Monday, 30 April 2018

I know that you see my life in foreign eyes


Ah, lovely Malta. They love Eurovision in Malta, and they love us. Every year without fail they give us 10 or 12 points, even when we enter rubbish like this. In return every year we give them nul points and then send them thousands of gurning, thuggish holidaymakers to urinate against their beach bars and harass their daughters every summer.

It used to be so different, largely because in the olden days when you had to sing in your own language, only us, Ireland and Malta were allowed to sing in English- which meant dumb Britain always gave 12 to Ireland and 10 to Malta, alternating in odd years. We even gave them points when they had the brass neck to enter this, you know. Now that's a genre I could cope with being introduced to the contest- Vodka infused Japanese Just Dance. Spy 1 to Spy 4, I’ve deciphered the code.

Obviously I was glued to the set for this year's 14 hour MESC live from Valetta. It all started promisingly enough, with a parade of the artists bit nicked off of Kyiv 2017 that segued into a dance version of last year's lamentable entry that went down spectacularly well with the invited audience.

The usual parade of no-hopers and 25 minute ad breaks ensured, but then up pops Eurovision try hard Christabelle (Borg) who's been trying to win it for ages. Back in 2012 she tried to meld the word electricity with love to form "lovetricity" and I got all excited because it sounded a bit like "love city" off of "Love City Groove" by "Love City Groove" which I remember as a work of considerable artistic genius, but in reality it was bollocks, performed by some weird children off of an episode of Tracey beaker, in a year when our entry had been disturbingly handed over to the original "Pop Paedo" Jonathon King to organise.

Anyway,  proving that even a stopped clock is right once a millenium she won not with a work of genius like this, but with a floating turd of a Thomas G: Son song, a by the numbers Eurovision mid tempo inspirational from his sock drawer that rhymes criminals with animals. I mean I don't know. Is it good? Is it bad? Am I simply going mad? Is it fiction? Or fact? Am I really losing tact? Is it magical? Logical? Natural? I wonder. It's a song that really, makes me chunder.