May 18, 4:03 pm
Well, it’s all about to kick off. One of the greatest spectacles of our time is about to begin, and personally I can’t wait. The excitement is almost unbearable – our fine nation, after months of preparation, competing against others for glory, honour and victory. Shall we triumph against Germany? Will we crumble under the might of Spain? Nobody knows. However, some things are for certain - it’s going to be tense, it’s going to be exciting, and it’s going to be silly.
Yes – it’s Eurovision time again!
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!
The spandex. The glitter. The politically-biased voting. The ear bleeding warbles from across Europe. And, of course, all under the wonderful, biting narration of our national treasure – Mr Terry Wogan.
I can tell you, I haven’t been this excited since I found a melted Twix down the back of the sofa.
For those unacquainted with Eurovision, allow me to fill your brains with knowledge and wonderment. You see, there are certain misguided people out there who think Eurovision is a serious competion, that the reason people watch it is to see who will win. Well, let me tell you - these are exactly the kind of people who think that you can mix peanut butter and jam and get away with it. For although Eurovision is indeed our most important occasion of the year – no, the MILLENIUM, winning has never really been the point. Win? HA! More chance of us winning the World Cup! Now isn’t that an utterly ridiculous notion? No, it’s not about that. It’s never been about that. It’s all about the laughably bad performances, about flinging centuries old rivalries between countries out into the open, about hosts with as much charisma as a tin of sardines left to simmer in the July sun. And above all, Eurovision is undoubtedly about worshipping the sardonic wit of Terry. For Terry IS king. Terry IS the jaffa cake of biscuits. TERRY FOR TEH W1N.
When Eurovision’s on, it’s time to get your mates around, squidge into the sofa (minus the Twix bar) and bask in all of its insane, confounding brilliance. Personally, I have to have a little notepad ready and score all of the countries myself. And if they really disgust / appal me, they get a little star next to their name.
So, for once, I plead with you to put down that controller. Dig out and dust off that dwindling sense of patriotism, and sit your bum down on this Saturday evening (or better yet, the semi-final that’s on tonight!)
And if you hear any faint sobbing near results time, it’s probably me. No matter what the score. I just like a bit of a cry, really.
... What?
