You’re thin enough, you might make it as a trapeze artist,’ the man said. ‘Come to my caravan this evening for an audition.’ I stared at him, delighted, but a little suspicious. How did one audition for a trapeze artist job in a small caravan?
I was 18, star-struck by his muscles and gold-spangled tights. A new life of high-wire glamour flashed before my eyes. I had not known, when I took on the job of fire steward at the circus, that it might lead to such dizzying heights.
But it
