Inside Jamie's kitchen

Those who were selected would attend three days at Hammersmith College and one day at Westminster College to learn how to be a chef.

As Jamie whittled down 1,500 applicants to the final 15, I watched him comfort unsuccessful applicants, cajole lazy trainees and heard his valiant attempts to instil a tenth of his culinary passion into those who passed before him.

It was impressive to watch. He really was determined to make a difference to these young people and no amount of energy was spared.

I also saw the impact such commitment had on his marriage. It was obvious to all of us that the hours of work needed to recruit the staff, train them from scratch and then get a restaurant up and running were putting a strain on his relationship with heavily pregnant Jools.

She appeared to resent the amount of time Jamie was devoting to the project. The couple were even filmed bickering in the back of a cab over just that.

Behind the scenes, the project was also straining finances. The idea was that once Fifteen was up and running in Hoxton, East London, the profits would be ploughed back into Jamie's charity, Cheeky Chops, to fund scholarships for trainees.

Jamie recently admitted that it was going to 'take about eight years to pay off debts before we start breaking into profit'. He had already put up £1.3 million of his own money to launch the venture, and although he refutes claims that he's had to remortgage his house - 'I'm stupid, but not that stupid' - the cost of the project is said to have spiralled to £2 million.

But perhaps the most distressing element of the tale however, and certainly a source of some chagrin for the big-hearted chef, is the fact that of the 15 original recruits, only seven lasted the course.

Having witnessed first hand his boundless enthusiasm for the project and refusal to give up on those who returned his trust and patience with tardiness, laziness and disrespect, one can imagine how disappointing this must be.

Certainly, he has admitted he has doubts about his capacity as a mentor. 'The one thing I've learned last year is that it's very hard to teach or inspire anyone to do anything unless they've got their personal lives sorted out,' he said recently.

He may be right, but as far as I am concerned, he was an incredibly inspiring, charismatic figure who was always fair.

After making it down to the final 15, I dropped out to make way for a more deserving candidate, but during the time I was on the show I had the opportunity to meet the other recruits and witness their relationship with Jamie.

Although the programme focused on the most difficult elements of the group, in fact roughly half were well-educated youngsters from middleclass backgrounds.

They may have professionally lost their way, but they had family or friends to stay with in London, making it easier to survive on the £40 a week grant (plus travel expenses) even though it rose after completing parts of the training.

Ralph Johnson, 20, was educated to Alevelbut was at a loose end after deciding his art foundation course wasn't for him.

Warren Fleet, 24, had been working in Selfridges and Roberto di Mambro, 22, was a wine-taster for Marks & Spencer. Elisa Roche, 25, may have been living in hostels but her cut-glass accent and experiences living abroad hinted at a more privileged background.

Johnny Broadfoot, 19, was also far from 'underprivileged'. His father, a restaurant owner from Sydney, owned an apartment in Kensington.

It is interesting to note that with the exception of Roberto, all four of these trainees stayed the course. By contrast, those who stood to benefit most from Jamie's benevolence all fell by the wayside.

From the beginning it was clear that Jamie had his hands full with them.

At the last audition round, when 30 were whittled down to the final 15, I sat in the canteen of Westminster College among a group of them.

It included 18-year-old attention deficit, hyperactivity disordersufferer Michael Pizzey - who left following a confrontation with one of Jamie's tutors but was allowed back after anger management lessons - and Dwayne Monford, also 18, who had attended a behaviour correction centre.

With Jamie and the production crew nowhere in sight, talk soon turned from cookery to cocaine and ecstasy. From there, the conversation lurched on to the pleasures of joy-riding and three-in-a-bed sex, while the more sensible members of the group shifted uneasily in their seats.

So graphic and repugnant was the discussion, that members of the canteen staff complained and we were thrown out in disgrace.

This episode, which thankfully for all concerned wasn't caught on camera was followed by a stern talking-to by Zoe, the production manager.

Perhaps it was not surprising that kids from London sink estates would be discussing such unsavoury topics for fun in their lunch-hours.

But even when necessary, many couldn't keep their minds on the task. Kerryann, 19, who was from a Hackney council estate, and Dwayne, were constantly being ticked off for talking rather than listening in lectures. Many of the group didn't feel the need to turn up at all.

Even in the first weeks of training, the problems with absenteeism had already

Several months after leaving, I bumped into Roberto di Mambro. I asked him why he'd left - the official line was that he didn't have what it took to be a chef.

But he explained that on the starting weekly wage of the trainee scheme he could no longer afford to pay his rent in London and didn't want to move back home.

Many of the more advantaged members of the group were still living at home and were actually better placed to be able to make this work.

Personally, I was most disappointed by the story of Michelle Cooper, 25. We used to make the bus ride from Wandsworth to Hammersmith College each day and she was a fiercely intelligent and feisty woman whose teen pregnancy had meant she had been unable to finish her education or make a career for herself.

She was ecstatic to have been given the opportunity to make something of herself and talked in glowing terms of Jamie as a mentor and benefactor.

He'd offered to sort out help with childcare when she told him she was having difficulties attending for this reason.

It was particularly upsetting, therefore, to learn in a Sunday tabloid that she had quit and turned to prostitution.

Several times during the series viewers had seen her on the point of quitting, but each time Jamie talked her round.

In the first weeks I remember him encouraging her to stick with it to make her daughter proud. How devastated he must have been then to read that she'd gone on the game because she 'wanted to make sure my daughter gets the best'.

Michelle admitted Jamie had 'been on the telephone' and that he had 'asked if there was anything he could do and even offered me my job back'.

Of those left, however, he has just cause to be proud.

Warren has been accepted on an apprenticeship at Nobu, one of London's most fashionable restaurants, and Kerryann Dunlop has had culinary queen Delia Smith ask her for her panna cotta recipe - an accolade indeed.

These success stories have, as Jamie wished, been given a chance to carve out a credible career in a respectable profession. And he should be justly proud. Jamie said in a recent interview with the Mail: 'This project is all about second chances and not getting rid of people when any other person would.'

What a shame, therefore, that those who left the programme threw their chance away.