If in this day and age it's possible for the talentless to become famous purely by having their faces on TV, it must conversely follow that a lack of TV exposure will make any kind of success impossible.

How, then, do you explain the line of people snaking across Princes Park on Tuesday evening, queueing to see Continental Circus Berlin?

Personally I can't, but it's heartening to see an art form thrive without the kind of mass media exposure routinely lavished on, say, the film and music industries.

Circus may not be as sophisticated or glamorous as the aforementioned disciplines but it can be every bit as exciting. When, for instance, you see a man bouncing up and down on a tightrope then performing a somersault over a row of razorsharp knives, it's quite something to know you're not just watching a computer-generated illusion.

Acts have come from around the world to show off their skills beneath the star-spangled canvas of Circus Berlin's big top: from Colombia come Los Marinos, chortling at death as they cycle across the high wire and run blindfold round the outside of the giant rotating space wheel; from China come the Oriental Warriors, wielders of sledgehammers to break bricks on heads (their own, it should be stressed); and from Bulgaria come the Ikar troupe, who make it look easy to see-saw up on to the shoulders of someone who's already standing on the shoulders of someone standing on a fourth party's shoulders.

There's also a contingent of performers on loan from the Spanish National Circus, including Nicol, the aforementioned spinner of knife-defying tightrope somersaults, and Michael, who juggles with clubs, hats, ping-pong balls and, at one point, a cascade of five footballs.

Nicol and Michael also form two-thirds of Los Nikols, a traditional clown act involving music and a large amount of water. To be honest, the clowning is not done with the same expertise as the juggling and the knife-somersaulting but, such is the infectious joy of the performers, it really doesn't matter.