Another year, another glorious Eurovision Song Contest! Sadly once again I didn't get the chance to sit down and get a proper listen to the compelling song & dance action in this, the world's bigget Rock & Roll Eisteddfod, and nor was I able to listen to the scintillating commentary of Terry Wogan, the guy who makes it all worthwhile. A bunch of us were at a party at Justin's place (damn fine party it was, too !), and as we were running a Eurovision Sweepstake at work (nice work, HC !) there was more than a passing bit of interest in proceedings at the party… it was just that being a party, you didn't want to be antisocial and leave the volume cranked up.
So anyway, I was meant to be cheering on Cyprus, and their entry to the contest this year was Constantinos Christoforou with the stirring Ricky-Martinesque bedroom power anthem, “Ela Ela“. Here's a picture (lifted from the ESCToday site) showing the Cypriot entry in full swing. And it's good to know that sometimes, even at this level of competition, silver 44 gallon drums are necessary to communicate your metaphor.
Sadly, the victory was not to go to Cyprus, and in fact up until about half way through the voting it looked rather like they were going to come out of it with no points. A bittersweet charge of emotion, that – could I face the shame of my adopted country doing a Great Britain and failing to garner a single vote ? Or would I settle for the fact that any country who scored zero would get their £2 entry fee back ? Soon it became a moot point, as Cyprus roared ahead with a 10 point vote from Bulgaria, leaving only Britain on zero… but even they managed to escape the embarrassment of last place.
I'd hate to cast aspersions on the honesty of the voting system, however in reading the scoresheet just now it seemed a little odd that Cyprus was given zero points from 1 of the countries in the contest, yet they gained 12 point votes from Greece and Malta, and a 10 from Bulgaria.
What else to say about it ? Errm… Greece won !
As for the rest of the weekend, there was a trip to a fairly funky cocktail bar called The Lonsdale (not exactly the easiest place to find, mind you !). Stunning place – the decor was v. reminiscent of being inside a TARDIS. Yummy drinks, and should I ever score a ludicrously highly paying contract and get a complete wardrobe makeover, then it'd be worth considering visiting there regularly.
I've already touched on Justin's housewarming party, which was really quite a neat & compact little party with some great people and a good atmosphere – we even managed to get some Twister going at a late stage in the evening once the Eurovision frivoloty had passed. About the only sore point was that Rojere managed to nearly wipe us all out by leaning against the stove and turning all the gas burner knobs on with his bum cheeks. Thankfully, Mr Frisky noticed what was going on and saved the day (I know, I know… thank me later kids).
On Sunday, Charlie, Dan and I went on a bit of a mission to see if we could get a cat, but we managed to get to the cat place 10 mins after it had closed. So we tromped along to Richie and Ciaran's place for a BBQ instead. Well, I say “BBQ”, but it was more of a coordinated display of ineptitude and gravity management, because at 4pm or so when we got there they hadn't managed to get the barbie lit, and people kept dropping things. Hours of fun. There were photos of some of the cuisine on offer I believe, however I haven't managed to source any yet. If you've ever seen The Castle, the phrase “Who ordered medium rare ?” springs to mind.
Well there you go – that was my story.