Richard, 25, unicyclist

Richard 25, Professional Unicyclist, West Piazza.

About 5'9", Richard had just finished his show and was still wearing
his chequered suit and red shirt when I met him. His unicycle leaning
against the wall, Richard was very easy about being interviewed and had
a number of stories to tell. I thought this one however, was his
best.

When some people begin their show they pick on a passer-by saying "Oh
look, there's Linford Christie or Tony Blair", if there's a
resemblance, but I generally announce that I'm going to perform. Then I
get the audience to clap as I bring out my props, building up, finally,
to my unicycle. That usually works quite well. The noise gets people to
come over and I get a crowd. This time though, I was at the start, only
a few people.
"Move along, there's nothing to see here" I joked, and the next thing I
know this guy; normal, regular guy, early twenties, a fleece, a pair of
jeans comes right up to me. Not unusual, he seemed like just another
person passing through Covent Garden, except that the put his face
really close to mine and snarled, without a flinch,
"Do you want me to cut you up?"
The colour had never dropped out of a person's face quite so quickly -
deep red from shouting, I was now completely white. Unconsciously I
lent towards my silver case, the home of my juggling batons and House
of Commons braces.
"You what?" I stammered.
"What the fuck are you doing? What are you playing at?"
"I'm just trying to do a show mate."
I could see his fists were clenched and slowly my hand edged closer to
my case.
Then I suddenly realised, as I allowed a split second glance out and
over his shoulder, that my crowd, now substantially enlarged, were
watching on with all the concentration of a perfect witness.
I decided to stay and face him and with the speed of a well-trained
clown, I jerked my head round and to my eager, bloodthirsty audience I
loudly remarked,
"Well actually, this afternoon I'm not particularly interested in being
cut up, I'm a little bit busy".
The pointed finger circles to my temples miming madness satisfied their
hunger for a victor and the battle as won. These unknown faces whose
attention, (and cash) I so coveted became like the familiar eyes of
best friends and in the spotlight this lunatic paled like a comic who's
died on stage.
Threatened by his sudden public unpopularity, he walked away, as
unassumingly as he had arrived. Another face in the crowd, another
punter, his 15 metaphorical minutes of fame over and he'd blown it. I
got out my unicycle and they clapped. I mounted it and rose up. Yeh, I
was quite pleased with myself after that.