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The Eurovision Song Contest rolled round again, last night. We fell into watching it, mostly because we had nothing else to do on a Saturday night, but partly because we knew the UK wasn’t going to win and we wanted to see just how much we wouldn’t win by.

We couldn’t do as badly as last year, of course; well, at least, we couldn’t do any worse. We were surprised, though, just how well the UK did in the end. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a very good song. It was the sort of song that would fit in well at the end of the second act of a second-rate West End musical,* which I suppose isn’t that surprising given who wrote it. It didn’t have any rhythm to it, no memorable tune either, and the lyrics sounded as if they belonged elsewhere: as if we were hearing them entirely out of context.

Then again: I am no good at spotting why a song might win the Eurovision Song Contest. Graham Norton, commentating, seemed baffled why Britain had given Germany a relatively high vote; I was surprised it wasn’t higher, as I thought it was the sort of song that would go down well.** I don’t understand why Norway were a runaway success, but all the other songs with vaguely-folkish melodies and violins didn’t get very far. Next year, no doubt, the rest of the world will be watching and know where to get excited; and I’ll be watching feeling slightly bemused once more.

* assuming three acts in total. And the traditional sort of West End musical, not the lazy modern sort where someone tries to string already-popular songs together with a badly-fitting plot.

** Although I wasn’t sure why Dita von Teese was on stage, lounging around with a riding crop doing absolutely nothing, including appearing on camera.


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