Although I know this might sound troubling
but when I was at uni I started juggling
strictly for pleasure, you understand
just the odd handstand
balancing
nothing too challenging
passing balls, rings, clubs
packing up and hitting the pubs

the group was run by a clown called Ben
thin as a diabolo stick, five foot ten
but so hunched forwards from all his practising
the ten part of that was pretty much missing
he was nice enough
looked a bit rough
wore his hair in tufts
hands like flippers
which when you consider
the thousands of backspins, catches and triples
he did through the years with clubs like skittles
it was probably an evolutionary adaptation
to the rigours of his occupation

I liked the class
learned to juggle and pass
it was a laugh
but one thing that was a pain in the ass
somehow Ben got it into his head
that I was Tim instead
of Jim
even though I kept correcting him
but it was like he’d got some wires crossed
and my real name was forever lost
and it would take a clown emergency
rubber scalpels for brain surgery
to finally address this perversity

so in the end I gave up correcting him
and once a week just answered to Tim

one year we hosted the juggling convention
and so of course by natural extension
we became clown stewards
and Ben in a few words
said here are your sashes
your balloon hats and your name badges
and of course – mine said TIM
and it was WAAAAY too late to talk to him
so I just grinned
and Timmed it
and when the MINUTE the convention was over I binned it

and that’s the story of the clown called Tim
I wonder what became of him?