Oooh, are they going to give you a nice bright yellow leotard to wear? joked a friend the night before I was heading off to visit Cirque Du Soleils longest running show, Saltimbanco, in Manchester.
 The Canadian-born phenomenon, which began life as a group of street performers some 20 years ago, is now a global brand of touring shows and long-stay residences (most of which are in Las Vegas), the productions (which currently total eight) are a cross between circus act (juggling, acrobatics, highwire), those weird European TV comedies you flick past on satellite TV, and the extravagant opening ceremonies at Olympic Games - weird and wonderful characters in garish costumes and masks dancing, singing and generally leaping about the stage. There was, I told my friend, going to be no yellow leotard. At least I hoped not. Id agreed (no doubt late one night after one too many bottles of Stella) to go and visit the Cirque, take a look backstage and try my hand at a few of the shows (non-life threatening) acts.
 For insurance purposes the trapeze was thankfully never mentioned... We arrived at the big top (or Grand Chapiteau to give it its proper Cirque Du Soleil name) on the outskirts of Manchesters Trafford Centre - a very similar location to the one at StarCity, its home in Birmingham from the end of February - to be greeted by press officer Laurina, our guide for the day. It literally is a mobile village; apart from somewhere to actually sleep (they commandeer a large slice of a couple of city centre hotels), theres everything on site, from dressing rooms, training area and offices to canteen and school - each housed in either a trailer, tent or portakabin. No wonder it takes a week to set everything up.
 First port of call was the artistic tent, a circular mini top with crash mats, weights, exercise machines and notice boards, where cast members congregated to train, work out or prepare for the show (which is twice daily Friday to Sunday). Branching off from this tent are trailers which house wardrobe, dressing rooms etc, as well as an entrance to the main arena itself. Theres also a large white board emblazoned with notes and scribbles of times for tonights show and just who is doing what and playing which part, alongside which is a rack for the custom made headpieces and masks worn by the performers. Its a real hub of activity. Popping our heads into one of the make-up trailers, Laurina showed me one of the performers make-up guides - countless sheets of A4 showing a step by step guide on how to apply their own unique face, which can take anything from 15 minutes to two hours to apply. Mid-afternoon and we spot several cast not yet in costume but already made-up; quite a surreal sight. Time for my first lesson - juggling. My teacher was Maria Markova, a 21-year-old from Russia whod been juggling for more years than Id been in full-time education. Her act uses hard - but very bouncy - white balls about the size of a cricket/hockey ball. Some involves throwing them in the air as youd expect, but for the most part the balls are bounced off the floor in a cross motion from one hand to the other. It is all about the timing - one-twothree, she counted out in metronome-style as she effortlessly bounced them from one hand to the other. I had a go. One-two... three, my eyes focusing on catching the first two, so the third flew off to be caught by one of the acrobats warming up to my right. They must have thought I was a trainee clown, not juggler. Gradually I got better - comparatively speaking - until Maria suggested a different idea. Putting her arm around my waist and me doing likewise, we juggled between us, using my left hand and her right. It worked - and once Maria left me on my own again I actually juggled for a few brief moments. My achievements paled into insignificance, though, when we asked Maria to demonstrate. How many balls could she juggle? I do eight in the show, she said casually. I show you seven now. And she did, the balls a white blur as she gently patted them with her palms from hand to hand. I could practise every day until I got my free bus pass and Id still be off the pace. Maybe Id be better at the next task... Before I tackled another circus skill, however, we had a quick canteen break and called into the school, where the young performers or casts children take their lessons. The class of three we called into consisted of 18-year-old twins Ruslana and Taisiya (who perform the duo trapeze) and Canadian teenager Kevin - and I was the subject. Or rather journalism was - the trio keen to learn all about paparazzi, what constituted a bad interview, the legal aspects... 45 minutes later and I was all questioned out. Their minds, it seemed, were as active as their bodies. Next stop was the boleadoras and teacher No2, Adriana - a statuesque rather strict Argentine (who warmed to me a bit more when I told her Id recently been to Buenos Aires) whose partner Elisabetta was injured and would not be performing that night. During my training session Adriana narrowly escaped going the same way. The boleadoras are lengths of cord with small metal balls on the end, traditionally thrown by gauchos on the Pampas to catch stray cattle - the balls give weight and wrap the rope around the animals legs. I almost did the same thing to Adriana. Holding one in each hand, the idea - as youll see in the show - is to spin them in an arc parallel with your body, glancing the floor with the balls to mark out a beat, punctuating that with clicks of the heel. Yeah, right. I managed to get the balls swinging as it were, but once it came to coordinating feet as well, my arms went awry and Adriana found herself ducking a couple of times to avoid being garrotted. Laurina and our photographer just stood in the corner out of harms way, chuckling. You are journalist, yes? Adriana asked me. You stay journalist, she advised. It looked like I wouldnt be taking her partners place in the evening show. I hadnt blotted my copybook entirely, however, and was trusted with the truncheon-like sticks to have a go at Taiko drumming which forms another element of the show; percussionist Gilles (already with his make-up on ready for the show) taking me through the technique; I imagine the skin is further back than it really is, so you hit it that bit harder, he told me, before thumping out a deafening beat which I struggled to repeat. It was, as with many things in the show, much harder than it looked. Even the simplest of tasks were not straightforward. Normally the job of the production manager, earlier in the day I was given half a dozen tickets which the cast use in the early part of the show (where they sit amongst the audience, holding up their tickets to pretend theyre paying customers), and told to write a joke or amusing line to make each performer smile as they came on. Half past six and I was still struggling to think of more than a couple - eventually going for things like hes behind you and break a leg - perhaps not the best choice of phrase for a show where acrobats fly high into the roof, slide headfirst down poles or balance on the highwire. They seemed to be pleased with my efforts, though. At the eleventh hour - well, seven oclock to be precise - I finally found something I was good at. Traditionally the job of stage manager Chloe (a fellow Brummie, whos been with the show for the last few months), I was told I was to get the coveted job of ringing the bell to open the doors to the public. Stood in the middle of the stage, I grabbed the rope with both hands and, as instructed, pulled heavily then let the cord gently go back up. Quasimodo eat your heart out. Three more gos and I was getting into it... okay I think thats enough, said Chloe, and I turned to see dozens of excited Mancunians already filing in to take their seats. I had finally found my vocation. Saltimbanco runs from February 24 at StarCity, off Junction 6 of the M6; adult tickets are £17-£39, discounts available for children, students, seniors and groups. Call 0870 010 9026 to book or go to www.cirquedusoleil.com | 
