Acrobats at play

Last night I saw Collectif Acrobatique de Tangier at the Queen Elizabeth Hall (after handing one of my cards - with a hastily written short-short poem on the back - to a girl who, with powered-up laptop and coffee in tow, transported me from the idyll of the South Bank straight back to the office environment. No, I don't think she liked the poem I left her, but then it did drop a hint as subtle as a housebrick).

The acrobats were gentle and lithe-humoured, backing their feats with chanting and singing in Arabic, almost like a Sufi Qawwal. The troupe of 12 consisted of ten men and two ladies, who were the stars of the show, as well as the barrel-chested strongman - yes, he did have a fairly bushy moustache (must be mandatory).

It was the first time since my childhood where I have involuntarily uttered the word 'wow' at a public performance.