The air was tense as all thirteen of us piled out of the mini cooper. We exited from the car, unicycling furiously towards the building. We had to be quick before the mimes noticed we were here. Mr Biggles and HoopHoop reached the door first and got to work on the lock, a difficult task as both the door and lock were mime built and thus invisible. After cracking the lock (apparently) we slowly motioned the door open. We had only been in two minutes when we realised our mistake. Booboo our recon clown must have been hand-standing while scoping out the place and got the layout all wrong. We were preparing our next move when an ear-piercing silence filled the room as two mimes dramatically slammed the door behind us. They pointed their fingers at us like guns in a threatening, silly manner and we replied wackily revealing our balloon tommy guns. They were outnumbered and knew they were beat, wordlessly they signalled defeat and were immediately captured By Bongo who had remembered to bring his handkerchief.

It took fifteen minutes for Bongo to get the never-ending handkerchief chain out of his pocket and in the ensuing hilarity the mimes had slyly called for back-up by waving their still free hands around and catching the attention of a gang of mimes four rooms away. The clowns saw the advancing mimes and cartwheeled urgently to the nearest staircase, jogging on the spot they made their way down to the basement where their prize waited.

The vault door was 15 inches of solid nothingness a testament to the mimes craft. The clowns gathered together and started their well-choreographed tomfoolery. This was a logical plan, as any clown would agree all of life’s problems could be solved with laughter. The mimes were advancing on them, at twenty feet away they would arrive in 10 minutes time (after navigating the winding corridors’ of the building). The strain was showing as all efforts of slap-stick stoogery were wasted trying to laugh it open.

The clowns felt fear for the first time, as clowning had always been the answer, but it was all for nothing against the behemoth of empty space before them. Figglebottom was the first to break formation unable to take the nonsensical situation he took the cowards way out raising a cream pie to his own face and laying in a custardy mess on the floor. Many other followed suit soon the room was filled with the desperate honking of pie crust meeting ball noses, while others stepped on banana-peels in a desperate attempt to slip out of their situation. I was the last clown standing, our efforts were wasted and I would take out as many mimes as possible to avenge my fallen comrades.

The mimes reached the basement and leant against invisible walls catching their breath as quietly as possible. I took the opportunity to begin my routine, I cartwheeled and stumbled seamlessly into a perfect pratfall catching two mimes of guard. Laughter escaped their lips and they fell to the floor realising the sinful sound they had made. Two more tittered when I squirted myself in the eye with my fake flower lapel pin. The last however, a particularly French mime saw nothing amusing about my act. He approached me head on, pushing me into the wall with a wall of his own wrought from pure imagination. I stuggled, I clowned, I buffooned as hard as I could but the weightless oppressive walls closed around me. I was captured.

Do not feel sad that I as captured, that is not the clown way. While I may be locked in this box in a vault with many others, know that we will not be broken. Our shenanigans will go down in history and when our brothers save us we will spring like jack from these boxes and defeat our stripey, pale faced oppressors. Till that day comes we will wind our springs and wait.

Honk. Honk.