Keeping on the Beat

Dix points

We lost, in so extreme a fashion as almost to be called heroic. We scraped just 10 points from a total of 38 nations; we were Herculean in our failure. Yes, I am talking about the musical Marmite of the Eurovision Song Contest.

I am an unashamed fan of Eurovision. When I was little, my Nana gave me a tape of old Eurovision songs after I spent ages listening to it at her house. It immediately became my favourite tape; I listened to it obsessively, and can still remember and sing along to many of the songs. Internet research has revealed it to have been this album:

I’m sure my Nana didn’t realise it at the time, but she had created a monster: a love affair was born. I love the high camp of it all – the costumes, the craziness and the (mainly) crap tunes. Even the ridiculously political voting doesn’t bother me that much; it just adds an edge of doomed resignation to the enjoyment.

This year, I was lucky enough to tick off one of my life’s goals by attending a Eurovision party hosted by the lovely Mia from Cosmetic Uprise. It was bloody brilliant, particularly the Europe-wide dancing flashmob. Critics claimed that our entry for this year was the worst ever, but they’d obviously never heard Daz Sampson.

Granted, Josh Dubovie‘s ‘That Sounds Good to Me’ was…okay, a bit terrible, quality-wise. But endearingly so:

Just look how happy he is, though – he looked the same during the contest itself. He was even gracious in defeat, saying “This has been one of the best experiences of my life no matter where I’ve come in the contest. It’s been a privilege to represent the UK, I will keep performing and I’m still smiling.”

Anyway, only a philistine would argue with the likes of Abba:

I rest my defence.