Clown your way in, they said.
There is a not-so-secret secret bar at Glastonbury, called the Piano Bar. When the main stages shut, the queue to this beautiful tucked away venue snakes down the hill. But I had heard tales of from fellow clowns that if you could impress the bounder on the crew entrance they might let you in.
So for 15 minutes I solo improvd at an unimpressed human standing behind a piece of heras fencing, guarding the entrance.
Then they said, you are fairly perseverant. After another 5 minutes, they asked, can you do that on stage? And I said yes. And they said you are in.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Because I had only been planning on getting in to watch, not to perform.
But that’s what the clown’s supposed to do, right? Assume they can do anything, and then revel in the failure.
In the end it wasn’t failure. In fact I think it went quite well. But I’ll definitely chalk it up as toughest gig yet.
By the time I was done, I went outside and it was already light.