Amateur theatre is an effervescent affair, where teachers, professors and investment bankers gather and express. Here are found mannish giants tottering in maid’s outfits and septa-centarian biblical boat-keepers confessing to divine misrepresentation, a dinner-table’s worth of ambitious but tragic women, or dragged-up equivalents of the same.

Am dram, eh? It may sound like a taste best acquired by the relatives of the cast, but if you can see yourself following a non-league football team week in an week out, then surely its possible to imagine the flashes of production inspiration, or the joy of stumbling upon an unexpectedly powerful performance from a name to note, should fame follow them. James Conlon was my find of the evening, but there were plenty of others.

And where else could you find three shows for the price of one? Still two days left to catch them, if you can.