A Stranger to Bristol #1

I've lived here two years but still feel like I'm new to Bristol (Asdl? What's that...). Having said that, I recently went for the second time to the burlesque extravaganza that is the Invisible Circus and I think I largely mixed it up with more seasoned Bristolian party-goers. Plumes, top hats and some potently sexual animals- the showmanship of the performers could not be allowed to operate at anything less than 100% for fear of being overshadowed by the audience (milling round, open mouthed). And it didn't. They made me laugh. Sure, if I'd known someone at the bar it would've helped with the 45 minute wait for a beer but sometimes you've just got to suck it up and ask for more. There was a boy playing guitar requests in exchange for silver in an early example of the Victorian coin operated variety-booth. A shy with real severed heads, faces in darkly comedic death grimaces, which in turn were pelted with 21^st century furry tennis balls. A sprightly lady got her silver knickers and nipple tassels out to more effectively demonstrate her sterling trapeze work. Reader; it made me feel as though I Belonged.

And right on cue, as I spun my lady in the concrete courtyard, a big-handed oaf (I think he might have been a chimney sweep or something) knocked my ale all over us.

And yet even his lopsided grin and slurred apology made me consider that perhaps I am lucky to have fallen down the country and ended up in this bottom corner. To be honest, I'd always thought 'Avon' was next to Stratford, but stood corrected and watched -excited as a child- as fey figures danced and flames shot upwards into the night sky. A night in this place is like bonfire night, a trip to the circus and a 45 minute slot of erotica all rolled into one! Heady, schizophrenic and at times tingling with primitive energy. The announcement was made, that as of a future date the venue would be operating with a full license (I suppose as opposed to selling beer all night, which confusingly seemed to be the case anyway). A roar of approval went up, and then died down.

You have to honestly wonder whether a show of this magnitude can actively sustain the level of success hitherto experienced. Or whether the venue itself can realistically attract sufficient clientele without the grandiosity (and tassels). It reminds me of a saying: once the great and the good of North Bristol have been given the whole show; there may be no real reason for them to come back and fall into bed the next time. Though any night out that's a valid excuse for a man to wear makeup, even in these testing economic times, might just make it big.

When the ethereal ladies in corporeal dresses began to climb down the walls, I had an impending sense that it was time to go. But there remained time to dance to Iggy and the Stooges, kiss with smoky breath, and bump into a man we once turned down to live in our house because he seemed to love himself overly much. In this particular place of pilgrimage, the twisted magic stopped in a line at the door. We left to streetlight, not starlight- an orange glow leading home. And I think I thought I knew I'd be back, except that for now I had to go find a beer...