PICTURE the scene; a packed Edinburgh Fringe Festival venue in which we see three backsides, each as bare as Theresa May’s Brexit strategy cupboard, rested on a trestle.

The bottoms appear to be floating in space and then we hear voices appear to emerge. Yes, this is a show which features three women talking out of their a****.

Now, the conceit of last year’s offering was an attempt to reveal the performers’ perception of how critics review such a review, suggesting a self-referential, post-modernist analysis.

At the end of the hour however, I simply felt the whole thing was a bummer.

But this performance could be a great metaphor for the Fringe itself. For three-weeks in August since conception in 1947, we have been made to suffer the almost limitless self-indulgence which sums up the narcissism that now defines the western world.

Once, where students Inter Railed Europe for a month, or took a job in a biscuit factory it’s now almost compulsory for young attention-seeking show-offs to put on a show.

If we believe the world has become one mass selfie, a continuous orgy of self-aggrandisement, the theory is underlined by the Fringe where the needy can congregate and coagulate in groups while coercing innocent bystanders into parting with a tenner.

Yet, it’s not only the folly of youth which the Fringe encourages; it’s the folly of middle and senior age. See Jason Donovan reinvent himself as a storyteller, or Fred MacAulay become a chat show host.

See the likes of Nicholas Parsons, Barry Cryer and Maureen Lipman take to the stage, each of whom are older than Isadora Duncan’s first pair of dance shoes. (Many, many will die during performances this year. But none, we hope, literally.)

Yet, while this is self-indulgence, this professional onanism is undeniable, what’s also true is the Fringe is essential training for survival in the modern world. The Fringe represents the growing demands of world capitalism, and as such the need to learn what it’s like to be shafted.

It’s a training ground that exposes and toughens, a three week apprenticeship, of sleeping on floors, sleeping with strangers, getting no sleep from the fear no one will ever notice you.

Last week, in this very office, a work experience woman, Kirsty Fraser, revealed how she and a group of drama student friends had taken a show to Edinburgh, which they had written and produced.

To sell the show, Kirsty and co had donned bunny ears and daft costumes and literally dragged people in. At the end of the run they made £3k. Not a huge amount, but a huge victory. A massive experience.

Now, it could be argued that only those of middle -class background can tackle this experience, but that’s only partly true, thanks to class lines being blurred, and Crowdfunding. It could also be argued the Fringe is a financial hell hole best avoided, that hall owners sometimes cut deals that Pablo Escobar would have found a little unfair. But again, what an invaluable opportunity for the young to be taken advantage of – and learn from?

What of those in middle years? Well, it’s a place to try out material, to pretend you’re trying out material when you’re really trying to be remembered.

Ah, but what of the older performer? Well, what they get is the chance to feel young again in this milieu, as in the pilot episode of Star Trek in which the disfigured, crippled space crew of the Enterprise found their youthfulness again on a planet that created illusion. Our aged stars may have minds soaked by years of adulation (and sometimes drink) but for three weeks they can bloom on Planet Darling.

Yes, the cynical out there may be saying, ‘Why should I take time out to travel to Edinburgh to indulge these arty-farty egos?’ A fair question, but remember; what would a performer be without the giant ego? An accountant?

Yes, there will be many, many shows as bad as Jeremy Hunt’s memory. There will be performances more confused than Jeremy Corbyn’s Jewish position. But there will be sparklers. There will be shows that make you say “How wonderful was that?” Shows that beg: “What sort of disturbed imagination produced that?”And perhaps: “Is that legal in Scotland?”

But that’s great because the Fringe is its own little multi-layered, multi-cultural world in which over 50,000 performance ideas are created, thrown out, applauded, or dismissed.

It’s a forum for discovery, a theatrical bunjee jump arena, in which not to have a go could be something regretted for the rest of your life.

So applaud the performers. Appreciate they’re offering us a three-week opportunity to live vicariously, to have fun, to be a critic. It’s therapy for the soul, summed up perfectly by Seventies pop philosophers The Tams, when they declared: “Be young. Be foolish. Be happy.”

You may see bottoms talking **** to you. But at least the bums are inventive and bold.