My circus history:
age 8-15: wanted to run away with a circus (because I had read that kind of books). I visualized being a breathtakingly beautiful lion tamer and living a dramatic life in a yellow circus wagon.
age 14 (approx): visited my first circus. It was tiny, far from glamorous, and the only animals were a couple of poodles but I was spellbound.
age 25: abandoned my circus dream definitely when a friend laughed his head off and said I would end up cleaning elephant droppings and forever regretting a destructive marriage to a violent knife-thrower called Vlad.
age 31: my second visit to a circus, this one English and genuine and huge, with all the right circus attributes and atmosphere. I took up my dream again, but this time my circus wagon would be one of those expandable caravans that looked so luxurious and I would share it with a very athletic lover. We would be carefree vagabonds lit by coloured lights.
age 35: read Water for Elephants by S. Gruen and realised the most romantic life imaginable would be spent on a circus train (staying clear of sociopaths and stampeding elephants of course).
age 37: my third visit to a circus. Was spellbound, analyzed the role of the circus as a critical voice in society and ate too much popcorn.
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