A Giffords Circus show is always an unmissable extravaganza, a swirling sequence of colour, movement, glitter and delight. The music drifts out from the tent opening, wild and enticing, drawing the audience in to Xanadu, a fitting name for what is undoubtedly a ‘stately pleasure-dome’. I love to watch the tumbling of the acrobats, the galloping ponies, the ever-changing costumes and Tweedy‘s uproarious slapstick, but most of all I love to watch my children’s faces.
This was our seventh summer of Giffords magic. My youngest boy has been going to Giffords since he was a babe in arms, and the wonder of the big top never grows old. We all giggled and guffawed, gasping at the more daring escapades. The little one nudged me and whispered ‘Tweedy!’ every time the clown came onstage, his eyes wide with delight. Afterwards, we tumbled out into the candyfloss-scented air, chattering excitedly about our favourite moments- it was as if the Giffords fairydust still sparkled around our heads in a shimmering cloud, enough magic to carry us through until the circus returns next year.