First attempt at Spike the Balloon Dog.

Recently performed part of my new balloon show at a school in Ashington
The first part of the show is based on The Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly.
In my version, the old woman becomes an old monster. The monster is a giant mouth with pink gums and white hearts for teeth.
The fly is around 3′ 6″ long with a similar wingspan.
The rest of the cast is a spider, bird, witch, alien, werewolf and zombie.
All the participating kids get to keep their balloon.
Lots of laughter, audience participation, and oohs and aahs.
Hoping to get this into libraries and schools.
If you’re interested go to http://www.balloondeliveries.net for contact details.

BalloonHQ is the major web-based resource for both balloon twisters and balloon decor. There are columns to help you create a show; teach you to twist; and interviews with balloon artists.
If you are a member, you can have an on-line portfolio of your work, and post pictures where other members can add comments to encourage you.
Probably all of the top artists worldwide are members of BalloonHQ.
You can find my portfolio at http://lowemagic.balloonhq.comlowemagic.balloonhq.com
Additionally, you can go to my balloon deliveries website.

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I’ve just arranged this for an event at the Gateshead International Stadium which is sure to gain a good bit of  press coverage.

No, I don’t. I don’t have tops; I have shirts. I have t-shirts, polo shirts, and sweatshirts. I have shirts with holes in them; shirts with unexplained stains down their fronts, and shirts that no-one else would be seen dead in. What I don’t have is tops.

Why do women call them tops? Can’t they recall which end things fit on without resorting to these obvious mnemonic devices? What happened to blouses and sweaters; cardigans and t-shirts?

And then, they expect things to match. Colour co-ordinated seems to be the ‘in’ thing – if ‘in’ thing is still the ‘in’ expression, which I doubt.

‘Will you,’ she asked, ‘take me to football training?’

‘Yes, of course. Get your things.’

‘You’re not going like that, are you?’ Well, yes, I was, but I realise “You’re not going like that means You’re NOT going like that.

‘Of course not,’ I replied. ‘I was just going up to change.’

And when I get upstairs I find she’s already been through my wardrobe and, laid out on the bed, is what she expects me to wear. She’s fourteen, and I dread to think what she’ll be like when she grows up.

Naturally, she likes those two awful women on television who go around telling people what they should and shouldn’t wear. Trini and someone? That’s what I imagine she’ll become. She’s half way there right now.

So I’m all ready to drive her to the football; all dressed up and colour co-ordinated in shades of brown, and I don’t even intend to get out of the car. Just drop her off and pick her up an hour and a half later.

On the way back, I remember we’re out of bourbon biscuits – not the supermarket’s own brand but the Peak Freans – and I have to stop at SavaCentre to pick some up.

I used to keep an old oil-stained jacket in the boot to slip on if I had to change a wheel, but she found it and, after telling me, ‘You’re never wearing that again,’ threw it out. Pity. I could have put it on over my co-ordinated outfit and have felt perfectly normal as I walked nonchalantly into the store.

Instead, of course, I have to sneak in; hoping no-one I know will see me.

‘Hello, Ian,’ he says. ‘Going to a fancy dress?’

It is perfectly possible, I’ve done it a thousand times, to go shopping and never see anyone you know. Today I meet everyone I’ve ever met, and they all remark on my clothes.

‘I would never have recognised you,’ they say, and, ‘My, what an improvement. You’ve obviously got a woman in your life.’ and such insane babblings.

What they really mean is, for the past forty years they’ve never liked my dress sense and now is the time for them to tell me. And they do. At great length.

So, by the time I get home, I’ve just a few minutes to swallow a cup of coffee and a bourbon biscuit and I have to go back and pick her up.

‘I see,’ she says, looking at the crumbs down my front, ‘you remembered the Peak Freans.’

Ah, yes. But at least the crumbs and my top are beautifully colour co-ordinated. And that, as we know, is all that matters.

Navigation systems, I’m told, rely on two things; the Global Positioning System (GPS) receiver and the digital map data. 

The guy in the store tells me they’re fool proof. 

Ah, yes. But are they women proof? 

