by Roger Noons
half a litre of draught San Miguel
I laughed when he old me he was a clown. I assumed that was the correct reaction.
‘Retired?’ I asked.
‘Non, clowns never retire. We hang up our big boots and stop polishing our noses. There is no pension.’
Our conversation was conducted in what could be described as Franglais with a touch of Catalan. We sat beneath a pomegranate tree, each with a glass of beer. He was not an apparent performer, wearing denim shorts and a mauve tee shirt with the words Clowns Cry Too printed on the front, he resembled a fit, not looking his age, old man.
He had worked in theatre, travelling the world after beginning with a circus which took in only Europe. During ten years he was regularly seen on television. His motivation had always been children. He loved to engage and involve them, he told me, but nowadays he had been advised he was not to touch them; he’d even been warned by a police officer.
‘Is not the same,’ he confessed. ‘I think I will give up, write a book. That will be my pension.’
About the author
Roger Noons has been writing creatively since 2006. His book, Slimline Tales was published by Chapeltown Books in 2018. He also writes poetry.