After a year of enforced exile tramping the very cold and miserable streets of Helsinki, I am back. At this point I ‘m wondering if anyone noticed or even knows who I am. However I will be spending much of the next two weeks annoying you with my musings on the annual tack fest that is the Eurovision Song Contest live from Belgrade.
Belgrade is an odd place. We were well and truly fleeced by two cab drivers on arrival even though we knew they would. We’ve eaten meals that have definitely shortened our life spans (but were strangely delicious) and drunk 7.2 % beer which ensured a good night sleep. The city feels uneasy and very Eastern European, but bizarrely I’m feeling at home here and remembering my Slavic tendencies. I could cope with two weeks here, whereas I was struggling after the first couple of hours in Helsinki. They couldn’t by any stretch of the imagination be called friendly but that’s part of their charm. They are as bemused about all of this as we are and probably thinking “why the f**k did we win this thing?” We’ve been issued with our delegate bags complete with coloured pencils in case we get bored and also an official statement asking us not to mention the “K” word in any press conferences and to have some sensitivity towards the political situation in the country particularly on today’s election day. They also apparently don’t want anyone to be gay which might be a slight problem given the inclinations of about 90% of the people in the Press contingents
First impressions though favourable. Getting my press card was the smoothest it’s been for at least 5 years in that they actually had me on their computer this year and had already created the pass as opposed to several other years where I’ve had to have my photo retaken on a bad hair day (you may say I have a lot of those) and last year where they just plain didn’t want to acknowledge my existence. But I’m here in a very well provisioned press centre which is remarkably comfortable. Unfortunately it’s about 100 miles down the road from the arena so we’re erring on the side of watching most of it from the comfy seats in the press centre and avoiding the looks of disgust from the Serbian staff.
Montenegro have taken to the stage with a traditional Balkan rock song, unfortunately they haven’t quite got the hang of sound in here yet so we can’t hear a word he’s singing. You may think that’s a blessing, I couldn’t possibly comment. However on the vision side he is surrounded by troup of dour looking females who are attempting to breath some life and choreography into the song. They look like they’re slapping him as they go past. In some quarters people pay good money for that sort of thing. I couldn’t possibly comment!
The song itself is one I don’t actually mind, but I suspect that Europe will find the experience of watching it far longer than the 40 minutes or so we have currently been here.
I can hear the first stirrings of sound on the monitor so maybe the Serbians are getting their act together.
I’ve always liked the Serbians, honestly.
Israel have taken to the stage….