Gutted. Gutted. Gutted.
Why? This is why. Yes people. It's Eurovision.
WTF. Damn you, you Finnish gimmick rockers.
Please don't think I was backing our crap Daz's euro-doorstep challenge entry. No no no. My allegience lay firmly with Sweden, and the mighty Carola, who first won the contest sixteen years ago, fact finders.
Having seen her hi NRG power-ballad-and-flags routine in the semi's (thank Christ for these, otherwise the night itself would run on for a week), I was won over. Ye Gods the power bill from the windmachines alone must be a shocker. So last night I donned my blue Sverige t-shirt and rocked on over to the party we were going to, which contanied a hardcore group of Eurovisioners setting up camp in the living room. I even picked Sweden in the random draw sweepstakes. The force was with me. And it was blond.
So I was gutted when Finland swiped it out from under us. Sweden placed fifth in the end. The UK came eighteenth. Hah! But it's always great to hear Terry taking the micky. And quite a lot of respect to Paddy O'Connell too, who the beeb seem to be grooming up for the day when Terry pops his loafers.
The best coverage of the whole debacle seems to be The Schlager Boys. Go check 'em out.
I wonder what Americans, aliens and other peoples outside of Europe make of Eurovision. It's so essentially European, camp and... well.. naff.
Curse you Mark and your comfy footwear for getting me into this. Am still managing to avoid this year's Big Brother since the launch night tho. Hurrah.