Russell Brand has won the Eurovision for Austria, and already, Russian tanks are rumbling towards Vienna, but Putin can be such a drama queen sometimes, it’s impossible to talk to him. He might just as easily spot a nice-fitting uniform on the internet, and before you know it, WW3 is cancelled because he simply MUST have that jacket. That’s the way he is, the big old Russian teddy-bear.
Next year, Vlad is taking personal control of the Russian entry by performing his own composition, Real Men Don’t Wear Shirts, while sitting on a horse with a backing choir of bearded young Orthodox priests, all oiled-up and working out in a gym. Visker not for kveer, as the Impaler puts it himself.
Fair play to Austria, though, and fair play to Russell Brand, but most of all fair play to the people of Russia, Georgia, Azerbaijan and Armenia for going completely against the official juries. Finding out why Estonia, which is really just Finland under another name, didn’t follow the same pattern, will keep PhD candidates at work for generations to come. Maybe they were just being extremely clever by making sure Putin’s T-90s wouldn’t be rolling across the borders to wipe out the queer-lovers in the Near Abroad. Who knows?
Meanwhile, Ireland maintains its neutrality every year by sending an army of trainee-hairdresser karaoke singers to scare off the continentals. When you can’t afford to dispatch turkey puppets or twinbeciles, the next best option is a crowd of orange-sprayed Tallaknackers, bellowing sub-Mariah-Carey power-dross to keep those Russkis at bay. You are the wind beneath my hot-pants.
All in all, I have to say, the Eurovision is a bit of fun, though I think it would be better if they reinstated the full count which, for people like me, was always the most interesting part — a blood-sport, much like the general election results. After all, why shouldn’t we see where the 2 points went? Why the desperate need for instant gratification, even if Eurovision is the gayest thing on the planet? Let’s watch them wriggle on the skewer: it’s what we all came to see.
One final thing. To the best of my knowledge, Terry Wogan is still alive, so there’s still time to download his personality to a hyper-computer. I realise that it would be just a machine, but it would still have ten times the charisma of the drones they’re currently using to present the show, although it probably wouldn’t have gone down too well in Copenhagen last night.
By the way, have the Danes forgiven him yet for calling their last Eurobland pair Doctor Death and the Tooth Fairy?