Oh dear punter I’ve been letting you down. As your social secretary I’ve been partying it up so much that I’ve forgotten to actually fill you in on the ligging. I know, I work too hard, but it’s all for you lot, of course!
So, three nights back saw the fabulous Georgian bash. They must have spent a fortune on the ting, as they hired out the best looking building in town – the angular vision in white Italian marble that is the new Opera House. Endless tables of fabulous food (and even plenty for us awkward veggies, for a change), and gallons of chewable Georgian wine awaited, before Sofia whipped through her song and a couple of lounge bar standard. And then the fun really started. Against the backdrop of some of the most spectacular public toilets you’ve ever seen, Georgian choirs belted out traditional song, while sword fighters bashed their weapons against shields, sending sparks out above the heads of the by-now quite worried punters, and all sorts of shuffling dancing and jumping kicked in from all angles. And then they brought in the cakes…
Tiny slabs of near liquid chocolate, biscuit rolls stuffed with the sweetest gloop legally available, and coffee nodules that tasted like a happy punch in the mouth, this was cake porn of the highest order. Damn it, there goes the diet…
As things started to round off, we headed over to the joint Greek and Cypriot party – although to be honest, it wasn’t so much a party as a bunch of people standing about on a balcony to slightly overloud music. Giorgos seemed to remember us from a brief meeting earlier in the week, and greeted us warmly, while the Cypriot delegation seemed worried that they’d lost their singer – although apparently they found him later and played an intimate set in a corner with an acoustic guitar.
Best moment of the night though came when the French mob arrived, and were being greeted by the Opa boys at the exact same time Allez Ole Ola (is it in that order? I can never remember?) pitched up on the disco. A three minute explosion of dancing, shouting and good natured nonsense burst forth at the top of the stairs, and we got caught in the crossfire. But what a joyous crush it was.
We stumbled off into the night shouting Tout Le Monde, wondering what further pleasures the next day would bring. Not bad this Eurovision lark… you really ought to come!