Today, the Big F and I have decided to avail ourselves of the loveliness that is Athens, while the other two have abandoned all normal reasoning and gone into the hall for more rehearsals.
So our Eurovision-free day will be spent reporting on the fine market stalls, the lovely sights and the joys of kebab alley. Later, I shall also be dealing with the considerable stress of watching West Ham in the FA Cup Final—assuming, of course, that we can find somewhere showing it.
Before we head out, though, the Icelandic press conference from last night deserves a mention. It was a marvel. She played the whole thing in character: turning up late, refusing to look anyone in the eye and having a planted correspondent ejected by her burly security monkeys for doing precisely that.
Some of the onlookers thought it was real and tried to save her. Pricelessness of the highest order. We like.
Right, the city awaits!
