What the fuck? Seriously, what the hell am I talking about?
Eurovision Song Contest is upon us again. Yay! For those of you who haven’t witnessed the camp spectacle, this is the European talent contest that no one wants to win – because that means hosting it the following year. It’s the sparkly, shitty stick that gets handed around Europe, essentially and no one wants to hold it. Especially not Ireland who were almost financially crippled by hosting Eurovision in the early ninties by winning it 4 times in 5 years. Fecking hell. Since everyone has worked out that it’s expensive and pointless, each country seems to do their very best to be as shit as possible in order to avoid ‘victory’.
Catching a bit of it on the telly tonight, some of the attempts to avoid selection in the semi-final has included songs about Cheesecake (Belarus), Skydiving (Georgia) and Moustaches (France). And if inane song compositions don’t seal the deal for you – take inspiration from Austria who put a fella in a dress, leaving his beard in tact. Sadly they also got through. Ireland has learned their lesson from the 90s and have since mastered the art of de-selection – anyone remember Dustin the Turkey or Jedward? Exactly.
So, why do they do it? Fuck knows. It seems to be one of those traditions (like paper hats and corny jokes at Christmas lunch) you do long after anyone actually wants to, but no one has the balls to say ‘this is shit, let’s not bother’ in case it upsets someone. Meanwhile, you overcompensate enthusiasm to avoid being the person who ended the party.
And that’s Eurovision. Britain of course are in the final through automatic entry (seems to me that if you can half way manage a federal budget this qualifies you), but have tactfully made enemies of most of Europe so we haven’t won since Princess Diana was alive.
But like I’ve mentioned before, the whole thing is hosted in English, and that’s the real victory.