The evening didn't begin well. I headed off to a party at a venue I had never been to. I found the street, but the number 72 postbox was attached to a garage that had abandoned furniture outside. It and the houses nearby showed no signs of life. I tried knocking at 66 where there were lights on but got no answer. Fifteen minutes until kickoff. I had no time to waste searching for this place. So I called home to set the recorder on and dashed home. On the plus side I found a toy mower for the Crankmaster on the street.
Thank heavens for the harddrive recorder and the wonder of timeshift. I manage to catchup by the first ad break. Not that there was much new to see. Romania had a new frock but otherwise the acts from the semis looked unchanged to me. I think losing the lime green eyeshadow was probably a cunning move.
The golf cart and fake beards from France was amusing. Spain was just awful.
I'm now torn over how to choose the worst song. One was a bad performance, one a bad song and one a bad idea. And yet all awful that they are hard to separate. But that's the wonder of Eurovision.
Even though Terry Wogan said the Russia win was just political voting I found I didn't mind it. Last year I really didn't like the winning entry but this year it was a good song and pretty boys to look at. (even though it did sound a lot like Wild World)
My favourites came nowhere near the top of the board (Latvia, Finland and B&H) but that's okay. They'll get the most listens when I buy the CDs.
And that's all from this little black duck. At least in writing.