IT was the opening night of opera Aida and every seat in Manchester's Palace Theatre was booked last night. To mark the most lavish production of Verdi's epic the venue has ever staged, 20 members of the public were given the chance to take part. Reporter CAROLINE INNES was one of them. Here she recounts her ten minutes in the spotlight. . .

SOME might think it was a foolish idea to let a bunch of people off the street loose on stage in front of a full house at Manchester's Palace Theatre. And, to be honest, until I met my fellow extras, so did I.

My mind was filled with images of a budding starlet seizing her chance at fame, pushing over the lead performer and bursting into song to the horror of producer Ellen Kent.

But she knew what she was doing - and everyone knew their place.

Ellen had wanted to get the public involved in the grand production and had advertised for extras in The Lancashire Evening Telegraph - no experience or talent necessary.

Upon entering the theatre through the stage door, just after 5pm, I was shown to dressing room eight where I met 12 women who had also seen the advert for extras and decided to give it a go.

Now the difference between them and me was that most of them were either studying drama and dance with a view to a future career on the stage or had done this sort of thing many times before in various amateur dramatic productions.

As they recounted tales of the stage and past performances my nerves began to set in.

None of us had much idea about what we could expect as the brief had simply been to turn up to receive costumes and go into make-up before our debut parts as members of the enslaved Egyptian Royal family.

And it really was as simple as that.

As we sat in the dressing room listening to rehearsals take place and watching frantic cast members rush around in ballet shoes speaking a mix of Russian and Romanian it was hard not to feel out of place. But curtain-up was still some time away, at 7.15pm, so all the extras were rounded up and taken backstage to wait by a life-size model elephant and cages filled with stuffed birds for our run-through.

We were to be escorted on stage by guards wielding fierce looking spears following the king who was on top of the elephant. The guards were under strict instruction to rough us up a bit and to jab us with the spears when necessary.

At 6pm, with just over an hour to go, the novices took to the stage for our rehearsal.

But Ellen, who was putting the finishing touches to what was months of hard work, was not happy.

She said: "Now everyone, you are the Egyptian Royal family and you are proud and defiant.

"Try and walk on dramatically and don't, whatever you do, look at the audience and stay very still. Now let's do that again but with more feeling."

We did it again...and then again, just to make sure.

Once she was happy with our performance - by this time it was 6.25pm - Ellen disappeared and the stage manager said: "Right, now let's practice how to get you off."

At 7pm, as the lead cast members were receiving their final calls, I was taken down to wardrobe and dressed by a non-English speaking wardrobe mistress who frisked me up and down to gauge what size of costume I needed. If I had thought the dowdy brown dress and moccasin sandals were bad nothing had prepared me for the beaded wig that was pinned on my head, giving me a headache as soon as it was secured in place.

And as we heard the opening bars of the orchestra strike up through the speakers which are in every room of the theatre, the make-up artist put the finishing touches to my transformation into an Egyptian Royal.

The music and singing sounded amazing and it was unbelievable to think that it was going on just a few floors below me and, worryingly, in less than 40 minutes I would be on stage alongside them.

Before we knew it we had been called and were standing in the wings waiting for our big moment.

As I watched the action from the sidelines it was hard not to feel nervous.

The performance looked breathtaking and on screens backstage the conductor could be seen leading the cast.

Suddenly we were given handcuffs and chains to wear to complete the down-trodden look and then, as rehearsed, we marched out behind the elephant to take our place alongside the cast on stage in front of a sell-out crowd. Sticking clearly to Ellen's direction I dared not look at the audience in case I was quickly identified as an impostor among the professionals.

But as the chorus belted out the scene's finale around us the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

The singing was fantastic and the sheer power and volume of the voices was awesome - and the performers were not even wearing microphones.

The stage had felt cold during the warm up but with the lights and audience it now felt enveloped in a warm glow.

Within minutes it was all over and we left the stage unshackled and free.

I had been concentrating so hard on not getting things wrong that the actual time on stage seemed like a blur.

By 8.40pm we were in the dressing room removing the wigs and make-up and discussing how it had gone as the opera continued beneath us.

It was a fleeting taste of life treading the boards and the reality for the cast is not as glamorous as you would imagine.

I really enjoyed the opportunity to be a star for the night - but think I will leave it to the professionals in future.