What a nice surprise, surprise that Cilla Black is everywhere this Christmas

If you’ve looked on social media lately, it won’t have escaped your notice that Cilla Black – the late, great, ginger-coiffed doyenne of Blind Date, and much-missed former queen of weekend light entertainment – is enjoying a massive renaissance. Or, rather, a Cillasance.

But, even for adoring fans like me, the comeback has come as quite the surprise, surprise.

Open X/Twitter, and you’ll find your timeline full of old clips of “our Cilla” performing cheesy pop numbers from yesteryear, in an array of colourful, polyester-mix, Eighties jumpers, tracksuits, and even the odd polo neck.

Her take on Lionel Ritchie’s “All Night Long” – filmed for a 1983 Christmas special, and which features a houseful of random children having a go at bodypopping, the dance craze of the day – seems to have set the snowball rolling online.

In the United States, where she never found success during her lifetime, a meme of her singing has gone viral, with American talk-show hosts now referring to her as “the Surprise, Surprise lady”.

There’s also something of a campaign in the UK to get her show’s theme song, which didn’t chart on its original release in 1985, to No 1 this Christmas. Yes, Cilla Black is trending, she’s gone global, and it’s been announced that she will be honoured in a Radio 2 Christmas Day special hosted by long-time friend, Sir Cliff Richard. And I, for one, couldn’t be happier.

Take the “Cillagrams” that have dominated social media feeds for the past month. In one, Cilla can be seen belting out a joyous cover of Irene Cara’s “Flashdance”, shaking a pair of glittery pom-poms, while a troupe of schoolgirls dance behind her in Grotbags-green neon leotards. In another, Cilla wanders around a park, feeding ducks while serenading a nun with a sunny rendition of Captain Sensible’s “Happy Talk”. (Best online comment: “Everyone involved in this should be in The Hague.”)

There are clips of Cilla warbling Madonna’s “Angel” to a smiling, but clearly mortified, policewoman; a gloriously camp take on the Village People’s “In the Navy”, complete with close-ups of sailors and shiny gold cannons; and, my personal favourite, a version of Abba’s “Take a Chance On Me” in which Cilla, wearing ridiculously short shorts and red football socks, merrily kicks a ball around a pitch, while a boy in a shellsuit cheers her on.

Last Thursday, even Dionne Warwick – who maintained a legendary feud with Black ever since she covered “her” songs, including “Anyone Who Had a Heart” – posted a Cilla meme.

Such joy! I could go on, for really, what’s not to love?

Of course, not everyone’s happy to see the most famous export from Liverpool’s Scotty Road hijacking their social media timeline. “Stop sharing those bloody Cilla Black videos,” moaned one X user.

The outpouring of fondness for her as an internet meme goes some way to make up for the negativity that she managed to generate in her lifetime. Not everyone was a fan of her voice. And, according to a nasty internet rumour, she might not have been the easiest person to get on with off camera. Former TV employees claim her “lovable auntie” persona was a complete facade – a slur that was helped around the world by a peeved member of cabin staff who revealed that, during flights, she only ever spoke to them through her PA (“Ms Black would like a glass of champagne, please…”).

According to anonymous internet trolls, she was a “rotten Tory”, “vile b****,” and a “royal pain in the a***”. But those people don’t strike me as being particularly nice either, so perhaps it’s a case of the pot calling the kettle Cilla Black?

Besides, aren’t superstars like Cilla perfectly entitled to act the diva every now and again? Nobody begrudges Madonna or Joan Collins their foibles. Why pick on Cilla? She was allowed an off-day.

And surely anyone who has a heart cannot fail to be moved by her music. Just listen to her Phil Spector-produced cover of The Righteous Brothers’ “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’”. Burt Bacharach, who recorded “Alfie” with Cilla, said she had “an ability to capture the mood of a song. It was as if she was living the experience.”

She has been my inspiration, too. I made the hero of my detective novel, The Vanishing of Margaret Small, a lifelong Cilla fan.

At nearly 50, I’m too young to remember Cilla the pop star; like many of my generation, I came to know and love her through her primetime Saturday and Sunday night shows, which dominated the weekend TV schedules throughout the 1980s and 1990s.

Who doesn’t remember welling up over some long-lost family reunion on Surprise, Surprise – or harbouring a secret crush on one of the (in my case, male) contestants on Blind Date, as Cilla cheerily chirruped, “Hello, Number One, what’s your name and where do you come from?” at gorgeous Glen, a trendy, waistcoat and jeans-wearing welder from Derby with a cheeky grin and a Tommy Ball perm?

At her funeral in 2015, her friend, the late Paul O’Grady, said if asked for one word to describe her, he would say “laughter”. And if there’s one thing Cilla has brought me over the years, it’s joy. So, this Christmas, why not forget the naysayers and treat yourself to some Cilla?

Right now, it feels like we need her unique brand of fun-loving nostalgia more than ever.

Neil Alexander is the author of The Vanishing of Margaret Small (£9.99, Embla Books)