THERE were more flashing cameras than you'd find at a West End first night; more cheering than on a banana republic's presidential parade. I was party to both excesses.

It was the Nativity play at my three-year-old grandson's nursery; he'd been chosen to play Joseph. Rehearsal of his one line over the previous fortnight had driven his mother to distraction.

The village hall was packed to the rafters with parents and grandparents jostling for a better seat and vantage point for cameras and recorders. Small faces appeared around the closed curtains as some of the 40-plus cast of two- to four-year-olds tried to spot where families were sitting. 'Miss' made valiant efforts to retain the magic of theatre - as well as save them from falling off stage.

THE curtains opened to loud applause and the Angel Gabriel had the devil of a job making himself heard. But he soldiered on.

"You will have God's son," yelled the blond-haired top angel, eyes popping in wonderment.

A young narrator explained the bit about having to go to be taxed. Now came my grandson's line: "We will have to go to Bethlehem," he said confidently.

Perhaps I shouldn't have clapped, because it encouraged everyone to do the same - prompting him to give me a thumbs-up, and a bow to the audience. What a showman!

This set the tone. Each aspiring thespian was applauded who, in turn, responded vigorously.

A small woman tapped me on the arm.

"That's my granddaughter," she said proudly, pointing at the stage.

"Which one?" I asked.

"The sheep with the dummy in her mouth. She's only two," she added, justifying the need for it.

Several tots had blue dresses covered in cut-out stars. One came unattached, much to the dismay of the little red-haired girl. She picked it up and ran to the front of the stage.

"It's felled sic off," she called to mum, who made no move. Perhaps one star in the family was enough. A young member of the nursery staff steered the child back to her mark.

The angels' tinsel halos were causing problems. A couple resembling unstable satellite dishes perched awkwardly. There were four celestial beings, three in white purpose-made costumes with wings, the fourth - and smallest - in a pink net skirt and white cardigan. Surely not a fallen angel?

THE three kings appeared. "I bring you gold," announced the first. "I bring you . . . some fr- myrrh," said the second in desperation.

"No you haven't!" shouted the indignant third. "That's my present, isn't it Miss?" he cried, turning to the lady for confirmation after glaring at his former chum.

Meanwhile, the shepherds watched their sheep - even the one with the dummy - with the exception of a mischievous-looking chap. He was bored with the task and unimpressed by his outfit. Suddenly, he ripped it off and defiantly threw it to the wings. Somehow his Spiderman T-shirt looked out of place in a Bethlehem stable.

There should have been general rejoicing after the arrival of Jesus - Mary' later assured me it was her doll called Zoe. However, the shepherds, troublemakers to a tot, decided a fight was in order. Early Middle East tensions emerging? The curtain closed to unscripted chaos, the audience matching the children in volume with their noisy approval.

"Wasn't it wonderful?" said a beaming fellow granddad who, before the show, had displayed the dourness of an army general.

"Yes," I replied, adding without a hint of bias, "especially the little chap playing Joseph."