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Print, Pour, Pretend You Don’t Care
Saturday night. Vienna. Seventy years of this nonsense, and somehow we’re all still here, eyes glazing over while Graham Norton mutters that something has gone wrong with the autocue or makes a wind machine joke.
The 70th Eurovision Song Contest beams in from the Wiener Stadthalle at 8pm (UK time), and ORF have, with the inscrutable wisdom of an EBU producer who has Seen Things, slotted Finland into 17th – a number freighted with Lordi-shaped destiny that absolutely nobody in the press room would dream of mentioning every twelve seconds. Linda and Pete are the favourites. We are told this. We will continue to be told this until the moment they aren’t. And she’s playing that violin live. Just in case you haven’t heard that enough already.
Denmark opens, because somebody has to, and Austria closes at 25 because of course they do – the host nation gracefully waving us toward the voting window like a Habsburg ghost in a sequin jumpsuit. In between: Delta Goodrem (yes, that one) wedged in at 8, a Greek entry deemed too memorable to risk after the interval, and Moldova’s Satoshi doing whatever Moldova’s Satoshi is going to do, which on current form is “win the bit of the contest that isn’t the contest.”
And the UK? The UK has, in what we are choosing to view as a delightfully unhinged act of self-sabotage, sent Look Mum No Computer with a song partly (just three words actually) in German that contains the phrase “roly-poly with custard.” It is, depending on which side of midnight you watch it, either our most inspired entry since Sam Ryder or a potential diplomatic incident. One thing’s for sure, it’s done half the job of anyone writing tomorrow’s predictable UK press headlines.
So. The FIRST EVER OnEurope scoresheet. Print it, fold it, find a pen. Award marks for song, performance (Cyprus, are you listening?) and give it an overall grade. There’s space for you to add comments just in case you need a reference when it comes to remembering who did what when.
Pour something. Reheat something lovely from Marks. The UK will finish wherever the UK finishes. The wrong country will win. We will all be back here in twelve months, doing it again.
Download below. Douze points to you for trying.
