I FELL out of love with the circus early, and I remember the moment almost exactly. In the 1970s, our family – like thousands of others – made an annual winter trail from Coatbridge to the Kelvin Hall Carnival in Glasgow.
On one side of the massive space, all the neon-lit, screaming, hydraulic fun of the fair. Hit tunes, lurid graphics, space rockets spinning around: 70s modernity all over the place. On the other side, the circus. In my memory, it was the full affair: there were acrobats, clowns, jugglers, “wild” animals and their trainers.
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