There’s a rule now, to win the Eurovision Song Contest you have to have a beard. Or stubble, at least. Last year’s winner had a beard, even though he wears dresses too, and this year’s worthy(?) winner was fashionably stubbled as well. Fashionable for Stockholm that is. In Shoreditch they’d laugh at him.

When we arrived home last night after dinner the end of the Eurovis was still on. It runs for 18 hours. And the scores were coming in and, according to the endlessly repetitive commentators, ‘it was very exciting’. Like watching paint dry. But there’s a flaw in the evolution of the human psyche in that if you quantify anything with enough numbers, it becomes compelling. As a species we’re obsessed with numbers. Which is why people find darts amazing. Even something as dull as golf. Numbers, scores, results, lotteries, bring ’em on. I don’t know if birds feel the same way. Slugs. Whales. Needs some research.

I haven’t watched a Eurovision Song Contest since I was 6. When I found the nauseating brand of plink-plonk Germano-French crappest-of-crap-pop, frankly too childish for me. I wasn’t precocious, nor musically gifted. But by then I’d heard the Beatles and my parents were big fans of musicals and big bands and this televised garbage grated even then.

Ok, I lapsed when Abba won with Waterloo. But that was more to do with skin-tight blue satin pants suits than music. Abba would have won it with the sound off. And in fact it would have been better that way.

But I sat there, riveted wondering whether Estonia would give their 12-points to Russia (boooooo) or Sweden (yaaaaaaay). Or if Italy might sneak in if they’d done a bit of a Qatar and bribed Georgia to give them 8 points in exchange for nuclear arms. Because you can’t help thinking its a bit political. Neighbours vote for each other, regardless of the direness of the song. You have to keep your borders safe first, musical humiliation comes second.

Britain came 36th out of 40. Notice, that’s ‘Britain’ not ‘England’. When its something shitty and we’re losing its always Britain.

Yet I learned something last night, watching the inane Euros and finally understanding why Nigel Farage may be right to want us away from those imbeciles. I learned that Australia is now part of Europe. Well, they were in it, so they must be. Of course, Australia is just west of Spain. 12,000 miles west of Spain but that’s not the point.

The actual point is employment. Eurovision seems to employ about 24 million people. What else would so many worthless people (you can’t count ‘good teeth’ as any net worth) do to put food on their tables?

Happy last day of the Football Season. (I don’t count the FA Cup final; its beneath us).

A xxxx