It feels like years since last I did a real street show, the winter deepens and I wonder if I am still able to create a connection with random people on the fly. Now I talk a language of social media, invoices and margins. I remember a time when it was: “Hi, How are you? come watch the show, it’s good I promise, no really come watch a show…or the little one gets it…” aah yes, the friendships we make. If only for a moment, in a street show people of all colours and creeds come together in an experience of laughter, awe and fear for the safety of their children.
But winter is a time to reflect on what came before, perfect new moves, write new lines, and re-use tea bags one time too many. It’s a time to sew seeds in the mind for the new show that will burst out at the first sign of hatting season (Mating season is a different and far more costly season for someone on a juggler’s salary). No doubt winter does have it’s charms, but still my bags look at me from the corner of the room, waiting. I keep them packed with an extra set of clean clubs while I slowly sew the sail for my life-experience raft that will take me across the oceans to where there are more of my kind. Until then I patiently rehearse my one liners and silly moves in the mirror, chained to my cosy little flat just outside of cape town, waiting, desperately waiting, for telkom to give me some sort of smoke signal that they did indeed here my cry for a landline. I dare not move for fear that I will miss that precious chance to meet a representative from the tyrannical monopoly that holds the nation in it’s deadly grip of overpriced data and terrible customer service.
So here I wait, working on amazing new stuff for the summer and patiently sewing seeds and sails.