That was ... er ... Good Grief! ... thirty-six years ago ... but I think about it whenever an inexperienced director suggests that he or she should play in his or her own production. I usually say something like, "Well ... you've only got one 110% to give, so maybe you should give it to one job or the other, not to both," but I'm thinking about "AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY".

I had cast a rather handsome and dignified-looking major (rank being of paramount importance in the military situation of that era) in the lead, the lead being a successful stockbroker forced into mid-life crisis by his rebellious progeny. It is a fact that genuine English gentlemen cannot lie convincingly, so, when - about three weeks before the up - he summoned me to his office for a private chat, I knew in advance (more or less) what he was about to say. He had a very pretty little wife whose voice proclaimed her proletarian origins, but he shamefacedly informed me that military commitments had rendered his continuation in the role impossible. It would have served no purpose for me to confirm that I knew the truth of the matter: that his wife did not approve of his being directed by a lance-corporal. Far better to accept the situation and put myself into the part, rather than to disappoint all the other loyal people who had worked so hard. All ends were served when I asked him to watch the final rehearsals and comment as he felt necessary, while I continued trying to be in two places at once, giving my all to both jobs. Never again!

So, from the foregoing, you can select several reasons why that particular production remains seared into our memories. Luckily, our Audiences liked what they saw and wanted more.

Over recent months, however, another worm of reasoning has wriggled out of the sludge of nostalgia. My (the major's and mine) character had a speech that goes something like this: "Years ago a man had to struggle upwards through the night, sometimes having to die before he could make even the slightest claim to fame, but, in this enlightened epoch, some silly so-and-so has only to waggle his navel before a television camera and within twenty-four hours he's practically IMMORTAL!"

How truly perspicacious and prophetic was that speech.

We have been unable to avoid occasional glimpses of those excruciatingly appalling television programmes that claim to dredge the lower depths of humanity in search of "talent". Endless processions of unpaid growlers and squeakers parade one at a time before a panel of paid "experts" (to whom my heart would go out in sympathy were they not so excessively rewarded - in pecuniary terms, that is - for their undoubted suffering, and were they not granted a right in self-defence to savage the egos of the young strutters).

One of the problems, I think, emanates from the ease with which teams of squalling, grinning gymnasts have been able to extract the unearned wealth of a gullible generation, thus to finance their own orgies of self-indulgence. (God, I'm jealous!) One cannot be surprised that so many thousands of children wish to eschew anonymity and hard work as prerequisites to fame and fortune. Perhaps the Chancellor should pay each of the squawking supplicants one million pounds and save us all a lot of grief.

So we made a point of watching the final stages (only) of the one they call "Fame Academy". Here, we watched the death throes of a gargantuan process of selection, rejection and tuition. We saw the successful candidates striving toward perfection.

Perhaps, in my advancing years, my memory is playing tricks with me, but I seem to recall a feeling of joy when brilliant teachers expended months of their lives on giving we eager students of their knowledge. We worked and worked at Mime, Movement, Maskwork, Speech, Voice Production, Improvisation, Interpretation, all aspects of Design (set, props, wardrobe, posters and promotion), Construction and Stage Management, Methods of Direction ... and more, and more, and we adored every absorbent moment of it.

The winning students of this much-vaunted Fame Academy seemed to have received advanced tuition in Vowel-sound Strangulation, Consonant Misplacement, Key Avoidance, Voice-straining, Rhythmic Twitching, Anguished Scowling and Unearthly Wailing of boringly repetitive lyrics to tuneless tunes. Yet they were declared to be on the brink of unparalleled success - with its inevitable financial rewards - in the Music and Popular Entertainment industry. Have I missed something? Were they in fact training to be presenters on children's television?

Clearly, we in Amateur Theatre must re-think our audition and training methods: "Years ago a man had to struggle upwards through the night, sometimes having to die before he could make even the slightest claim to fame, but, in this enlightened epoch, some silly so-and-so has only to waggle his navel before a television camera and within twenty-four hours he's practically immortal."

How true, how true, how true ...

Jonah was a very experience director, teacher and writer who sadly passed away in February 2006. He was also the author of the highly successful "Playmaker - The Craft of Directing Plays (The Way I Seen It)".