posted on May, 20 2006 @ 04:42 PM
This will teach me to turn off the TV after Doctor Who.
It's not been a good night. For example, I actually saw some of Big Brother, and mere words are inadequate to describe the contempt for humanity
engendered in my breast by only three minutes' exposure to that tawdry loserfest.
But I saw probably a little more (though not consecutively) of the Eurovision "Song" Contest, and I'm glad (as ever!) that I don't live in the US.
Simply because after watching perhaps two consecutive minutes of Eurovision, my temple began to throb and I thought seriously about killing people.
Thank God firearms are illegal here - otherwise I'd be naked and sweating at the apex of a tall building, sighting random passersby in my telescopic
sight and despatching them with silenced swiftness.
You could argue that if I lived in the US I wouldn't be subjected to Eurovision... but I bet I'd have come across it channel flipping. A swift
excursion with the credit card, and I'd be your naked marksman on tonight's late news.
At least they don't have Eurovision "parties" in the US like they do here. There's one at a local arthouse cinema. My town has quite a large gay
contingent and, while I have very little against gays (as long as they have nothing against me), they have a cultural habit, or gift, call it what you
will, that I find hard to forgive. Because they can be such 'fun', so frivolous, if you will, they can persuade people (and here I'm mainly
talking about women, I suppose) that certain cultural events or trends are cool. The disaster that is house music springs to mind, as according to
legend it originated in the gay clubs of Chicago.
Eurovision, a few years ago, was dying a quiet death when gay people decided to resurrect it by declaring that it was just a precious event and
holding parties dedicated to watching it, eating the food (and more importantly, drinking the drink) of many nations. It's that whole "let's
celebrate kitch" angle, summed up in the phrase, "it's so bad it's good"
No. It's so bad it's dreadful. We were starting to wake from the crappy Eurovision dream and realise that it was a dull, long-winded show
celebrating the lowest common denominator in music, in which the only interest came from seeing if anyone ever actually got "nul points".
(And in an aside, I have to say that the only time I ever thought the show worth anything was in 2003 when the UK got nul points as a result of
its involvement with the Iraq "war". Does it make up for a stomach-churning morass of less-than-second-rate music over the years? Frankly, no.)
The music was bad, the staging dreadful, the presenters uniformly horrible.
And nothing has changed. Except that now this show is, God help us, popular. It is heavily trailed. Terry Wogan, professional
Oirishman and legendary wig-wearer, is wheeled out once again to bring his trademark cuddly ironic detachment to the proceedings. Natasha Kaplinsky,
vapid robobabe of the autocue, is slotted into place as his straight woman. The fact that I know all this without having seen the programme makes me
terrified at my ability to soak up cultural minutiae without realising it. I am a sponge for tedious trivia, and I hate myself for it.
However, all the above, appalling as it is, is as nothing - a scratch, a mere purpling bruise, compared to the sucking lung wound that is this year's
UK entry. My three minutes plus of channel flipping into this program actually coincided with the performance of this face-chewingly embarrassing
It was 'performed' by someone called "Daz". There is no God. There is no justice. There is nothing left to live for, when people called
"Daz", and who look like someone's kicked a monkey through Top Man and taught it to rap, can represent their country even in something as
thoroughly substandard as Eurovision. I began watching out of academic interest but my stabbing, convulsed fingers found the remote perhaps thirty
seconds into the song, and two seconds after his entrance onto a set intended to look like a schoolroom, populated by twentysomething dancers dressed
- you guessed it - as schoolgirls. I think the idea was that he was supposed to represent a teacher rather than a kiddie-fiddler or someone
who fantasises about mature women dressing as schoolchildren.
I can only imagine he was a political appointee. If people are giving the UK "nul points" on the basis of the Iraq war, then the
solution is simple. Find someone so unutterably detestable the mere sight of them makes you want to kick yourself in the nuts, and hey presto! I
have your excuse for getting nul points right here in my pants.
I had to turn off before I got a brain lesion.