16 May

Disclaimer: This post originally ended with the words ‘brain damage’. How apt that on the very night I stay in, having missed an opportunity to go out drinking, I decide to blog about whatever comes into my head and while channel-surfing stumble across a dark televisual event, long-forgotten but still pulsing with hellish power. Be aware that punctuation and grammar slip occasionally – you’ll understand why when you read it. The rest of the blog after the word ‘Update:’ is a stream-of-conciousness piece, documenting the surreal journey of one man’s viewing of the incomprehensible, brain-murdering Eurovision Song Contest. Stop reading now lest ye be driven into true madness.

You were warned.

I spent the last hour and a half in a kind of terrible mental swamp, clutching my face and moaning ‘what’s haaappenniiiing wurrrbl’ over and over again.

LSD is expensive! Next time you want to see a Grecian gigolo rise upward on a silver seesaw while yodeling ‘Thees is oooura niiiighta’ and thrusting wildly at anyone within range of his penis, try the Eurovision Song Contest! It’s only marginally more likely to give you permanent brain damage.

Update:  Some kind of Argentinian circus act is happening. It appears to be a collection of people, some of whom are trapped inside perspex boxes with some water inside, and some who are attached to said boxes with a giant sucker on a hook. Now they’re spinning around. I don’t understand what’s going on. The new lightbulb in here just flickered and I don’t know why. Okay, now there’s a gigantic polythene water-box with three attractive girls inside, and they’re all just kind of writhing around like really mentally ill seals hold on what it’s being LOWERED INTO THE CROWD DON’T DO IT THEY’LL BE TORN TO SHREDS oh no hold on the crowd are just touching them through the polythene in a kind of oddly sexual manner and Graham Norton’s babbling about how it’s like going to a fair and winning a small Argentine in a bag as a prize and now something else is happening, they’re all diving along the polythene like exhibitionist penguins, and it’s abruptly over.

The temperature has inexplicably dropped in my room. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m scared out of my box.

They’ve started voting now. We’ve got a load of points, but Norway are miles in the lead and now some Norwegian doppelganger of Zac Efron is gurning at me ’cause the Finnish presenter-girl said he was cute. I’m sure I used to do something else on Saturday nights, but I can’t quite remember what.

The Russians have just voted and Norway are still winning handily and Jesus Christ some terrifying Latvian pimp has appeared, I’m turning off the TV

22: 33 Back now, he’s gone. So Norway are winning by a million or so points, and it turns out it’s because of their act which features Norwefron singing about falling in love with a fairy-tale in an unstoppable tide of saccharine Euro-craziness. Second are Finland with a halfway decent song sung by a fantastically pretty blonde. Didn’t see Turkey’s song. It’s third despite its status as, well, a Turkish Eurovision song. I need provisions if I’m going to get through this alive.

22: 34 Crisps and beer got. Steady now, boy.

22: 36 Switzerland voted for Turkey. Damn you, Switzerland, you’re supposed to be neutral

22: 39 I just saw Nefron’s little brother eclipsed by the giant face of Duncan James to announce the votes Anglaises. One for France? Seven for Germany? Where’s the racist elderly vote?

22:42 Something just happened with a load of the competitors playing a song that apparently tATu wrote – fucking hell I just saw Sean Bean! Sean Bean moonlights as a Finnish guitarist in red spandex! Alert the media!

22:44 A load of British people are down there waving flags. Can we quickly create some kind of petition to stop them from re-entering the country? Just a thought, y’know.

22:46 Bosnia-Herzegovina has been conquered by effete gypsies with rose buttonholes. I thought I was having an aneurysm just now. Tragically, I was wrong.

22:47 On the other hand, the Ukraine has been conquered by blonde models with improbably large — well.

22:49 Changed my mind about Turkey after seeing their act, with their one lonely male dancer at the back of five belly-dancing models. Will Self seems to be presenting the Albanian vote. Silly him.

22:51 The enigmatic Cypriots are voting and an English girl is presenting it for some reason. Nobody knows what goes on in Cyprus. It’s a total news blackout. When’s the last time you heard anything happening there? Perhaps they’re all deadly Cyp-robots. Seven points for the UK? Curse you, Cyprus! We loved you, and this is how you repay us?

22:56 Croatia’s vote is being presented by a golem

22:57 Fit Lass Count reaches about 361 now with Portugal’s presenter. I bet they won’t vote for us, despite the previous sentence

22:59 Moldova won points. None applauded

23:00 Usually at this time on a Saturday night, I’d be in a bar somewhere thinking of my glorious surplus of drinking hours left. I feel empty.  Oh, Nefron’s mum!

23:02 A Slovenian man just brought the Terrible Euro-Joke total to three. More drink is definitely required.

23:04 Fit Lass Count now well over 800. It seems that every country has to choose between an attractive woman or a profoundly mentally ill man to present their vote (Duncan James withstanding).

23:05 I feel a little bit sick. Head hurts.

23:06 Azerbaijan are LOVING Eurovision! Fireworks and everything! Oh wait, they’ve gone out of frame! Please come back

It’s finally over. Two points from Norway. How dare you, affably dull Scandinavians that you are. Scandinavio-men. Sca. Head really hurts, now. What? Something’s coming out of my ears. That’s my… pineal gland, oh hell.

I think I’m going. Blood and brain everywhere. Impossible to get stain out of carpet. Damn yourovision, Eouurovi–

My head. My hrrrskjdfhisdvg


so cold


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