Trashed elbow

Last night saw that triumph of democracy that is the final of the Eurovision song contest, where people across the continent spend Saturday night in front of the telly and Baltic states attempt to patch up relationships strained by centuries of blood-letting and atrocities by voting for one another's crappy songs.

Having not seen a final in six years, I was overjoyed to be invited to a viewing party and was unstinting in my condemnation of those I perceived as Not Entering Into The Spirit Of Things:

Taking a short breather in the kitchen

JAN: It's great having a separate room you can put all those with any kind of an interest in Eurovision in.

DAN: Jan, you're like a combination of Scrooge, the Grinch and the Easter Pervert.


This last, I informed my delighted comrades, is a figure of my own imagining who ruins Easter for children by attacking them. I don't imagine Disney will be strong-arming the movie rights off me any time soon.

***


My favourite song was easily Portugal's entry, Todas as ruas do amor, which finished way down the field in 15th with a niggardly 57 points.



The winner, by the proverbial mile, was Norway's Fairytale, which, I concluded, everyone had voted for after staking large wagers on it as the bookmakers' favourite. The UK, meanwhile, finished in an unmerited fifth position, and the performance could hardly have been any more nauseating had Jade Ewen sawed one of her legs off on stage.

***


We sit on the sofa discussing the aesthetic merits of Estonia's representative.

CHRISTIAN: Yeah, she is pretty, if you happen to like exceptionally beautiful women.

Labels: BUNKA