“Was anyone at the circus last week?” asks Ringmaster Flying Frog. “Never, ever, put your hand up in the Circle” admonishes King Yao Yao sternly but belatedly.  That’s how you get to be the Scribe. This Monday’s circus under a rainbow-lit Big Top features Performing Dog & Timmy Tightrope. An unseasonable downpour has conjured trails full of steaming shiggy and glistening grass.  At great expense, famous Irish wall-of-death rider Seaman Stains has been flown in to demonstrate the art of traveling clockwise round an anti-clockwise trail, though for real mastery of illusion and sleight of foot the plaudits must go to Sir Airhead, who succeeds in vanishing completely. Emerging from a gully full of rusty water into an ocean of tall reeds, I am alarmed to find French Katoey at my unprotected rear.  But no need to worry, for this is the circus’s mandatory acrobat.  With a cry of “Allez  mousquetaires!  D’Artagnan!” (I am not making this up) this fantasist launches himself across a tapioca-lined crevasse which all thinking people have wisely skirted.  The real Dumas (Alexandre, not Dog Licks Its Dick) would have had a fit.  Once out of the foothills, we meet up with the majority which has sensibly short-cut the fetid, shoe-sucking farthest loop, and it’s On In to the A-site in the erudite company of Knickerless and The Pope.  No trapeze artist available today, but clearly plenty of piss artists already hard at work on our return.
A quick burger (that’s “burger” with an R, French Katoey), and it’s off to the beer truck to find amber fluid and Poncho the Pervert’s scribe kit.  Tadpole, who should know, confidently predicts that it will stay dry.  At which point the Rain Gods take the piss again and soak the paper.  Beer policeman Cabbage Head advises me to use a Dictaphone, but I tell him I prefer to use my index finger like everybody else. “Form a circle” instructs Flying Frog the Ringmaster (who already has).  Definitely one of the better PH3 circles, albeit sparsely attended initially as the darkening skies continue to piss down.  Hares are deservedly congratulated on a job well done, and then alternate Bad R.A. Sir Chicken Fucker ices the various circus troupes: the Black Bags, the Umbrellas, the Full-Body Condoms & the Naked People. Then it’s over to the Bad, Bad R.A. B.B. to torture the non-performing Bus Bitches Jellobutt, Ball Ringer, Humpday & Sunflower.
My memory disintegrates as fast as my scribe’s notepad, but I recall the Aussies, the Norwegians and the Swiss on ice for their varying contributions to the Beautiful Game, with statistical input & correction from Scouse Wannabee Dr. Pinky.  (Did you know the Swiss are now playing at the Wankdorf Stadium?)  Staring at these various national ambassadors for an introspective moment, I am reminded of what Gandhi said when asked his opinion of Western civilization.  He said he thought it would be a good idea. The PH3 circus has imported assorted choirs, mainly from Down Under and the Emerald Isle.  B.B. and the Jungle boys regale us with a bastardised version of that regular singing Hash favourite, the Chiang Mai Hymn (surely “Azoopadah” in the authorised version, gentlemen?).  Seaman Stains intones a paean of praise to his Mother-in-law. Non-calling FRBs are brought in for an audition.  Only Bigger Nosed Bastard & Allah’s Arsehole show definite circus potential.  Ringworm, the clown, gets his, and can now resume his place in the dole queue. And that’s about as much as I can remember before the Kloster runs out (again!) and I am forced onto the Chang, to the annoyance of Really Sadistic Bastard who actually drinks this rocket fuel out of choice, despite knowing it stunts growth. I do seem to recall one remarkable non-event however.  Is it my imagination, or was T4 spared the ice?  Tradition ain’t what it used to be. So, thanks to Fucking Dog & Timmy Tightpants for a great run, to all for a great circle, and to unsung heroes Bottomless Pit & the Hot Dog Girls for the catering.  Couldn’t make the Skandi Bar for Happy Hour as I had to brush up my clown act, but I’m sure it was excellent as usual.

On On!
Ringworm