Finsbury Park is playing host to a nomadic tribe of grifters, hustlers and escaped penitentiary inmates; that's right, the circus is in town. I became aware it was parked on the basket ball courts where I go to land slam dunk, a la Space Jam.
I traded in some currency for a chance to pass through the turnstile into a wonderland of games, spectacle and neon lighting. As I passed through the gates I was marked with a piece of chalk so all those damn carnies could see the money, aka The Big Yen, had arrived.
Drinks and poppers flow freely as long as you're still rolling high through the tests of strength, cunning and guile that have been the staple of fairground games for hundreds of years.
Also note that sawdust is still key to keeping a big tent ticking over in the modern world as it's great for absorbing piss, shit and blood. Apparently they're looking at it as a solution for one of the big recruitment consultancies in London.
Finally they ushered me into a tent, far away from the others with the promise of seeing a sub-human creature who squirts noxious venom from his glands. It turned out to just be just some guy with trotters tied to his hands. All purchases are final, no refunds, folks.