Oh What A Night!

Ouch! It's Scooch! Fasten you seat belts, extinguish your cigarettes. We will soon be touching down at the Bigots' Ball!

Oh ho, oh ho ho ho, fnaar, fnaar, tee hee hee, ha ha ha, chortle chortle! It's that time, it's Eurovision time - and what a start! We're on course to beat all previous competitions by a country mile.
Last night, lardarsed leprechaun Terry Wogan and an obligatory sugary sidekick, this time Fearne Cotton, got us off to a start of which I could never have dreamed. The tension was intense as the would-be UK entrants for THE most prestigious music crown of all were whittled down to just six contenders and Emerald Isle Elephant Man Terry kept us in suspense as he paused to announce the winner. Agonising seconds passed as he looked knowingly to camera. He was toying with us, teasing us, prolonging the moment. Could we bear it? Just as he had got everyone screaming at their telly, "Tell us, Terry, tell us!!", he decided we had suffered enough. "And the winner is.............................CYNDI!!!!!" The audience erupted in a tumult of screams and whoops, I was mopping tears from my eyes and Cyndi herself, pants no doubt saturated on hearing the announcement, was a picture of ecstasy. Next stop international stardom. All her money worries were over. Permanent residency in Success City at last! What a night! What a magical night!!

"Felicitations, Cyndi. Mais, que est ce que c'est? Tu ne gagner pas. Hah. Au revoir, le visage du poisson."

Sadly, fluffy Fearne only allowed Cyndi's orgasmic moment to last...well....about as long as an orgasm (and a male one at that). "No she isn't," spluttered a bemused Fearne. "The winner is Scooch." "Oh dear, are they?" chuckled Tel. More screams and whoops from the audience, which would evidently have cheered even if all its members had been told that their homes were being confiscated and their children sold into slavery.
Scooch, an horrifically camp, two-boy, two-girl outfit, clasped their jaws in stunned amazement while at the same time you could almost hear Cyndi's pants dry out instantly and begin to crack.
What a fuck up! What an areswipe of an evening! What a fitting event to prepare us for the real Billy Bollocks Circus to come at the actual contest!
Best of all, the UK stole a march on all those Johnny foreigners across the Channel before the rigged voting even gets under way at the final in Helsinki. Why, specifically? Well, because Cyndi (Cyndi Almouzni) IS FUCKING FRENCH!! Yes, FRENCH!!! How she came to be bidding to represent the UK Christ alone knows but what a way to ram it up those rude, arrogant, self-obsessed, moaning Dunkirk water-sellers in that occasional annexe of Germany which is France! Tell one of their famed beauties that she is a winner, a success, a triumph, the best of the best - then say "Nah! Only joking" and snatch back her award while simultaneously crushing all her dreams. That's a full working day, lad!!
God, I LOVE Eurovision. My mutant pals and I gathered at one of our number's grief hole last year to party the night away while watching the song contest. You should try it. Loads of booze, loads of food, REAL music on throughout the rest of the place but the telly on in one room with Terry taking the piss out of the whole competition. There are lots of little sub-contests in it as well which can inspire heated argument among your number. The "Filthiest Female" competition, the "Most Ludicrous Costume" challenge, the battle to be named "Campist C***" and the blue riband - the "Who's Going To Get Nil Points"!
That is the REAL test, the REAL prize on offer. Norway were the first winners and I seem to recall went on to become back-to-back Nil Points champions, a feat which will be hard to repeat. Those who spoil potential Nil Pointers' chances are roundly catcalled and booed at our parties - "Bloody Dutch, what have they got against Cyprus? It was truly fucking appalling so why on earth give them 'un point'? Bastards!"
The final game is the judging. Sod who wins! That's, obviously, got nothing to do with it. It's guessing who will vote for whom that is important. Us and the Irish frequently stick together (given the last 300 years that is more than a smidgen strange). Apart from that, the only predictable element is that everyone else hates the UK. The French and the Germans tend to be as one (as they often have been, border-wise, over the last 80 years), the Scandinavians have a habit of lumping together with Iceland like congealed milk, the Eastern Europeans like to become best pals all of a sudden (even those states which have been at war with each other for the last 10 years), the Latinas are fond of pooling their hot tempers and the Belgians are just on their fucking own!

Last year's winners were the best there has ever been. Finnish glam/thrash metal/twat band Lordi became the only "artists" in the history of the contest to gain overwhelming support from, and for once unite, us Brits AND Johnny Foreigner. Our continental cousins thought they were highly talented musicians producing a truly superb sound and we thought they were, without doubt, the worst act to grace any stage since Orville contracted mange and Keith Harris went back to stacking shelves at Tesco's.

Yes, what a night it will be. It is a superb Bigots' Ball. We get the chance to sneer at everything which is not British and look down our noses at what passes for music abroad. We may not win many Olympic gold medals or Oscars or Nobel prizes but we still do sneering better than any nation on earth.
Grantham SHALL NOT have Eurovision, it is too precious.