Je ne c’est pas, pouquoi?

Being a fairly sad individual meant that I spent Saturday night watching the shit-fest that is Eurovision. More and more irrelevent as the years go by, it still throws up some wonderfully appalling performances and spectacles not seen this side of gay pride. This year we had Andy ‘don’t refer to me as a singing bin man’ Abrahams who pre-empted his imminent last place finish with a wonderful speech about how his song was ‘too good’ to win Eurovision…ahem. One performance included four singing brides- one of which was at least 65 years old- a washing line, a woman with apples on her dress and a singer who actually looked pretty amazing; thank you Bosnia for this feast for the eyes (perhaps not the ears). My personal favourite however came in the shape of France’s lithsome sex pest, Sebastien Tellier whose entry was so good that it stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb, if said thumb was rising out of a river of shit. Please watch this carefully, the highlights come thick and fast. The golf cart, the bearded ladies, the lack of socks, the helium, the general bemusement of the crowd, etc. Tellier eventually scored just over 40 points, about 200 points less then the winner, but who cares right? It’s all rigged anyway. But for one night Tellier showed Europe who’s boss when it comes to camp disco.

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