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The first guy’s smile was too sinister for my liking. The next guy’s glowing red nose made serious conversation difficult.

The bell rang. Third time lucky, I hoped.

A flower. Good start. Not so good when I ended up with an eyeful of water.

“All men are clowns,” my friend said, convincing me that speed dating with the Clown Club of Britain was an okay idea.

I perked up as I spied the bell-ringer. No clown suit, nice smile, normal nose.

“Hi,” I said. “You’re not a clown, are you?”

“No, a magician,” he replied, and promptly disappeared.


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