Circus life is like no other. I can’t imagine any other way of life that’s full of the same myths, traditions and folklore. But it’s also a life full of danger and fear. It’s not for everyone; you need to be a certain kind to follow a life in the Circus. That’s why the same families have been involved down the years. Their tips and techniques passed secretly from generation to generation. To reveal the furtive tricks of one’s trade is enough to see you banished and exiled from the Circus for good.

Even after all these years I still feel trepidation and anxiety, as the circle darkens and those bright lights come up. Yet I would never give it up, could never walk away from the sense of freedom and belonging it provides. Besides, what else could I do? My father never passed on his jealously guarded secrets for me to just squander because it’s a harder way of life these days.

He was a real magician you see. He knew how to work a crowd. A sleight of hand here, a feint there – he was the ultimate professional. As a young boy, allowed up for the first time to watch his performance, I marveled at how easy he made it all look. From that moment I was hooked. But it’s much tougher these days. People have grown accustomed to the old tricks. They’re not so easily fooled anymore and I have to devise new and intriguing ways to ensure my own performance matches the standards my father set.

I look at the excited, expectant faces – even adult eyes are full of awe. It’s amazing how many still flock to the Circus these days.

And, as I step amongst them, it’s their clown-like naivety I most love. A bulging back-pocket here, a gaping rucksack there. It really is the greatest show on earth!

Silently I slice open a bag and the purse inside is now mine. I look around, but only the eyes of Eros seem to be watching me, a shadowy thief working the punters in Piccadilly Circus.