A Night To Remember (As They Said When The Titanic Went Down).

Triumphant Serbian Marija Serifovic and "the girls" who brought us "Prayer" - as in, "let's fucking pray they don't win."

Oh............what...........a..........fucking.........MAGICAL night!!!!
The 2007 Eurovision Song Contest lived up to all expectations last night! Beamed live from the home of last year's winners, Finland, it made redefinition of the word "kitsch" essential.
For the record, this year's winners were Serbia, who were fronted by a fat woman-in-comfortable-shoes who looked like a cross between Lou Costello and Peter Lorre.
She was backed by a gaggle of under-fed, frustrated fluffies and their haunting (well, it scared the shit out of me!) ballad "I've lanced the cat's piles and put another carrot on the barbecue" wowed our continental cousins.
Anyone with half a brain and who lives in the UK knows, however, that it's not the winning that's important - it's the getting "nil points". We also want to see the very worst that is on offer abroad, to see loads of scantily clad bits of totty proving just why they are beauticians by day and not professional singers and to understand exactly why Herr A. Hitler felt the need to stamp his nation's jackboot across Europe.
Last night did all that, and more. We were, as ever, superbly appalling. Dressed as stewardesses (which is not altogether a bad thing), UK entry Scooch really put the "cunt" in "our country". No, the winners should have been either Ukraine or France, two acts whose videos are no doubt shown to asylum inmates to perk them up and let them know that their condition isn't really that bad. There was also one cove, however, who turned up in a blood-stained Harry Hill shirt. I can't remember where he was from (somewhere in the Balkans I think) but this man definitely needed a contract - well, one taken out on him, at any rate
One highlight was undoubtedly when the singing stopped (hurrah!) and Father Christmas came on stage to announce that it was time to vote. As if things hadn't been exciting enough! It was strange to see the beardy-man-in-red in fucking May - you would have thought they could have let him have his usual lie-in until his "busy period" - but I suppose the Finns do lay claim to Lapland. It was, however, more than a disappointment to learn that the REAL Santa looked like an aged Fred Scuttle but I let that pass and was on the edge of my commode when he gave everyone their marching orders with a leering "Europe! Start voting now!!"
There was even better, however, to come - the interval (double hurrah!) and the Finns' idea of entertainment. No quick number from Russ Abbott. No bloke knocking out songs from the shows on the spoons. No, this was truly unbelievable. It started with some seemingly buck-naked, baldy sausage jockey in the balloon from The Prisoner backed by half-naked, leathery/skinny bints from the Finnish National Ballet. They pranced around moodily while the boy in the bubble peered out at us menacingly until the performance turned a tad thrash metal, but with Quo wannabes. A baseball referee then proceeded to juggle a tart in a rah-rah skirt (the tart, not the juggler) and, at long last, balloon man escaped his rubbery surroundings and then shoved a flourescent tube down his throat - well, you would, wouldn't you? A trapeze artist and a guy on a suspended bike flying round the theatre were next. Still no sign of Russ or the man with the spoons, though. Then came fire jugglers while the Night of The Living Dead head-bangers, led by a Tommy Lee look-alike, bashed the fuck out of cellos in the background. Together they were called "Apocalyptica". Not 'arf! Time for a quick change of incontinence pad and then back for more fun before the results.
Backstage there was a pink fairy who interviewed everyone and thought she was funny. She was, in fact, just a fucking twat. Name me one great Finnish stand-up comic? "Do you kiss a rabbit or have some other way of ensuring luck?" she asked the fat Serbian dyke who would eventually go on to win the contest. "Our song is about prayer," she retored snottily, "so, urrm, no."
Then the true highlight - the results of the voting. Just time for a third bottle of wine and then let battle commence. Eurovision voting always makes the actions of Robert Maxwell seem genuinely straight. The organisers set out their stall early on. All the western nations were on the right of the voting board while the former Easter bloc countries were on the left - just like the good old days! The Commies stuck together like sperm in the bath while us westerners did our best to either remember old hatreds or bum up to those nearest to us - Norway for Sweden, Sweden for Norway, Sweden for Finland etc, etc (even though Sweden hadn't qualified for the final! Yes, this international wankfest featured only the BEST acts. Some had, apparently, been judged too shite even for Eurovision!)
The French and La Belge were the only tossers to give their results in French. All the others fell into line and chose the language of the one true and holy nation on earth.
"How exciting iz zis?" ejaculated (literally) the hermaphrodite presenter. About as exciting as having your ears syringed Sven, actually, but never mind. Almost half way through and we were doing well. Only us, Ireland and Latvia had the coveted "nil points". Then fucking Albania ruined it for Ireland with five bastard points and for Latvia with a poxy "deux points", all awarded by an evident child molester in Tirana.
This had to be it, surely? This time? Come on! Come, fucking, on!!!! The only nation in the whole of Eurovisionland with "nil points", zero, nothing, fuck all! We were well over half-way and still in pole position. It was nerve jangling. I almost sat upright on the settee and dropped my chips at one point.
Then, gag of the night. Jason, the Israeli points presenter, came up with the most hilarious joke since us British invented concentration camps. "Yes, good evening Helsinki. I can tell you that our votes are ready. Israel HAS pushed the button." I dived behind the settee and put a pillow over my head but he was being sarcastic, it turned out.
Not even the Square Heads ruined things for us when it was their turn. They do it at football and in the international aggression stakes so why not at Eurovision? But no, the Germans left us alone. Just 14 countries left to vote. It had to be. Yes, this time we were going to do it. It was our year................ Then it happened. Fucking Ireland! I thought we were supposed to all be friends now? The bastards went and gave us seven points!! Wankers!!!

Ooch! Scooch fail to fly the zero flag.


I know they traditionally vote for us and we vote for them because everyone else in the world hates us both but come on! Not last night, please! That really is awful timing. We, on the other hand, were typically British and did the decent thing - we didn't fucking vote for them! We knew they too had been in with a chance of the magic zero. Thanks a bunch, Patrick. Time for us all to dig up our weapons again, I think.
It got worse. Malta were next up, the George Cross island. They were mad enough to put us top of the pile and give us the maximum twelve points! You are fucking kidding? I actually wished at that point that the Germans had won the fucking war and COMPLETELY flattened the bastard place!
My interest completely waned after that. We were officially crap, but not spectacularly and uniquely crap, in Eurovision terms. In real terms? Well, we had only managed to come joint second from last (equal with the Frogs on 19 points - well, maybe there IS a God) and not to achieve the Holy Grail - bugger all!. The only consolation was that the bastard Irish came bottom with five.Well, that's it for another year. I'm exhausted. As I said earlier - what a night. Grantham shall not have Eurovision.

NOTE:
I started taking notes on some of the acts but then fell asleep. Here are the few critiques I managed before narcolepsy overwhelmed me;
Bosnia Herzegovena - woman in green, fluorescent, frilly lamp shade.
Spain - limp-wristed boys and girls looking forward to a sexless night, all dressed in white.
Belarus - see Spain, only this time in black (that's originality for you).
Ireland - scratch pub band.
Finland - lead singer filthy but tone deaf.
Macedonia - had apparently just woken up and rushed to the theatre.
Slovenia - did an opera/Kate Bush number. Shite!
Hungary - had hijacked Lulu for the night, backed by a bunch of hairy twats.
Lithuania - another leather job.

As R F Scott wrote in his diary, "it seems a pity, but I do not think I can write any more."