Bill sent me a message, and asked me if I fancied writing something about how he still can’t really describe what I do. Look, I’d be annoyed about that, but I can’t easily sum up what I am either, and I’ve been doing it for 33 years, so I have no high ground here.

Whenever I work a new venue, or with a new MC, they will, invariably, ask me how I would like to be introduced. “What should I say?”, they’ll ask, and I’ll shrug like it’s my first time doing this. (Although I do have to mention, my favourite ever intro, from my friend Ophelia Bitz – “Our next guest is a cabaret legend. A very big fish, in what is, admittedly, a puddle”)

So – let’s take a run at this.

I’m a juggler. Of sorts. Kinda. But it’s complicated.

See, when I say juggler, I know what you think – either a baggy-trousered dubious-looking children’s entertainer, or a spandex-clad, even more dubious inhabitant of some kind of grating cirque. But these are just what juggling has become – they’re not what it was. Back when jugglers headlined the biggest venues in the world, it was a more varied, theatrical and interesting artform.

Take modern comedy, for example. Many styles, right? You have your observational, your satirical, your one-liner merchant, your improvisers, your physical comedy acts, your sketch troupes etc… right?

Well, back in the day, juggling was like that too. No, really.

There were strong man (and lady) jugglers, who performed dangerous feats of dexterity with heavy things. Real life superheroes who could toss cannonballs around like tennis balls.

Restaurant jugglers, who would have a stage set like a restaurant, and be waiters, chefs and customers on a date, as they played out a scene where every element of a night out was a trick. Like a play viewed through the lens of circus.

How about tramp jugglers – a comedic reaction to the well dressed playboys who they shared the bill with – shabby clowns who stumbled through tricks with cigar boxes, bottles, etc.

Bonus points if you can tell me which international movie star started his career as a world famous tramp juggler, and is pictured here. You’ll have to ask me for the answer on Twitter.

And then there were gentleman jugglers. Dapper, stylish, cool characters who would casually flip their hat around, twirl their cane, maybe pull a tablecloth or two…

I’m a nerd. I used to scan through archives of Victorian newspapers in Westminster library to search out the occasional review of a touring juggling act. That’s where I found gentleman jugglers, and also found my inspiration. I loved the idea that in the world of this character, tricks weren’t tricks, they were just the cool, clever way things were done, because the person doing them was cool, and clever. The circus equivalent of Fonzie smacking the jukebox to play a record.

At the time, I wasn’t cool or clever. I was nervous and shy. So, if I could learn some of these tricks, and maybe wear a suit, and perhaps even learn how to be a cool gentleman on stage, well, then maybe I might get a little less shy off stage, too.

So that was that. Or at least that was my starting point. But since then I’ve meandered off on theatrical tangents. I’m still a juggler at heart, and manual dexterity still forms the centre of what I do, but my last theatre show also contained lockpicking, and knife throwing, and a trick with a golf club, so. Yeah…

The other half of this, of course, is that I’m a comedy performer. Regardless of what I’m doing – juggling, or something more esoteric and less describable – I try to be funny while I’m doing it. Please note the word try. Otherwise it would just be the worst kind of showing-off, right?

As an audience member, I’m not really interested in watching something where the whole message is “Here’s something I can do, that you can’t.” It seems like a waste of theatre. There’s so much more that can be communicated. Tell me why you learned it, tell me why I want to see it, tell me more…

I do tricks, sure. And I love tricks. But they’re just a reason for me to be on stage – and once I’m there, I want to have a conversation with you, tell you about myself, learn about you, make you laugh, and yeah, ideally, gasp, maybe.

Have I answered the question of how to describe what I do yet, Bill? No. I don’t think I have.

Back in the day, I would have been a vaudevillian. A speciality. People would have known what that meant, but not so much these days. I’m a gentleman juggler, but nobody knows what that is. I’m an entertainer, except that conjures up images of sequined jackets and Neil Diamond covers. One of my past shows was called “Showman,” and that’s vague but accurate. Circus artist? Well, sure, except I don’t work in a circus. Magician? Nope. Carnie? Yeah.

We’re no closer. Maybe we should crowdsource this. Tweet me. What am I? Be nice.

M