A Dreamers Dream

The Isle of Wight- England

Staring out into the almost empty Holiday Camp nightclub from my high stool perched on a rickety stage that has seen better days, I blink my eyes several times to adjust them to the harsh disco lighting that illuminates the small wooden dance floor directly in front of me. The pinks, greens and yellows are bouncing off its highly polished surface distorting my view. Positioning my battered old acoustic guitar atop my long,leather-clad crossed legs, I edge the microphone stand a little closer to my lips and introduce myself to the meagre crowd. Another sad Thursday night playing covers to a bunch of people who have absolutely no interest in me whatsoever. Great.

"Good evening, everyone! My name is Maddie Graham, and I'll be your entertainment for the next forty-five minutes or so!" I say as enthusiastically as I can manage. A few heads turn toward me in response. That's right; I'm the Brunette on the stage with the hot pink guitar. I think sarcastically and resist the urge to wave out at the crowd who are looking at me with confused expressions on their faces as if wondering where I came from. I give them my best smile and add.

"Please feel free to come down and have a dance or to sing along whenever the fit takes you!" Repeating the familiar spiel, I have uttered in hundreds of similar venues over the nearly five years that I have been doing these gigs.

It's all good practice. I tell myself as I strum my pic lightly across the strings and start my set. My fingers move easily over the frets as I begin to sing, playing the chords I have painstakingly perfected since I first picked up a guitar when I was just six years old. One of my brothers much older, considerably cooler teenage friends had left one lying unattended in our living room whilst they went out behind the bins to have what they thought was a sneaky cigarette - our mum was obviously on to them, and I was intrigued by the instrument that, up until then, I had only seen on TV. I became utterly obsessed pretty quickly and begged and pleaded with my parents to buy me a guitar of my very own. Which, after much pleading and hours of convincing them that this wasn't just a passing fancy of mine, they eventually did for my seventh birthday. I swear for at least the first six months, I wouldn't even put that thing away when I slept. Insisting it was laid out next to me in my tiny princess bed, amongst my extensive collection of stuffed animals. Most kids wanted the familiar feel and smell of a security blanket at that age, but not me. The only thing I craved when I awoke in the night was the feel of the highly polished wood beneath my tiny hands. Most nights I fell asleep plucking at the cheap nylon strings, whispering nonsensical lyrics under my breath which usually centred around butterflies or unicorns. I really should have written some of them down, they might have earned me my first Grammy nominations.

Sixteen years later and here I am, living the dream.

Well, sort of.. ish, ok, ok maybe not, but it's still something right? Nowadays I have moved on from butterflies and unicorns. Yet, night after night, show after show the set-lists are always the same, me singing away to other peoples melodies, their words flowing freely from my mouth. I always start off with a few acoustic numbers to ease the crowd into the show. Then on to the feel-good family favourites that people have come to expect from British Holiday Camp Entertainers. I've lost count of the number of arguments I've had with various venue managers over the years, begging them to let me sing one of my originals just once. They never agree, preferring to stick to the old cliches, and they wonder why places like this have dire reputations, and business is dwindling. God forbid I accidentally give one of the old Grandma's in the audience, who are still mourning their loss at bingo, an issue with their pacemakers by switching up the same tired old routine.

Coming to the end of my acoustic set, I place my guitar in its case at the back of the stage as the crowd gives a cursory round of applause, and nod to the DJ to cue up my backing tracks for the more high tempo songs. As Belinda Carlisle's 'Heaven is a place on earth' begins to play I am pleased to see a few of the children in the club shuffle out of their seats and start to jump around on the dance floor. A couple of adorable looking young girls step right up to the very edge of the stage and stare up at me in wonder as they hop from side to side in time with the music and I flash them my happiest smile. I used to be just like you kiddos, and look at me now.

I can't say that playing these kinds of gigs was ever my dream job, but at least I'm up here, centre stage, doing what I love to do more than anything else in the world. Sure the songs never change and the pays pretty rubbish, and I do seem to spend more time driving up and down the country in my battered old purple Nissan Micra than I do actually on stage. Still, everyone has to pay their dues right? I just can't help but wish that mine were paid already. At twenty-two years old, I had planned to be an international megastar by now. Selling out arenas around the world with thousands of adoring fans screaming back every word to the songs I sang. My songs, the ones I have put my blood sweat and more than a few tears into, not these poppy crowd pleaser's I find myself repeating night after night.
All in all, it's not a bad gig, really. By the time I launch into my cover of The Bangles 'Walk like an Egyptian' there are a fair few people on the dance floor, granted a lot of them are kids who seem to be playing a massive game of tag. Still, it's better than nothing, and they look like they're enjoying themselves.

As I launch into my last song of the night, boy-band One Directions hit; Story of my life, a fair few of the audience members, are singing along with me. Particularly a group of teenage girls who have spent most of the evening looking too cool for school in their crop tops and skinny jeans, glued to their iPhones, but are now focused solely on me as they scream out the words to one of the songs that was undoubtedly part of the soundtrack to their early pre-teen years. Even a couple of the Grandma's have ventured out of their seats, persuaded by the entertainment staff who work at the camp, to join them for a slow dance as the night draws to a close. I have to turn my face away from the microphone for a moment to stifle a giggle when I see Jonathan, one of the previously mentioned staff. Who is charming one of the blue-haired beauties out of her chair, all fluttering eyelashes and gentlemanly manners as he kisses her hand and stares at her like she's the only woman in the world who could ever make him happy. Quite the misrepresentation really as Jonathan is recently engaged to his boyfriend Trevor and he once told me, after too many tequilas, that the only woman he'd be interested in 'having a go with' is Beyonce.

"Thank you for being such an amazing audience! I've been Maddie Graham, goodnight!!" I call out happily to the crowd who manage a slightly more energetic round of applause as I make my way off stage.

Handing the mic quickly over to Jimmy in the DJ booth, I rush backstage to grab my bags. Usually, I'd hang around for a while and catch up with the staff here and the few regular holiday-goers who have become friends over the months I've been dragging my arse over here each and every single Thursday to perform, but tonight, I'm in a hurry.

You see, tomorrow is my parents Ruby wedding anniversary. forty years, I can't imagine staying with the same guy for forty days let alone years... anyways I digress, it's their anniversary, and my brother Michael and I have spent the last month desperately trying to plan them a big old surprise party in the same church hall that they had their wedding reception in all those years ago. Cute right? But it means I have to high-tale it back up to Surrey in time to make sure everything is ready as there is just no way I can trust my brother to remember the important things. Like the cake or the decorations or to pick up Auntie Rena from the retirement home.
Thankfully, I am pretty confident that everything is on track and although I'm fairly certain my mum has cottoned on to our plans, I never was any good at keeping secrets from her, my dad at least is oblivious as ever, all I need to do is make sure I don't miss the last ferry off of this tiny little island off the South Coast of England tonight and, traffic willing, I should be tucked up in my own bed by two and able to get a good nights sleep before the festivities.