That song contest

Feeling tired, wet and cold after playing for the 'fete de la rose' in a nearby village we opted for a spot of snuggling and watching the Eurovision S.C.
Was it extra hyped this year? some European measure against austerity? Hey, I know let's spend 17 squillion euros on making a vast stage in Sweden so that everyone in Europe can listen to some terrible songs and feel so much better.
I have fond memories of sitting in my Godmother's flat in Wandsworth, eating Marmite on toast and watching the same program on her small 'Bush' set. It might have been the year that Brotherhood of Man won with that song that went Bongy bongy beep beep boop, or was it  pooty oopy ringy dingy om pom pam? or, perhaps that was another band . . . the whole show seemed to be full of plastic blonde hair, grinning maniacs and terrible commentary. Oh, nothing's changed then, it's just a whole lot more extravagant.

I really likeded Greece: I liked the older gent with the moustache and a tiny guitar thing, the black and white kilts and the crazed energy which was so lacking from nearly everything else. Britain was desperate: Bonnie Tyler – bless her. Surely, in the whole of the British Isles there must be thousands of young, musical, gorgeous people who could sing an original song? Maybe not, or perhaps I'm missing something. Is the whole point of it that it must be utterly dull, naff, and so middle of the road that you would have to check it with a millimeter rule?
The French entry was, I think, rather good. She won Nouvelle Star and can belt out a song with an impressive gravely voice. Italy's singer had fantastic hair, Belgium had the most pathetic song . . . There was another country that had some person trapped in a box, another who's singer was dressed in an alarming 'growing' dress thing, that meant she was eventually about twenty feet tall and covered with projected flames. Oh yes, there was another similar thing featuring a man with an incredible counter-tenor voice, surrounded by writhing, scantily-clad men, ( I quite liked that bit) in fact, his voice was worthy of a further listen, but preferably not in vampire-pop style.
The most stupid act was without doubt from Finland: a Lady Gaga would-be dressed in flouncy wedding dress and horrible pink accessories. She also had gyrating, tuxedo-wearing male dancers and backing singers in red rubber pinnies combined with librarian hairdos. A memorable line was something like: I'll skip dinner so I can be a bit thinner, then a chorus of, ho ho ho ho a ding dong . . . Mmm, back to classic E.S.C form then.
The song ended with a naughty, girl kiss with one of the red rubber aproned females: OOh, missus. Since this has been carried out by various people including Madonna, I don't suppose anyone was really shocked, and who cares anyway.
By this time bed and a hot water bottle, preferably a red rubber one, was an exciting prospect. We turned off the glittery racket, kicked the dogs out for a wee and staggered upstairs wondering why we hadn't just watched an old film instead.