Europorn for the ears

Saw some of Eurovision.

Not by design, of course. I was waiting for my pies to cook and couldn't be arsed to walk upstairs and fight with these midgelike fly creature thingies that seem to add in my room a-recently. They don't multiply. I kill one, another takes its place. One there. One at a time. So they add, geddit?

Now I haven't watched it (Eurovision, not the midge - keep up, eh?) for years, cause I'm not forced to any more (past sins) and it is cak. Complete cak.

Two observations, not including the obvious "let's vote for our neighbours" syndrome which has actually got worse. All these little states that used to be bigger and full of people who hated each other now give each other big hugs, metaphorically, and stick 2 fingers up to those who are merrily subsidising them out of 3rd worldship. As Terry Wogan, who must be about 150 by now, said implicitly: ungrateful bastards! I think I'm right in that the good ol' uk of ... er ... us (we) didn't really interfere too much with them, leaving it up to other powers that wanted to be to give them their history of being land parcels for grabs. But still, you now get Turdkey giving greasers 12 points, when we know they hate each other - all neighbours do cause that's what the neighbour principle is: invade the bastards, nick their stuff, shag their women (or men, if you're Greek - myth? - or Israeli - look at their army - shit!), and then piss off to do it again next week, year, month.

It's like a stag do or two-week holiday en masse. Being civilised, we now send our asbo-hoarding (hard working? Hardly working, more like) youth to 'Ibeef-a' for two weeks of shagging and pissing-off the locals.

And Eurovision's a bit like that, cause we don't have wars any more. Except they're like inverted wars. And far more cruel, if you've ever heard what these people are allowed to produce and accost us with. Legally. Bring back invasions with spearmen, I say. Down with badly-dressed, no idea of an idea clones who are probably looking forward to being able to watch Happy Days (for the first time) in the next 10 years or so.

So we have much sanctimonious praise and mucho back-slapping before going back to hating each other tomorrow. That's Europe for you. Unionised, or otherwise.

But. I did notice that at least most countries have worked out that fit women are more photogenic than men and so most entrants, that I saw, were oglable. Have to do summat on a Saturday night when...dontcha? From that point it was a definite improvement: no more pot-bellied Norwegians/Germans/refrigerator removal men. Not that I think the latter would make it to Eurovision. Mind you....And the Israeli woman looked like a young Kim Cattrall with much breastage! As I said to Clive, one of my housemates: "I'll be back when the voting's on. And if they let a bloke win, they can re-cast the votes again, and again, until a fit bird wins. After all, no-one watches for the music, do they? In fact, can we watch with the sound turned down?" (he demurred - bastard!).

And even most of the vote-announcers were fit. Good! There was especially the Danish one who started speaking in Danish. Her Russian was better than many of her Slavic contemporaries even, but what hit me most was the language(Danish) : sounded like someone gargling with bacon. But my God! Did it sound dirty, or what!?! Oh yeah! Gotta get me over to Dane Land and just mull out as some loon reads me the washing instructions on the label in her underwear (drifts off into delightfully serene daydream with faraway - i.e. glazed - look in eyes).

But. But. But.

The "music". I've checked and if I air-quote it, I can't be sued under the Trades Descriptions Acts.

Blech!

Why do most of continental Europe now consider that music should sound like someone setting light to their pubic hair and then realising toute de suite that that is not a good idea? And why then do the rest (i.e. the French) want in on the act?

For all the children reading: pubic hairs (your own) are very nice and should be combed with a lice-removing comb after every desperate, fumbling shag with the cacker (chav) from the estate down the road. They should not be cooked. Unless you intend to eat them. Be warned, they aren't very filling and making like a cat with a furball isn't as much fun as cutting your toenails with an angle-grinder. Try it and see, but don't blame me. And if you want to cook them, cut them off first.

And Greece won. With the most fucking inane, pointless lyrics imaginable - much the same as most of the others, then. Not that I was listening, Clive had to point it out to me. At least they sang in English. The sort of English that is now used too frequently, even in this godforsaken country: barely literate, only semi-intelligible should you, the listener, make the inordinate effort to fill in the gaps, correct the errors (TEACH THE FUCKERS TO USE ARTICLES, AT LEAST, YOU MUPPETS!) and basically just interpret their inadequacy as what it is you think they might want to say and probably couldn't even in their mother tongue. You'd get the same from a mime, but without the shitty nasal twang or making of absolutely no effort whatsoever to attempt a half-decent accent (tantamount to saying give me all your money and then f-u once you've got it). But mime is frowned upon. And I won't mention other people (yet), but it's not anyone I have mentioned, so there!

Well, there might be more than two points there. I stopped counting. So I'll do you a deal. Pick your favourite two. And come back tomorrow for seconds. I'm so good to you, aren't I?

I was going to talk about the hoi-polloi here, but they got lost in the crossfire. Pretty much as normal.