QotD: On Clowns

Clowns: delightful or terrifying?

Traumatising.

It was 1997, Mum had died, and I was in Great Ormand Street Hospital to have the old hand surgery. I remember it being a post-op appointment, probably just a change of bandage, and Dad and I were sat in the plastic surgery ward - Tiger Ward - just waiting to be released.

One of the Hospital Clowns, who apparently cheer the children up, came up to me and handed me a flower attached to a wire, which would of course spring back to the clown's lapel if released. He handed the flower to me, saying "Flower for your mother!" and I put my hand out to get it, before, ho ho! It sprang back. It wasn't a flower for me, or indeed my dead mum at all! How droll.

Dad was seething and stared daggers at the clown, and managed not to thump him, or tell him to fuck off.

Of course, Twat Clown didn't know my mum had died and that I was feeling pretty sad as it was the summer holidays and not enjoying them as I had been in-and-out of hospital for weeks, and that I was shit scared about starting secondary school, but still, it was a very clowny thing to do because clowns are cruel, mean bastards. Everytime I see a clown now, I feel anger and fear, and the urge to kill. If I ever end up in a war battle situation, it would be useful to visualise the enemy as clowns.