YOU turn up at the Project at 9 p.m., and a bus around the corner whisks you off to the old Iveagh fish market, long devoid of piscine activity. For the next 45 minutes or so, you are in the hands of a company named Crisus, five young men dressed as what they term industrial nomads, presenting a show called SAPA.

The first appears in the poorish light wearing lots of rags and old iron, going bong at will. He has a lighted torch with which he sets fire to briquettes on a grill, then goes to work in percussion corner boxes, barrels and such on which he thumps away. A second appears in an enormous headdress, takes canisters of water from a contraption on one side and dumps them on the other.

The other performers appear in equally bizarre costumes, to manipulate more complex gadgetry and apparently threaten one other. There are a couple of Heath Robinson vehicles, a fairground type swing, petrol powered sculpture and more, all in motion to a noisy back ground. While this is happening, the audience wanders about tracking the action until it ends suddenly and inconclusively.

I found it all deeply emotional. The dominant emotion was apprehension, lest they hurt themselves or, less worthily, hurt me. So what was it all about? Ah, c'mon; give me a break.