really taken a dislike to the ringmaster; I knew it was an act, but his affected manner and patronising voice were really rubbing me up the wrong way. He should be reminded he was talking to kids, not imbeciles. 
I stared at the lion that was walking towards us, looking straight into his eyes. ‘Kill him,’ I mouthed, ‘kill him.’  The smug bastard cracked his whip again and smiled to the audience, enjoying the applause but taking his eyes of the beasts for a second. 
‘Kill him,’ I mouthed again, ‘this is your chance.’ But the lion ignored my pleas, instead it growled and prowled and did the tricks it had been programmed to do. Cam cheered and whooped excitedly next to me and the lions were lead away. 
‘And now Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, we have a treat for you,’ But before the ringmaster could tell us about the treat one of the clowns came bundling into the ring. 
‘You rat,’ the clown cried. Was he a little worse for wear or was he just clowning? 
Cam laughed and cheered but I was on edge, this clown was not playing for laughs. I covered Cam’s eyes quickly just before the clown threw a blade that thumped into the ringmaster’s chest. Kids were screaming, parents gasping. Clowns, acrobats and a human cannonball all ran to help the stricken ringmaster. I smiled, my wish had come true; he didn’t help, he needed a coffin.