A couple of months ago my niece got married. It was a beautiful and generous simcha; naturally enough, there were many people there I did not know, most of whom, I assumed, were from the bridegroom's side. Walking through the reception area's acres of carpet I all but stumbled on a strange woman in a powder-blue suit, a handbag at her feet. She was juggling.

No-one seemed to know who she was; eventually it emerged that she was a neighbour of the groom and that she, er, enjoyed simchas.

So far, so bizarre. Last night I drove past Hampstead's Whitestone Pond, which for the last six weeks or so has been drained back to the concrete while various workmen stand around and suck their teeth a lot, and the poor ducks who usually live there flap about, distressed that their usual feeding place has evaporated.

And there, in the middle of the drained pond, was the juggler, dressed in what we must now recognise as her trademark powder-blue suit, tossing balls up in the air. The traffic which passed her honked - perhaps in appreciation?

Later, it transpired that her performance had made the London freesheet, Metro, which wondered whether the "mystery woman juggler" was practising for the 2012 Olympics. It's my bet she was actually practising for the next simcha.