Today’s post comes from one seriously lovely bloggy lady, Kitty Cat from red lemonade…
According to my good friend T Cup, I have what she refers to as “a big volunteer head” on me. If there’s some manner of street performance or show going on that requires someone from the audience to get involved, for some reason I tend to get pulled out of the crowd despite my best efforts to blend in with my surroundings and avoid eye contact.
One sunny Saturday while I was living in Cork, I was ambling down Patrick’s Street with T Cup when we came upon a Canadian street performer that we had previously encountered in Edinburgh. That first time we saw him in Scotland I was only called forward to confirm that some prop he was using was indeed solid, or had no strings on it, or something like that.
Anyway, we stopped for a look because we knew he was good, and happily clapped, oohed and aahed along with the rest of the audience in the sunshine.
As he was introducing the next part of his show, he unveiled a bed of sharp and very pointy nails and started explaining the idea of mind over matter. I think.
There was definitely a bed of nails anyway, and as he scanned the crowd for an unwitting idiot, he barged past the four or five people in front of me, grabbed my hand and pulled me into the middle of the circle.
I remember looking back to see where T Cup had got to, but the wagon was nowhere to be seen, as it appears that disappearing into the crowd is a superpower of hers.
Anyway, at this stage Mr. Canadian Street Performer had whipped off his shirt (not the prettiest of sights, I fear) and requested that I remove my boots. Which I duly did, only to reveal a hole in my tights that one of my toes was attempting to escape out of.
While surreptitiously trying to get my toe back into the foot of my tights and not die from embarrassment, yer man had lain down on the bed of nails and instructed me to, one foot at a time, step onto his bare torso.
Now, I’m not exactly a waif and I can’t imagine that the full weight of me on his chest was exactly comfortable, not to mention while resting on a grid of four inch nails. I was standing there for what felt like forever, trying to keep my balance, hide the hole in my tights and hope he wasn’t getting a good look up my skirt all at the same time.
Every so often I could feel myself wobbling slightly and every time I kept thinking “Oh Jaysus, I’m making these nails dig into him even further, WHY didn’t he pick some little dainty bird instead?”
Eventually I was told to step back down, at which point he stood up to reveal all the indentations all over his back from the spikes. I was just glad my wobbling didn’t draw blood. I don’t remember if I actually put my boots back on before rejoining the crowd, or if I just grabbed them and ran away.
Either way, I tend to watch these things from the very back of the crowd now. If at all.