I just want to swing ... my first trapeze lesson

 'I just want to swing …'

Why, for the fourth time in a year, am I finding myself perched thirty feet above ground on a rickety plank, my life held in a pulley and my brain castigating my eyes every time they dare to glance downwards? Oh yeah. Because I signed up for a flying trapeze lesson.

Having spent childhood idealising about running away to become an acrobat, and adulthood harbouring a suppressed fantasy along not dissimilar lines, you may think that finally getting a chance to live that dream would leave me on top of the world (no pun intended). But there
’s an important thing

to remember about fantasy - sometimes it should remain just that.

The first time I didn’t really need the bar. My fingertips clung on for about five seconds after hurling myself off the platform, complete with a wail to rival an air raid. I proceeded to career into the safety net in a mesh of haywire legs and sticking out arse, with rope burns bubbling up under my arms.

My second attempt wasn’t much more successful, but at least I was finally able to accept that I hadn’t missed out on a glittering circus career through failure to exploit a raw talent. At take off I was more Quasimodo than Spellbound and apparently ‘didn’t trust enough’ in the slip of a girl who was perched at the top, there to support my weight and allow me to lean over at a diagonal with my chest out, bottom in and head up, before releasing me to daintily jump off the platform and swoop in a graceful arc through the balmy summer’s evening against the backdrop of the setting sun. My lack of confidence was through no disrespect to Harri, it’s just that I’m not the slightest build out there and despite her rippling muscles and obvious competence I do have trust and dependency issues (though it’s not the time or place to go into that right now).

But after a stern self-recrimination (including a reminder that Harri is not my ex-boyfriend) I became encouraged to let my defences slide and put my trust in the professional. On my third attempt I did as I was told and stood tall and proud, head up and shoulders back, Harri taking my weight from behind as I waited for the ‘hup’ command to jump. Success!

‘Legs up! Legs up!’ Shouted Harri’s partner in crime from the floor. ‘Legs up! Hook onto you knees! Like the others!’

Hook onto my flaming knees? Who the hell did he think I was?

‘I just want to swing!’ I shrieked back, much to the amusement of the more advanced class stood off to the sidelines, all lithe limbs and sculptured physiques. And swing I did, until my bingo wings gave up on me once again.

But I leave you with a shock - on my fourth and final turn I managed not only to launch myself off without belly-flopping yet again, but also to backflip off the trapeze and land (relatively) gracefully in the net! All that stuff I said about fantasy remaining in the mind? Forget it! And what I said about accepting that I hadn’t missed out on a hidden career opportunity? Well, I’ll leave you with that as a cliff-hanger… (I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist…)