WHETHER it’s painting, music or theatre, great art can take us out of ourselves. For an hour or two, it lets us forget our day-to-day lives and think the impossible.

It entertains, but also inspires and challenges us. Your imagination needs as much exercise as your body. Some people think experiences like this are an unaffordable luxury in austere times.

I think they’re more important than ever.

I had an experience like this a couple of weeks back when I went to the National Trust’s Wallington Hall, in Northumberland, to see – perhaps be part of, would describe it better – a play called Teacups, Zebras and Dancing Kaisers.

An odd title, and its central character, Sir Charles Trevelyan, was a remarkable man.

Born in 1870 into the Victorian era’s Liberal elite, he became a socialist and twice served as a Labour education secretary, committed to raising the school leaving age.

George Bernard Shaw was a frequent visitor to Wallington and a whole school from Newcastle’s West End became permanent guests when Sir Charles and his wife, Molly, took them in to escape the bombing during the Second World War.

He died in 1958, leaving his magnificent house and estate to the National Trust, a man who was an individualist and idealist, who was born when the British Empire seemed eternal and who died shortly after Suez taught us nothing is forever.

I was a long way from home, but inevitably, there was a Middlesbrough connection. A key character in the play was Gertrude Bell, Molly’s half-sister, writer, mountaineer, diplomat, confidante of Lawrence of Arabia and daughter of Sir Hugh Bell, three times mayor of Middlesbrough. Now there’s a coincidence!

Bell was played in the November Club production by Teesside-born Katie Gibson, whose performance I found stunning. The portrayal was so convincing, it was almost eerie. It made the night for me.

It was theatre in the round where you moved across the hall to see different scenes from its past and the lives of its owners – a couple having an argument, an elaborate house party and so on. It couldn’t have worked anywhere else and for an hour or two everyone in that audience inhabited the same world as Sir Charles and his family. You weren’t just listening to their words, you were walking in their shoes.

It brought home to me the essential difference between a live performance and the television.

TV does it all for you. The images are beamed to the living room and there you sit, taking it in. You never leave your armchair or the real world. The clock ticks, the dog scratches, your coffee gets cold.

Good theatre engages you and makes your mind work. You evaluate and interact with the characters. A play is a collective experience, but every audience member comes away with a different impression. That is because it makes you think not just about your own life and world, but the possibilities beyond them. That is why everyone should have the chance to experience high-quality art.

Finally, a word of thanks. If a very kind lady at Wallington Hall called Yvonne hadn’t provided me with a can of petrol, it would have been a long walk back to Teesside for a customer who had forgotten to check his fuel gauge before setting out.

It typified the way everyone looked after us that afternoon – a model of customer care. If that is how the National Trust operates, I will be back for more. Sir Charles left his heritage in good hands.