It may be a laughing matter, but that's the whole point of a bid to bring the annual convention of the World Clown Association to Scotland. Gavin Bell talks to the motley crew of prime movers

It could be argued, and it frequently is, that Glasgow is full of clowns. ''See you, ya clown?'' is one of the more familiar epithets bandied about as a prelude to lively debates. It is a well-known fact, for example, that on Saturdays clowns wearing blue scarves get a kick out of clowns wearing green scarves, and vice-versa. Never a dull moment in the cavalcade of life in the city blessed by Mr Happy, you might say.

If a bunch of professional jokers get their way, however, this impromptu frivolity may be upstaged by a much grander international event. For the recently formed Caledonian Clown Club, from its headquarters in a back room of a toy shop near Glasgow Cross, is bidding to bring the annual convention of the World Clown Association to the city in 1999.

This may sound funny, but it is no joke. The WCA, presently based in Pennsylvania, stages its annual jamboree outside the United States only once very four years, attracting hundreds of the world's greatest clowns and their families to a five-day funfest of galas and parades and competitions.

With them come foreign television crews, radio reporters, and magazine writers to record their antics and project cheerful images of the host city. In the process, a lot of people have a lot of fun and spend a lot of money.

''Nothing like this has ever been seen in Scotland,'' says Pretty Polly, aka Pauline Harrison, president of the Caledonian Clown Club. ''It would be a wonderful lift for Glasgow.'' Her partner, Cheeko the Clown, alias Tommy Templeton, affirms: ''It would put Scottish clowning on the world map.'' And Stan Gough, who owns the toy shop where the magic idea was born, says: ''It would be a once in a lifetime experience for children.''

Initial approaches to the WCA executive committee in Pittsburgh have elicited a favourable response, although at least two Canadian cities are also bidding for the 1999 convention. The success of Braveheart has helped the Scottish cause, and Pauline is hoping to attend the next convention in Illinois in April to promote a gathering of the clowns by the Clyde.

The Scottish bid is being supported by the great Verco, otherwise known as Arthur Pedlar, once the youngest member of the Clown Hall of Fame. As president of Motley Alley, the English clown club, he helped to bring the world congress of more than 700 clowns to Southport in 1995.

''To the average clown he's just away up there,'' says Tommy. ''He's one of the finest exponents of clowning you will see.''

With such luminaries of laughter backing them, they believe Glasgow could be in with a fighting chance, and Tommy has already come up with a promotional slogan: ''Come to Glasgow for a laugh and go home in stitches.'' On reflection, he admits it might be a bit close to the bone.

If their bid is successful, however, the city could look forward to an extravaganza of processions and competitions for the funniest and best-dressed clowns in the world - effectively a ''Clown Olympics''. One of the most popular contests is 'paradeability', in which a section of street is sectioned off for strolling players to perform their art before judges and an appreciative public.

It is also customary for delegates to don motley, as their ensemble is known, and visit local hospitals, schools, and old folks' homes. Among themselves there are workshops on make-up and balloon modelling, and a trade exhibition of esoteric items such as silly noses and very big shoes, but that's as serious as it gets.

Pauline cites another reason for wanting to bring her comical brethren to Glasgow: ''As a mother, I've become aware that fewer and fewer children get to see real clowns. They've virtually disappeared from television, and when you think of what they put on for children now it makes you despair. Clowns are funnier and kinder, but we're becoming an endangered species.''

The good news is that Stan reckons the survivors in Scotland can rub red noses with the best in the world. ''I think our bid is being given serious consideration partly because of the high quality of clowning in Scotland. The general standard compares favourably with anywhere else.''

Presently the little band of 23 jesters registered with the Caledonian Clown Club include a bank manager, a college principal, an ex-fireman, and a few engineers. As for the sharpness of their wit, a lout who mocked Tommy during a performance outside a shopping centre was silenced by the response: ''I'm a professional clown, what's your excuse?''

Pauline says: ''You can't just put on a funny suit and be a clown. It's not even something you can learn, it has to come from the heart. And you have to love children.'' Tommy agrees: ''Aye, but I couldn't eat a whole one.''

The club has begun discussions with Glasgow District Council on venues and support facilities, and is staging a fund-raising Clown Ball at the Pinetrees Inn in Renfrewshire on March 8. In the meantime, Stan cordially invites anyone with any bright ideas on promoting the initiative to give him a call at his shop, which is called The Big Top.

Pauline adds, quite unwittingly: ''Aye, the more the merrier.''