The first party I attended was a big one – although I suspect I was the only ESC-ite there. I trotted off across town to go see some football and catch Red Star on their last home game of the season. Teresbatoni (or hooeva itz spelt) were there too. It all seemed most exciting when Red Star scored in 35 seconds, but then got so dull that even the cavernous and empty inclines of the giant stadium couldn’t keep my attention. So at half time I skipped over the road to watch Partizan nip Hadjuk by a sing goal to claim the title. And heck it were a proper atmosphere! And there were proper police there too – first time I’ve ever seen a tear gas launcher in real life – although fortunately they never got to use ’em.
Then I skipped back to the centre, via a police enforced roundabout route, only to bump into Statto, Stanton and the East Midlands mob and head to the Irish do. A proper old hoedown in the Three Carrots pub. This was how Irish shindigs should be. Raucous, irreverent and a heck of a lot of fun! The booze was free all night, as was the lovely Irish pizza – and the old bird himself did a cracking turn – and at some point we all tried to have a dance or a frottage with the Czech delegation, who seemed a little scared by it all in the corner.
Racing swiftly on then to the Ukrainian do at Euroclub. Heck these kids know how to party. Where the Russian lad’s was all stern and over formal, this ‘un rocked with big nobs on. Lorak herself did a couple of stints, interspersed with a good dozen turns from this year’s contestants (to varying levels of success), and puzzling appearance by that Belorussian wot did that Mama thing a couple of years back, and some old bird doing what they called a Russian Fusion version of Phantom of the Opera. Dana Int shrieked a few bars too. Oh, and it was all rounded off smashing by a proper gig from last year’s nearly triumphant Verka Sedushka. It seemed to go on for about a year, and I’m sure we must have heard shady lasy about a dozen times, but it were a reet cracker too be sure.
Rumour then had it that the Slovene party was the place to hit. The gal herself had promised free booze till 5am, and was with that in mind that we finally rattled through the doors with a good three hours drinking time left, only to find a broken down stage, a fair bit of splattered cake, a slightly musty smell and napkins littering the place like confetti. I guess the Uke party may have stolen some of its thunder, but all the same, we felt proper diddled out of three hour’s free bozzin’ time! Bah.
But we heard a bit of bouncy noise going on upstairs, so we followed our ears to find the most curious scene. A turbo folk trio were pelting out a right lively racket to an excitable gaggle of shirt-clad gangster boys and polyester molls, while girls danced in cages and napkins were being chucked around like it was the last night on Earth. Ordinarily I’de have been up for a bit of that. Quite a lot of that, actually. But sensory overload was tipping up into the red bit, and my feet were beginning to resemble bubble wrap, so we mosied our way home, past scenes of Beogradian last night joy and bewilderment, and curiously nocturnal museum opening.
The party season might have taken a while to git goin’ but it’s finally kicked off good and proper. It’s the curiously titled opening party tonight. Well, curious for us lot who’ve been here for over a week now. And with outdoors temperatures knocking the 31 degree mark, it could be a lovely shiny one, too!