TO think I could have been Sandy in Grease. I could have taken to a West End stage dressed in a sexy, figure-hugging little number and sung You're The One That I Want opposite some hunky bloke.

That could have been me. If only I hadn't been born too early.

I get so mad when I watch those TV shows - Maria, Any Dream Will Do, Grease Is The Word.

Why is it only now that ordinary members of the public get the chance to take the lead role in West End musicals?

There was nothing like this when I was young. The only time you got to audition for the stage was for the odd school play, when you would creep out sheepishly, to the dull thudding of an out-of-tune piano, and attempt to sing something in front of all your giggling mates.

Despite having the voice of an angel, I was never brave enough to do that, so I contented myself with door duties, giving out programmes and showing people to their seats.

Once you had left school, unless you'd secured a place at RADA or some such stage school, you were destined to never again get the chance to tread the boards.

You might win a competition to go backstage and meet the star of a West End musical, but as for having a crack at taking the lead role - it was unheard of.

Now every Tom, Dick and Harry gets to have a go at being Maria, Joseph, or Sandy.

I remember one show where ordinary people from all sorts of backgrounds - bar staff, bankers, shopkeepers, housewives, teachers - were picked to make up the entire cast of a West End production of Chicago.

Like most kids of today, my children - who love these search-for-a-star shows - genuinely believe that all they have to do to take centre stage at the Palladium is ring a number on the telly and turn up at the local town hall.

I realise that hopefuls have to be of a reasonable standard to get through to the last 3,000 or whatever, but at least they get the chance. It is sad to think how many gifted individuals like me went by the wayside before shows like this came along. On the other hand, had these televised talent shows existed sooner, Jason Donovan might have found himself being told: "Sorry, you're not Joseph." Julie Andrews might not have been Maria and Olivia Newton John may have found herself pipped at the post by a hairdresser from Cleethorpes.

But for us middle-aged and older citizens, we will never get the chance to see our names in lights. Or maybe there's still hope. It would nice to extend the Maria format into other forms of theatre - Shakespeare, for example. I'd be perfect as a Macbeth witch - I wouldn't even need make-up.