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Your support makes all the difference.What am I doing here? Standing on the deck of a re-conditioned trawler, with a dozen other adults and children, I've been ordered into a white lab coat by a woman who looks, and sounds, like a cross between Muriel Gray, Wendy James and Scott Tracy. I was promised a Christmas grotto. What I've got is more like Thunderbirds on Ice. 'Come away in,' says our gorgeous, pouting guide, Miss Angelica Frosting. Hang on. Where's Santa Claus? It's fifteen minutes since I came aboard and I haven't seen a whisker of him. I try to remember the press release. 'A floating Christmas grotto created by seven visual artists, on Britain's only touring theatre ship. An alternative to the harsh world of commercial Christmas in the High Street department stores . . .' I should have read the warning signs - the accordion- playing matelot on the gangplank, the life-size puppet of a sea dog who stamped my hand. It's too late now. She's off.
'This is where we store our small and large festive moments. The packing cases are the wee totty Christmases, where you just have a cracker and a wee glass of sherry.' Now she's turning into Harry Lauder. 'I'm going to ask you all a wee question'. (They promised no audience participation). 'What's your favourite thing about Christmas?' Instinctively I shout, 'Presents'. She darts a knowing smile. 'Oh yes. There's so many things people like. But here on the ship we've got a wee saying, 'Christmas is what you make it, but we deliver.' The lights dim and to the strains of something like the theme from Local Hero and a groaning foghorn, puppets enact a seasonal tableau. An old man makes soup in a freezing kitchen and a policeman, bitten by a dog, ends up in hospital. A drunken male-voice choir breaks into 'In the Bleak Midwinter'. I think I've got the picture. What this Christmas grotto really delivers is a message to our social conscience.
'Well, wasn't that gorgeous? Now we're going into the deep freeze where we keep all our Christmases fresh.' This is getting weirder. It's freezing in here. And I still haven't seen Santa. We're directed to glowing green handprints suspended in blocks of ice. 'This is a frozen Christmas spirit. One's just thawed out next door. Let's go and see.' It's a room full of turkeys. Well, the sound of turkeys and dozens of trussed soft-toy birds. From a television another turkey delivers the Queen's speech. Sensing our bewilderment, our guide ushers us into 'our showcase Christmas room'. More soft furnishings. But this time the whole room is made of canvas, including the fireplace, in which another TV plays a recording of an open fire, which, strangely, actually makes you feel warm. Sound effects of a grandfather clock and dripping water inspire thoughts of Dickensian London. But only for a moment. 'Now we're going to sing a song.' Aaargh] There's no escape. We're trapped somewhere in the hold of this damned ship with the awful Angelica who wants us all to 'have a go at the chorus'. So we do. And we dance and do the silly knee-slapping bit she's just taught us. And then, just as we start to enjoy it, she disappears. 'Oh no. Where's Angelica?' says the old sea dog who just happens to be passing. 'You'll have to follow me.' We troop back to our starting point where a 'deck-hand' is preparing to raise the hatch. It opens, and through half a ton of dry ice a figure rises from the bilges. It's Angelica, Botticelli's Venus, Christmas-wrapped in a sequinned evening dress and seated at the keys of a Hammond organ decked in red and green fake-fur. And yes] There's Santa Claus. Behind her, on the inside of the hatch, 20 tiny Santa dolls are flashing their little red lights. It doesn't come much more kitsch than this. Angelica beams. 'This,' she says 'is my very personal Christmas.' And, with a unique singing style that marries Gary Glitter to Julie Andrews, bumps and grinds her way through a few of her favourite things about Christmas. The children love it, but all too soon it's time to say 'cheerie-bye'. So that was Christmas. No crib. No angels. Just high camp, freezing cold and compassion. Well, isn't that what it's all about?
To 24 Dec, Salford Quays, Salford, Greater Manchester (061-873 7350). Booking essential, pounds 4, children pounds 3
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