You’ve got your curmudgeonly midweek slump on again, intcha!
As I type I’ve had to do a runner into the corridor, cos a huge rumble’s about to kick off in the conference room. The Montenegrins have set up a huge tat stall right by where I was peacefully sat on the floor, doing my pixie journo thing. This song has just gone enormous. They’ve shipped in half of whatever the capital of Montenegro is, and the performance was so massive I fear this could trouble the scorers quite severely. It’s got a bit of everything – porcelain faced boys, a smudge of homo-erotica, a bit of Hitler youth dancing, some bad timpani miming and one heck of a massive vibe. Ooh, and some bad yet good prancing about. Of all the songs I’ve seen this week, this is the first one that’s had that vibe. It’s got one heck of an atmosphere – ooh, and the scrum’s about to begin. They’ve got some fashion of gypsy band to lead ’em in. Folk’n’roll!
Elsewhere, Spain was a magnificent spot of hokum. Three mad birds in flowery frocks shrieking and having a heck of a lark. Me like. Me like lots. And so should you.
Phil, for once this blustery day, was bang on about France. Lifeless, repetitive and a sure fire tip for plumb last if Monaco didn’t have the vote. And man, she doesn’t look good close up.
Turkey’s far better than expected, with lots of smiles and proper co-ordination – so much so that Albania looks dog rough when bunged up behind it. Get some proper choreography kids!
Popping off to see that Stenmark kid do his business now. Franko was fit to kill when I last saw him – he’ll be proper homicidal when Sweden get going!
Laters youngsters,
TV’s Roy D Hacksaw