When your client books you for the community centre and tells you it’s at the end of the road and, when you ask  for the name of that road, replies “I don’t know,” I imagine the GPS is stuck. 

Another thing I suspect would beat it, is being booked at the Whitehouse Community Centre in Peterlee. 

“It’s in Edenhill Road,” she told me. “Next to the Cemetery.” 

Easy-peasy for the Global Positioning System with its digital map data, just feed in the name of the road and the town and it’ll take you right there. Only it wasn’t in Edenhill Road. The Whitehouse Community Centre, when I found it in Eden Lane, wasn’t white either, and it had a sign reading ‘Peterlee Community Association’ but despite having the incorrect name and the wrong street, I found it. Something  the machine couldn’t do. 

Another lady client told me, “We’re on the new estate, but you’ll find us quite easy.”

Oh, yeah?

“Turn right at the new roundabout. Follow the road and turn left at another roundabout. Straight down and you’ll find us at the end.”

  Pretty simple. I can find that, which is more than the navigation system could as the new estate isn’t on their digital map. 

Well, I could have found it if I hadn’t assumed that the two roundabouts she had mentioned were consecutive. How could I know she meant turn right at the first roundabout; keep straight on at the next two, then turn left at the fourth one. 

But the best directions I ever got was from a woman in Bishop Auckland. She said, “At the roundabout take the third exit; go down the hill, over the bridge, up the other side. When the road swings left, there’s a hairdresser’s on the right hand side. On the left you’ll see two blue doors; that’s the football ground. Turn left immediately in front of the doors. Follow that road; keep to the left the whole way. At the end you’ll see two houses. The one on the left belongs to the church. The other one, with the black wrought iron gates, is ours. 

Amazing! I’ve never had such good instructions before. I was quite convinced that, when I got there, I would find she was a man. 

So, I took the third exit at the roundabout, went down the hill, over the bridge, and up the other side. When the road swung left, there was the hairdresser’s on my right hand side. On the left were two blue doors, so I turned left immediately in front of them. 

Following the road and keeping to the left the whole way, I found the two houses. The one on the left had a sign saying it belonged to the church. The other one had black wrought iron gates so I rang the bell and her husband said, “What are you doing here? The party’s not at home.” 

I don’t care how good these in-car navigation systems are, they’ll never find the show if they follow a woman’s directions.   

Yes, I realise I’m telling you this just when you’ve made a fortune in the run-up to Christmas, but you should have been selling coffee. That’s where the real money’s at.

Did you know Starbucks opens four new outlets somewhere in the world every working day?

That probably surprises you.

Every working day.

Of course, if you only work part-time it’s not so surprising.

And if you don’t work at all it’s not the least bit surprising; nor interesting. You couldn’t afford to drink coffee there anyway.

I only mention this because I’m exhausted through all the shows I’ve just done, and coffee is said to keep you awake. I tried it leading up to Christmas and it didn’t help.

It also probably doesn’t help that I hate December. Why can’t they have Christmas another month when I’m not so busy?

Three weeks booked solid. Sometimes I can’t even remember which day it is. It’s bad enough that I have to do lots of Christmas shows, but there’s the nurseries, too, and kids are still having birthdays! In December!

Take it from one whose birthday is on New Year’s Eve, December is not the time to have a birthday. People give you one present and tell you it’s for Christmas and your birthday combined. One lousy present for both! It’s Jesus I feel sorry for, he was born right on Christmas Day. I bet he only got the one present, too.

I lie awake at night worrying I’m going to turn up the next day with the wrong show. What would I do with a birthday card trick at a Christmas party? Tell them it’s Jesus’ birthday and the card’s for him?

I’m so tired when I wake up I feel sure this time I’ll fall asleep during my show, instead of the audience.

That’s why I decided to turn to coffee.

People often drink coffee to help them stay awake. The next day, of course, they’re tired because they stayed awake the day before. So they drink coffee. Otherwise they’d fall asleep at work. And the next day, they’re even more tired because, for the last two days they’ve drunk coffee to help them stay awake.

So what do they do?

Drink coffee. Right!

I tell you, we’re in the wrong business.

No wonder Starbucks is opening four new stores every working day.