JUGGLERS do like to keep things airborne - hats, balloons, but especially paper darts - the air was full of flying, nose-diving objects as an amiable crowd of fully paid-up enthusiasts, and some curious outsiders like myself, waited for Lob'ster Circus, the Ninth Annual British Juggling Convention, to get under way.

But before that happened, a fire alarm transferred the merriment out of doors to the car park - where I managed to intercept a programme of events as it whizzed, dart-like, past my ear. The order of the days, apparently, had been workshops in such arcane practises as Advance Club Flourishing, Balls - How And What To Do With Fire and Balls and Mathematics. Gently my head began to spin - and the show hadn't even started.

But when it did, well it proved rather special. For one thing, there was a flesh-and-blood litmus test all around me, registering the difficulty and the artistry of the acts on stage.

Leading by an ecstatic gasp, and some envious sighs - the guys from Maine known as Blink. Americans, it seems, enjoy putting a scientific twist on juggling - one of their number has a doctoral thesis on parabolas to his name.

But none of this is allowed to get in the way of presenting quality, professional entertainment that engages amateurs, experts and ignorant onlookers alike.

Their forte is a kind of laid-back, dead-pan approach that has them moving unostentatiously from one amazing feat of dexterity to another. They have poise, dry humour and the ability to dazzle the eyes with marvellous patterns of weaving arms and flying balls.

Other acts, such as Haggis and Charlie and the gloriously eccentric Stretch People showed just how entertainingly good juggling can combine with zany comedy.

New technology is also coming into play - but as Simon Stapleton and his UV Parasols proved, when your props are fluorescent any slight mishap or drop becomes a massively glaring boo-boo, particularly when performing before an audience of your peers.