Right, well this is slightly embarrassing, but I was recently threatened by… a clown. I know, it sounds insane, but it’s completely true. We’ll start at the beginning:

It was a Monday and I got a call from an unknown number. I get calls from unknown numbers all the time, so I just assumed it was someone enquiring about an event and answered the phone, cheerily. It turned out to be a local children’s entertainer – we’ll call him Coughy the Clown… mostly, because that’s his name. As a side note, if I were to be a clown I don’t think I’d name myself after an unwanted bodily function; he might as well have called himself Shitty the Clown. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to mention that on the phone.

Nevertheless, the call started quite successfully with us making all the usual, polite small talk – we spoke about the weather, the fact that Christmas is nearly approaching, and I asked if it’s make-up he wears or if his face is just always like that?

The conversation was going fine until he asked a question I never thought I’d ever be asked. He was phoning me up to find out if I’d be interested in purchasing 500 squirty flowers. Now, the squirty flower was probably a brilliant and hilarious gag before we had entertainment – no one is denying that – but I think it’s safe the say the novelty wore off sometime around February 1962; so what use I could possibly have for 500 of them is beyond me.

He didn’t take my refusal to buy the lifetimes supply particularly well, and, let’s not beat around the bush here; unmentionables were spoken and voices were raised – albeit, his was more comical and higher pitched. The call genuinely got so heated that he asked where I lived so he could ‘do me in.’ A man who’s job is supposed to bring joy and happiness to children wanted to beat me up over a job lot of squirty flowers – well either that or he was going to throw a custard pie in my face? I felt it best not to go into the specifics of his plans.

It was honestly quite unsettling though. I lived in fear of coming home and finding 12 loudly dressed men, squeezed into a tiny car waiting outside. My neighbor also has an unusual collection of old car horns he likes to play at night, which certainly didn’t help matters. Alright, that last bit’s not true.

Ultimately, as crazy as it sounds, I, Stephen Williams, was moments away from being beaten up by a clown. It was frankly terrifying, but thankfully it never happened and I’ve never heard from him since. I’d like to think he turned into a giant spider and was sucked into the drain, like at the end of that Stephen King film? Or perhaps he had a banana mishap due to his massive shoes? Well I guess we’ll never know…