magic magic magic

My two phobias are a little weirder than most, admittedly. One: don’t throw things at me - a ball, a set of keys, a Frisbee, ‘the book’ (if you’re police) - because I will cower like a maltreated dog. To say I catch ‘like a girl’ would be wildly inaccurate - I don’t catch at all.

I was confronted by Weird Phobia Number Two in a pub last night. I could see his shiny jacket, from the corner of my eye, as he sharked in and out of the Friday night crowd, looking for unsuspecting punters. My heart beat a little faster. The pub in question, a really nice neighbourhood bar in Kentish Town, was celebrating its anniversary and, to mark the occasion, they’d put up balloons (ahh) prepared lots of finger food (double ahh) and booked, surely not, no, it can’t be, too late they have, they’d booked...a magician.

I could see him bothering a few people at the table nearby. Too close. I started to feel warm under the collar. It's an odd aversion to have to explain to C, a good friend of ten years, who happened to be sitting there with me. She took it in her stride (again, ten years) and, like most people over the age of twelve, I don't think she's particularly wild about them either. This meant we were bound, by the law of the universe (or sod), to get an unwelcome table visit.

Magicians, like cats, always gravitate to the person in a room who likes them the least. Cats, being contrary critters by nature, get off on that. Why sit on the lap of someone who actually wants you to? Where’s the cat fun in that? Magicians, meanwhile, are like passive-aggressive bullies. In sequins. Driven by ego, they are magnetically drawn to proving their brilliance to those who dislike them the most. People like me. And I really dislike them in the same way that some people dislike clowns, or celery or George Bush.

Is it the annoying smugness? The standard-issue spangly jackets? The prissy hand movements? Or the association with the Masons-like Magic Circle with its aura of school ground politics, one-upmanship and almost universal bad hair? Whatever it is, it makes me want to scream ‘get a proper job’ whenever one sidles up in my direction. And, yes, it’s probably a little unfair and maybe they don’t all sound like Paul McKenna and yes, they probably train very, hard to keep up ‘the illusion’, thank you very much.

Still, they are bloody irritating. And what use would they be in a crisis? What good would they be if, in some unseen awful catastrophe, we suddenly had to survive on our wits and some poorly remembered Ray Mears factoids? Unless one can actually pull a bloody rabbit out of a hat, they'd be cockroach fodder with the life expectancy of a Star Trek extra.

Course, as predicted, this particular magician came over just as soon as he’d finished boring the other table. C saved the day, flashing her brightest smile she held him off with: "I’m sorry, my friend here gets a little panicky around magicians, you know, in the same way some people get a little freaked about clowns…?"

At first he walked away confused. Perhaps he’s never met anyone who didn’t want to be ‘entertained’ before. Then he got a little annoyed and came back over: "No skin off my nose, s’not like I have to do this" Quite. But then, it's your choice. Like it's my choice not to be a participating audient. How would he like it if I walked in on him having a quiet drink in a pub and forced him to play Scrabble or watch an entire series of The Wire (because I find THAT entertaining)?

So, that’s it. Balls and magicians. I’d see a hypnotist about my problem, but then, knowing my luck, he’d turned out to be a stage one.