Don't Pay The Ferry Man

Cynicism has long bitten the Seanachie instep, to such an extent that he walks with a pronounced limp this days, so he has always been, shall we say, a bit intransigent when it comes to the burning issue of Christopher Davison - or, as he is better known by his glittering stage name - Chris de Burgh. Few pop singers have sought glamour in the heritage of the Anglo-Norman ascendancy. But then few pop singers are like Chris de Burgh. Chris lives in an irony vacuum, which can only explain why he turned out such inappropriately hilarious anthems for so long, and got so stroppy when people started taking the piss out of him. When his daughter Rosanna lifted the Miss World crown a few years back, thereby laying to rest forever the cruel stereotype that Irish women are all mingers, she mumbled that her Dad has been shoddily treated by the Irish media and public, which presumably puts the 'pint-sized popster' (©Gift Grub) on a similar level with Noel Brown, James Gralton and other people that did not pity themselves quite so much.

Now Chris, who has for a long time been out of the public eye for reasons other than his daughter's excellent desire to work with children and his dropping of the hand with the family's nanny at inopportune moments, claims that he has the power to heal. Which will be a grim irony to those many thousands of people that fought long and hard to overcome the trauma induced by 'Spanish Train', 'Patricia the Stripper' and 'Lady In Red' in order to see them as the tacky kitsch classics they really are. Chris' hardcore fanbase, of whom I know a few, are caught in a similarly hermetic frame as their idol, and they also resemble fans of The Eagles, who take it as a given that Don Henley and Glen Frey fronted the greatest rock band that has ever strung a Stratocaster. My question is, do Chris' healing powers extend to those that have rarely been too persuaded as to his otherwise undoubted greatness?