Macedonia, douze points…

Well, I did have a fabulous, hard-hitting critique for this editorial, about the election for London mayor, and also Ken Livingstone’s first week in office. But, hell, I find myself sitting enthralled in front of a long-haired singer from Croatia, blasting out a song about…well, I dunno…while something lurks under a cloak in the background, for reasons which are currentlu obscure. Yes, it’s once again time for perhaps the most eagerly-awaited trash event of the year, the Eurovision song contest.

It’s now a Swede, dressed as a Red Indian — er, make that “native American”, though anyone liable to be offended by such terms would have a heart attack at what I’m watching, which has the cultural sensistivity of General Custer. Oh, but it just gets better; the Macedonian entry consists of four girlies, one blonde, a brunette, a red-haired one, and a raven-haired one. The blonde looks strikingly like Buffy. Though having caught up with three eps of that today – including the “Willow goes drinking from the furry cup” episode – perhaps it’s just me.

Ah, for something which is so far separated from my normal musical tastes, it’s amusing how much entertainment value can be extracted from this. The Latvian entry actually sounds pretty good (almost like R.E.M. but rather better), but was ruined by a performance like a Thunderbird puppet on speed. Bloody hell, Ofra Hazi’s dead. Not that this has anything to do with the Eurovision Song Contest, but our conversation is drifting a bit, ‘cos the Turkish entry wasn’t really up to much. But it is at least better than the Irish, who have clearly had enough of winning, and are playing to lose this year.

Bloody hell. I missed Estonia, the Britney Spears look-alike. Never mind, they’re about to get to the voting, which is always the best bit – I used to fill in charts when I was young, and analyse the results. Which usually consisted of Greece pointedly not voting for Turkey, and vice versa. Two years ago, I watched the voting in a bar just off the Reeperbahn in Hamburg, shouting “It’s a bloke!” every time Dana International showed up. Ah, MEH-mo-REEES… At least I’m now getting a quick review of all the songs (including the ones I missed while I was down the pub), which saves a great deal of time, and allows me to decide that my vote this year goes to Buff…er, Macedonia. That’s them cursed for all eternity.

Though I do have to say that the mid-show entertainment was actually remarkably cool, diverse and yet unified. Unfortunately, things went rapidly downhill once voting started, and the dreadfully dull Danes started racking up the points. Things were enlivened only slightly by news of a disaster in the Netherlands which stopped them from having a phone poll. Still, I found myself getting utterly absorbed by the whole process: “if Russia gives twelve points to Denmark, that’s a real killer”. They did.

And that was it. Denmark’s dire dirge duly delivered victory, and the massed bunch of TC’ers filed away, disappointed for another year: to quote one, “This has just confirmed everything I ever thought about the Eurovision Song Contest. It’s a load of bollocks.” Ah, Macedonia were robbed…