We had The Wise Woman of Wigan, the Ugly One’s cousin Carol and a midwife-cum-karate-expert called Lisa round for our Eurovision dinner. As it was Moscow’s turn to host the annual madness we had Beef Stroganoff with Russian Potato Bread, followed by Russian Chocolate Cheesecake.
There were no mad acts this year, although Germany had a stab at it, with a band fronted by an advert for bad plastic surgery. The poor man, squeezed into silver spandex pants with a face only a german mother could love, which is saying something.
Unaccountably, Norway won. Sung by Woody from Toy Story, the song was a Gilbert O’Sullivan-esque bucket of sentimental reindeer-poo.
I pulled The UK in the sweepstake. Despite the godlike presence of Andrew Lord-Webber, banging his fat fingers on the Russian ivories, we only came fifth, but then, that’s a damn sight better than we’ve done since the end of the last war, or it seems like it anyway.
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