I need a hero...

So. Yesterday afternoon. Circular Quay, Sydney, Australia.

I made the mistake of stopping to watch a street performer with the Boys whilst Husband went to check out the ferry times. On his return he announced we had another 40 minutes to wait - so we decided to stay and watch the Cornish entertainer juggling with fire, knives, and a chainsaw. On a bicycle.

This turned out to be a Bad Mistake.

Not only because Boy #1 now thinks such things are perfectly feasible, and I will probably have to hide the silverware for evermore. My son has chosen to ignore the performer's repeated assurances that it took him a lifetime (well, Boy #1's lifetime, in any case) to learn how to do these tricks, thinking perhaps that this is something anyone can do in between their future careers as a lion (!) and an astronaut .

But also because both Husband and I - and particularly Husband - had a 'life flashing in front of your eyes' moment.

I may have mentioned before that Husband is tall. So when, a few minutes after his return from the quay, Street Performer Man (SPM) asked for an assistant, and specified that he wanted 'the biggest man in the crowd', Husband bent his knees, just a little. But it was too late. He had been spotted. And was pulled through the audience to help SPM climb up onto a 6 metre high pole to balance on his bicycle whilst jugging fire, knives, and eating an apple. (As you do).

For one split second I thought Husband was going to be required to stand beneath SPM during this trick, and images of knives through shoulders flashed hideously through my mind. I saw myself and the Boys languishing in Sydney whilst my beloved recovered from hideous burns in hospital.

And apparantly, from the look upon his face, Husband thought much the same thing.

Of course, nothing of the kind happened. He helped the guy up, retreated a suitable amount of feet, the trick passed off smoothly, and the only damage done was to his wallet when he gave the guy $10 at the end of the show, and to his pride when he raced back to ask if I had filmed the whole thing only to be told he had left the handicam on and that consequently we were out of battery. (And thank god I wasn't responsible for that little mishap.)

But the momentary stress was definitely worth it, because later that evening, I had the following conversation with Boy #1.

Boy #1: "Mama, you remember that juggling man?"

Me: "Yes, darling."

Boy #1: "He was doing tricks on his bicycle with knives."

Me: "Yes, he was."

Boy #1: "And he needed help! He needed the BIGGEST MAN in the audience!"

Me: "He certainly did."

Boy #1: "And that man was MY PAPA! My Papa was the Biggest Man there. Nobody else's Papa is as big as My Papa."


Hero worship can be great.



(Note: apologies if the title of this post means you now have Bonnie Tyler wailing like a Banshee in your subconcious - but at least it's got rid of the refrain from One Night in Bangkok. Oh, have you got that too, now?)