Desperate Dan

For the first time in our lives we went on a cruise this summer – to Norway.

Our youngest son was forced to come with us – ‘Look, it’s either this or you stay with Grandpa or someone else for a week.’ 

He sulked solidly for the first four days.

We must have missed the elusive Norwegian blue parrots flying to the freezing Northern Lights. We did, however, see something equally ridiculous and unlikely - a performance by Dan.

A performance which had us pining to chuck him overboard into the sparkling waters of the fjords.
 
After yet another dinner, dressed up to the nines, trying to make conversation with a morose teenager, we decided to partake of the ship’s evening entertainment. ‘A musical night with Dan’ seemed the best option as my husband flatly refused ballroom dancing or the talk on the benefits of colonic irrigation.

And so we went.

The Entertainment Manager came on first, asking for a ‘big hand’ for Dan who, having left his music college early two years ago to join the ship’s entertainment crew, was ‘desperate to showcase his own musical talents.’

You know when you have a gut feeling about something.....?
 
Dan came in, bouncing on stage.

‘It’s that twit with the spats on from the welcome party’ I hissed to my husband. 
 
Dan’s opening was a comedy classic.’ Raise your hands if you’ve seen me before’. And then, the killer line- ‘Raise your hands if you haven’t seen me before’.

I knew we were in for a treat.

His repertoire, a bit like his waist, was vast. Before he started with ‘O Sole Mio’ he asked ‘has anyone heard of Mozart?’ 

Now, let’s think about that.

This cruise, costing over £3,000 for a couple in a standard double room cabin with balcony, is hardly likely to appeal to your average bingo-playing punter from Merthyr.

What was he thinking of?

Anyway, he launched into a full throttle rendition of ’O Sole Mio’ which left the audience stunned, perhaps not in the way he had quite anticipated.

We then had to experience the melancholic tale of his grandfather, who, on his deathbed, advised his grandson ‘you can sing, ‘, and this tale went on to include yet another grandfather on another deathbed who said mostly the same thing.

 Then followed a fortissimo rendition of ‘Danny Boy’, delivered full pelt without any nuance or shading.

The highlight of his performance was a song from Tom Jones and could we guess what is was? Er, no.

‘Sex Bomb’.

 Dear God.

Gyrating his ample hips he picked on two ageing Grannies from the audience who definitely had not signed up for a hellish experience like this but were game for a laugh. As the gruesome gyrations continued I raised my eyebrows and exchanged incredulous glances with a well-dressed lady to my right. Holding the cover of the printed evening’s entertainment sheet in front of our faces we giggled away like schoolgirls.

The torture was over. We gave Dan a rousing round of applause and he left the stage beaming and bowing. I clapped loudly. It’s not easy putting yourself out there and exposing your heart and soul to a group of strangers. He had certainly been entertaining. This wasn’t the Glasgow Empire where Bernie Winters, following his brother Mike, debuted on stage to be greeted by a member of the hard-bitten, cynical audience yelling ‘Oh Christ-there’s two of them!’

Dan did have potentially a nice voice-it just needed training.

And so Dan, wherever you are out there, I raise my glass to you and wish you all the best, son.