Then Jill Gatcum, 51, a technology consultant, used a helium machine to blow up 60 balloons, each representing a charity, which she then released. Battling a sudden downpour, she treated herself to a bit of helium at one point, breaking into a few falsetto lines from Follow the Yellow Brick Road.
In an age when reality television blurs the line between entertainment and cruelty, Gormley said, one of the things he likes about his project is that it is competition-free.
“We’re not voting people off the plinth because they haven’t fulfilled our expectations,” he said. “This is a celebration of self-expression.”
Leslie Cooke, a 60-year-old executive secretary, pronounced herself confused by the furry little tail on the panda-outfitted Seneviratne. “If he’s a normal person, why is he wearing that rabbit costume?” she said.
Scott Illman, a pub owner dressed as an old-fashioned town crier, read aloud a rigorously rhyming poem about the superiority of his pubs. Steve Platt, 54, used a chalkboard to share his Twitteresque on-the-spot musings. “I am not a pigeon,” he announced. And: “Where’s my money, Ben?”
Down on the ground, spectators meditated on what they might do if they were up there. Suggestions ranged from doing “something to represent the need for world peace” to dressing as Napoleon and shaking a vengeful fist at Admiral Nelson, smugly lording over everyone on his exceptionally tall column.
Johnson, the mayor, said: “I’d probably have to make an interminable Gadhafi-like speech about the bus subsidy.”
“I’m not sure it’s legal to do what I’d want to do,” said Anna Drezec, a 28-year-old accountant.
Eliza Pimlott, a secretary, said: “I’m tempted to wear a high-visibility jacket and shout at people to stop doing whatever they’re doing. I bet they would listen to me.”
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