The philosopher proposes marriage publicly to the masseuse he met 24 hours previously. Amanda, a creative soul on the dole, cries with anguish in front of near-strangers then recites John Donne. And Adrian, a venture capitalist and closet harmonica player, sings a sentimental Swedish song. The course leader says you can have whatever you can imagine. So we scream, sing and improvise.

This is The Mastery, an Actors’ Institute weekend course where you learn to express your creativity. Most of the aspiring poets and musicians (chartered accountants to travel agents) haven’t performed before. But we’ve all learned a two-minute piece.

We wear name laqels in true self-development seminar style and go into the hall where fruit and fruit teas are laid out next to the notice board with a card saying: ‘Wanted. New home for 2 terrapins.’

Veronica ‘Ronnie’ Roberts, actress and management trainer, is the course leader and turns out to be insightful and brave. (The course is confidential, so the other names have been changed.) This is not the National Theatre, she says, but a place to take risks.

Seventeen participants and 10 helpers listen attentively, with recycled notebooks on their knees. Why are we here? One person is ‘here to change’, another to ‘gain confidence’ and another to ‘be a better performer’. The helpers introduce themselves. Marco, an actor and Buddhist; Cynthia, who interprets sign language . . .

Now it’s our turn to tell the group about ourselves. Fear of humiliation rears its head. ‘Breathe and dare to make eye contact,’ Ronnie implores, for the first of five million times. The atmosphere becomes confessional. Andrew, a former surveyor, reveals that he had an affair while he was married. When he’s through, the audience claps acknowledgement. Clarissa is shy and a senior civil servant. She recently did a leadership course – potholing, climbing rocks – and feels born again. More clapping. Clive, the philosopher, doesn’t like telling the truth and is a compulsive smiler and yawner. Clap, clap. There are tears and laughter until 1.30am. Homework is to write three goals for the weekend and spend five minutes looking in the mirror. Next morning, participants say they haven’t slept. Too excited. Up drinking tea and coffee and chatting. They feel energised, I feel tired.

Now it’s time to relate what happened while looking in the mirror. ‘I looked in my eyes and saw all the pain,’ says one. ‘I looked at my mouth and saw a hard line.’

‘The first thing I noticed,’ says another, ‘was that I assumed I was going to look very ugly.’

A management consultant says her goal is to make a speech in front of 400 people. A girl in apres-ski boots and flowery shirt says she’d like to learn to cope with her emotions. And John is ‘up for a row with anyone who wants one’.

Next we take one corner and call it Love, another Anger and another Need. Participants stand in each and express the feeling of that corner to participants in the other two. In the Anger corner you see contorted faces, screaming and stomping. ‘I L-O-V-E you,’ responds the man, down on his knee in the Love corner, crying. ‘I need more love in my life.’

‘Why don’t you listen to me. I neeeeeed you,’ a woman shrieks to him from the Need corner. Ronnie encourages and motivates. Which results in more happy-clappy people. More tears. And more recycled Kleenex.

‘Keith, I feel you’re dead inside,’ says Ronnie, kindly. He agrees. Ronnie works with him, coaxing and challenging like a shrink on holiday. Later Keith, a Jesus Christ lookalike, looks as if he’s been born again. ‘A minor miracle,’ he says.

Now what do we want to communicate in the two-minute pieces we have prepared? Someone wants to express her sensuality; another her lovability. What does Adam want to do? ‘Two poems. One God one. Another lust and gutter job.’ He farts creatively.

A girl in purple leggings and political T-shirt recites Jack Kerouac. ‘Doing this is very scary,’ she says, trembling. Next Susie, resonant and powerful and in platform shoes and green jeans, sings an aria from La Boheme, in Italian.

The venture capitalist is on the floor expressing the defiance of someone on skid row. Carl recites Louis MacNeice: ‘I’m not yet born . . .’ And the gay guy curtsies after his performance. The pieces these amateurs produce are heartfelt and inspiring.

On Sunday, the room is filled with beaming faces. Ronnie has drawn out of people what didn’t seem possible. Strangers have gelled and there is a feeling of possibilities.

So it’s time to get physical with Gary . . . with Marilyn Monroe exercises, Bette Davis muscular stretches and exercises other classes don’t reach – including a crotch exercise. They once had a nun in a tracksuit on the course who laughed so much that she wet herself.

Then we do improvisations: one group enacts being a pizza, others act out their goals. Someone says he loves shouting. Another enjoys being a fool. The participants agree to meet again in three weeks, stating what they want to achieve before then. Andrew holds a magic wand and says he wants to book a flight to Swaziland to see his aunt. Sebastian wants to become a garden designer and recite his poems publicly: ‘Thank you for helping me believe in myself.’

It’s an intensive, personal workshop. Participants talk about having changed their lives. Faces show relief. It’s emotionally draining, moving, poignant and supportive. Like a marathon therapy session crossed with an improvisation workshop. Very Me Generation. Very New York. Very good. Oh, and I sang Blue Moon to 30 people. Next stop the Royal Albert Hall. * The Mastery takes place approximately every three weeks and costs £195. Telephone 071 251 8178.

Whether you want to improve your improvisation techniques or unleash the exhibitionist within, The Mastery encourages shameless self-expression. drops her inhibitions and opens her heart, lungs, mind and wallet.