Now as we all know, it’s not the winning Eurovish that counts, it’s the being better than everybody else. Jade Ewen was – unquestionably, which means no answering back – leagues ahead of the rest. Apart from that bloke with the fiddle almost elbowing the mic out of her hands, twas a flawless performance. And the only other half decent song was Sweden’s, a sentiment echoed by Sir Dame Lady Lloyd Webber during a backstage prod.
Which brings us onto this.
Norway? No really, Norway? What the? Did they bribe the judges? Did his eyebrows fuck the panel? We were perpy-perpy-plexed as to what/where/when/how they were the favourites going into the competition (you know, shit song, shit song and shit song), but to actually win the thing? No really, win the thing? The thing? They won it.
We were pissed off our faces come the result Saturday night but once the vodka haze had cleared (which is never, incidentally. Breakfast? Digestive dunked in Belvedere) the sheer inexplicableness (that’s a clumsy word, Nescafé?) of Norway’s win came a-flooding back. We even – hardened journalists that we are – called a female Norwegian friend to get a domestic take on the whole thing, who said something along the lines of ‘the gays voted for him.’ *shakes finger* Oh how the former mighty fag hag hath fallen – maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s the reliance on salt in the Norwegian diet, but really, how out of touch with gays’ bumming habits can one woman be? The only one rocking our dingy was Sakis Rouvas and his ill-fitting-on-purpose white blouson.
And c) and d).