See how many of these words and expressions you can get
through before you start smirking. Sausage. The biggest one. Such a big organ. Tugging away.
Now, if, like me, you’re already laughing out loud, then this means you
are a fan of innuendo. This blog has
long proven a safe space for those that identify as loving silliness (see post
on Miranda), but the time feels right to
welcome on board each and every fan of innuendo out there because, this week,
we’re going on us holidays. We’re going Cruising With Jane McDonald. If you didn’t enjoy any of the
double-entendres, then get out.
Ever since Adele Roberts’ luxury item
on I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here was a
framed photo of Jane
herself, I’ve been meaning to return to this show. I remember one Christmas visit to the parents
some years back. We differ on lots of
things, from politics to food, but TV viewing behaviour is perhaps home to the biggest
generational divide. I therefore spent
the festive period, as a guest, tolerating such nonsense as Countryfile, the BBC news, Antiques
Roadshow and countless advert breaks filled with spots whose frequency was
approaching a billion. I wasn’t entertained
but I mostly wasn’t listening. Then, one
evening, after a slice of Christmas cake and a peppermint tea, something came
on about cruise holidays. There was our
Jane, she off of a 1998 BBC reality documentary called The Cruise
(back when everyone in this sort of show was guaranteed a showbiz career),
still going strong, still going on cruises, 20 years later. Apart from a stint on Loose Women
(Jane, not me), I hadn’t seen much of her outside of some Victoria Wood sketches (insert plug
for dinnerladies). Yet, this one programme was the highlight of
my winter break. My parents and I
chuckled throughout, enjoying the entertainment, unified in Jane’s silly innuendos. Channel 5
had previously only served one purpose in my life: hosting later series of Big Brother.
Now it was giving me something more.
But why now? Well, as
someone who’s lucky in lockdown (a job, a place to live, online shopping), one
minor pain point has been the lack of going on holiday. I expect no sympathy as the world has bigger
problems just now, but don’t worry anyway as I have solved this myself through
the format of travelogue television. I
can’t go abroad, but Jane can. So when I’ve
reached the end of my WFH day, I move from the home office to the sofa (same
room), treat myself to a tonic water (as a pretend gin and tonic, to avoid the
start of a slippery slope whose first step is drinking alone) with ice and
lemon, and crack open an episode.
We always start with Jane enthusing about her love of
cruising. Her Yorkshire accent leads to
a certain pronunciation of the R in cruise that I wish I had remembered enough
of the linguistics in my degree to be able to transcribe phonetically
here. Imagine cruise, but said in a more
fun way. And that’s the joy of Jane –
she’s happy to be there. Whether she’s
getting taken up the Danube, hitting the Caribbean islands or bobbing about the
Inner Hebrides, Jane always bursts with excitement before she gets on any
ship. Her passion for cruising is
palpable. Sometimes, she has some hours
to kill in her first port, but before long we’re following her deep into the bowels
of the vessel as she tries (with mixed success) to locate her cabin. With cruise companies wising up to the PR her
trips give them, later series see her occupy the swishest accommodation, but Jane
is mostly genuinely glad to have a bed and a clean toilet. She’ll test the shower’s acoustics and always
pull out a clothing line so she can make comments about people’s smalls. And that’s what you really need when
considering what cabin to book.
We’re then served a jazzy infographic, using a glitzy
cutty-outty head of Jane to document her itinerary (always starting in Wakefield). My favourite of these is for her Iceland
trip, as she simply gives up pronouncing the place names properly after several
false starts. Then, for the best part of
an hour, to quote Jane, we’re on us holidays!
At each port, she packs in all sorts, whether spurning the average
tourists for a personal guided tour of something or other, or joining in with
elderly British couples in anoraks who first got the cruising bug in 1972 and
now won’t go anywhere unless it’s on a waterborne hotel with nine bars and six à
la carte restaurants. Jane is up for
anything, and that’s one of the best parts.
She jumps off a building in New Zealand, takes a zipwire down Niagara
Falls and asks any man below the age of 50 if he is married. Her heart is on her sleeve, easily moved to
tears by Budapest’s Holocaust memorial, Gracie Fields’ tomb on
Capri or the sight of the Taj Mahal. The
only thing she doesn’t like is walking up steep hills, but she can normally
balance out that inconvenience with some sort of cheeky drink, a whopping
innuendo and a quick whizz round any gift shop.
Other highlights include interactions with her hair and make-up pal, Sue,
and the bit where she explores the ship on her own, wielding a camera on a
stick while she bothers holidaymakers who desperately try to act like they haven’t
just overdone it at the buffet.
Now we must touch on how each show ends. Middle series include a cheeky “What?” moment
where we catch Jane up to no good – I can confirm I laughed out loud at each of
these. But, throughout, the singer in
Jane comes into play and we are treated to a musical number. I would love to have been in the production meeting
where this part of the format was decided upon.
Song choices are linked to the location, with Jai Ho and Ray Of Light
accompanying her up the Ganges, and the Evita soundtrack saved for Argentina,
for example. I delight in Jane because she
never takes herself seriously, but for the musical number moments, her
performance is more studied. But what
better end to the high camp of the high seas than a baffling bit of a singsong?
So, join me in agreeing with Bafta that this is an excellent
show. For now, Jane may have hung up her
cruising smalls and the show is over (just like our EU membership, for now),
but if you’re looking for a bit of comfort, whimsy and vacation-simulating
entertainment in lockdown, all without the actual hell of being trapped on a
ship with other British people, then this is the perfect bit of television, at
least until we can go on us holidays again.
