And so to Moldova, a tiny, landlocked republic wedged between Romania to its west and Ukraine to its north. Imagine if they won it and it was in Chisinau! You'd be rattling along on the train from Romania, wolfing down pork in a restaurant car that looks like your grandma’s front room (a window framed by heavy purple fluted curtains, silk flowers, a faint smell of cigarettes and orange formica tables) when the conductor comes and chats. "The best time in Moldova was at the end of the second world war, after the Romanians had left but before the Russians came" he says - which by my reckoning meant that the country’s glory days lasted for precisely one month.
It may be the poorest country in the contest, but they don't worry about that in Chinasu, not with Doinita Gherman to cheer them up. So small is the process in Moldova that if you can be arsed to actually write a song and pay the entry fee, you're guaranteed a slot in the National Final, and "Drunk Mum at a Moldovan Wedding" Doinita has been very arsed for several years now.
There was the incredible "Hai Explodeaza" (Hey, Explode) in 2010, the astonishing "Life" in 2011, the remarkable "Welcome to Moldova" in 2012, the exhausting "Our planet is a paradise" in 2013, live action roleplay favourite "Energy" in 2014, a cabaret night in your crap hotel number "Heartburn" (Quite) from 2015, her amazing entry "Irresistible" from 2016, the extraordinary "Hora pe toloacă" ("mount him on the altar") from 2017, and last year's trumpets and strumpets, strip joint bronzed man hiding in bacofoil popping out cooked sexfest "Dance in Flames".
charm. It means we're left with probably the most miserably derivative overwrought ballad in the whole contest - and another twelve month agonising wait to see if Doinita will ever get to grace the Eurovsion stage with a rousing hora.