There's something about the morning after Eurovision that resembles something of 'the morning after the night before' feeling: it's not quite a hangover and not quite as chipper as regular mornings. You wake up feeling like you overindulged in a cheesy, sugary marathon of Euro-pop and dodgy ballads. There are vague memories of believing that the Russian babushkas were the answer to the emptiness of British chart music and that the woman announcing the Swedish results was actually from Essex. There's another memory of announcing to your horrified housemates that this years' Eurovision songs were the best quality you've ever seen in the competition and that they would certainly become the soundtrack to your Summer. Another one is of me explaining the artistic reference of the Greek entry being scantily clad and dancing in front of a digital shell, singing 'I want your aphrodisiac' (the reference is Botticeli's The Venus, as Venus was originally Aphrodite, a greek-godess yada yada yada WHO CARES!?) This amidst the fancy dress, the face paint, the cute flag stickers and the score sheets, for which you gave most people 10 out of 10 for everything, equates to the rather bold outlines of an evening that you know you enjoyed, almost too much, and that you know you'll be up for again this time next year, but still can't help wondering...WHAT WAS I THINKING!?
By far my favourite - I love that they had cookies and were trying to rebuild a church that Stalin knocked down.
They should have won. Will deffo be downloading this, even though it's awful!
Seriously, who took the girl out of Harlem and claimed she was Swedish? I know I'm basing this on
outrageous stereotypes, but seriously, did you believe she was Swedish?
Botticeli's 'The Venus', for those who forgot, those who didn't know and yes, even
those who do not care (cultural philistines)
