How lovely it was to hear Watford’s own Amy Connelly give her heartfelt rendition of a song from the Ghost musical in Saturday’s edition of The X Factor and how proud she made us feel.

It was also touching to see her renew her acquaintance with Cheryl Cole (neé Tweedy, formerly of Girls Aloud), now Mrs Fernandez-Versini.

The pair first met during an earlier round of the talent show in 2008, when Cheryl, who shot to fame herself when she won Pop Idol in 2002, was asked to mentor Amy.

Six years ago, the then 19-year-old Amy was hoping to make it as a singer for the sake of her dad, whom she described as her “biggest fan” since the death of her mother. 

Both she and Cheryl had shed a tear and both said they felt they had made “a connection”.

Since then, Cheryl’s life, both personal and professional, has hardly been out of the headlines, but she seemed genuinely pleased to meet up with Amy again, who is now a mum and engaged to be married.

So it was particularly moving to see the looks of admiration on the faces of Cheryl and her fellow judges (Louis Walsh, former Spice Girl Mel B and the inscrutable Simon Cowell) when Amy, pictured, sang With You.

Mel B described her voice as “outstanding” and Cheryl burst into tears, telling Amy in her inimitable Geordie lilt that her performance was “bah-yewt-afool, captaveetin”. 

Even Cowell conceded he had been won over by her.

But had he?

What is it about the permanent smirk on Cowell’s smug face that makes me wonder if the whole thing wasn’t just a deliberate attempt to introduce some “raw emotion” into what is often a cringe-makingly schmaltzy programme, by making Cheryl cry on air? 

I’m charitable enough to say Cheryl’s tears at seeing her protégée again on Saturday seemed sincere, but cynical enough to believe poor Amy was played like a violin. 

She was made to believe she had a second chance of realising her dream, encouraged to relive, before an audience, the moment she had cried with Cheryl over her mother’s death and in the process, unwittingly been manipulated by the programme-makers, all in the interest of adding “light and shade” to what can be a tediously monochrome show.

But at least Amy came away with her dignity intact, unlike her fellow contestant, Shayden Willis, whose performance was so dire it drove Mel, Cheryl and Louis from the audition studio, leaving Cowell to put him out of his misery.

With characteristic sensitivity, Cowell told Shayden his composition reminded him of fingernails being dragged across a blackboard.

Actually in this, Cowell was right.

What is horribly wrong is that poor Shayden was ever allowed to get through the initial sift at the auditions to be let loose in a television studio, where he made a complete fool of himself, an experience he will regret for the rest of his days and which will haunt him for ever more on YouTube. 

No doubt the programme makers lured him in with false compliments and promises of bright lights and lucrative recording contracts, when all along they knew he would crash and burn.

The poor man was ridiculed and humiliated, made sport of like some dancing bear in a medieval circus, just so the producers could tick the “gritty realism” box on their checklist.

Light and shade?  Dark, vicious and callous is how I’d describe it.

And they call this entertainment?