Excitement is obviously mounting ahead of Saturday’s Eurovision Song Contest. A national institution that brings together nutters of all colour, creed, sexual orientation, political bent and musical preferences.

The papers put together fluffy pieces gathering together Eurovision ‘superfans’ (see photo) who have quit their jobs or murdered a close relative to make the trip to wherever is hosting the contest. They are usually unemployed folk with mental health issues, so a weekend in one of the most expensive places on God’s earth will probably see them sleeping in the street or prostituting themselves by Friday evening. But ho! Wait! Steady the ship! The ‘Scandinavia is so expensive’ adage we’ve all pedalled out for decades, is now – thanks to our unbelievably heartless and incompetent government – utter bollocks. The cost of living is 5.7% lower in Sweden than in the UK and renting is 34.3% lower than using the insidious evil of the average UK landlord.

Phew! Our brave Eurovision travellers can afford to get off their knockers on Norrlands Guld, cheer wildly at whichever poor sod is carrying the baton for the Uk (Hello Olly Alexander) before watching his shit-eating green-room grin as the points awarded by juries crammed full of people who hate us for our Brexit arrogance barely crawls above the now famous ‘nul points’ mark and Olly’s hard-earned career goes down the toilet… and rightly so! What was a well-respected popular entertainer thinking by taking the famously poisoned gig.

And, before my millions of readers start throwing Sam Ryder’s success at me, that was a sympathy vote. Sam was so fucking nice that not voting for him was on a par with drowning kittens or stealing from the Oxfam shop – and there was the Ukraine stuff going on.

Let’s look at a snapshot of our Eurovision entries for, say, the eighties. We all know that the eighties was, on the whole, a disturbingly awful decade musically and aesthetically. Why there is any nostalgia whatsoever for this period is a mystery to me – particularly as I cannot recall huge chunks of the decannium horribili due to personal mismanagement and poor chick selection(s).

Who remembers any of the below? Where possible I have found out their present activities.

* Bardo. 1982’s duo still perform together, but on OnlyFans; where they penetrate each other whilst ‘One Step Further’ plays in the background.
* Rikki. Our braveheart Scot gave his all in ‘87 with ‘Only The Light,’ but a creditable 13th out of 22 did not stop him from ending up a rent-boy in Zante.
* Ryder. Unusual to see a sextet representing us in 1986; ‘Runner In The Night’ was truly remarkable in its shiteness and the entire band are now minicab drivers in Middlesbrough.
* Belle And The Devotions. 1984’s contestants apparently ‘fell overboard’ on a cruise ship gig in the fjords. Eye witness reports suggest that after the bands fourth performance of ‘Love Games’ the punters turned nasty and stormed the stage… the rest is hazy.
* Prima Donna. Their ‘Love Enough For Two’ generic euro-romp is instantly forgotten, they do however have some pedigree: Jay Aston of Bucks Fizz’s brother was a member and Paul McCartney‘s cousin Kate Robbins – a successful actress in her own right – also crooned in the popular combo. I might be having false memory here but I’m sure Kate also dabbled in soft-porn at some juncture.
* Vikki. Google tells us that the sweet angel who offered us ‘Love Is’ in 1985 is now a serious god-botherer.

My humble appraisal of the first 68 years of Eurovision brings me to the important list of my top three magical moments we have been blessed with thus far:

* Nicole ‘A Little Peace’ 1982. A teenage kraut-chick with a huge guitar singing about world harmony, what’s not to like?
* Dana ‘All Kinds Of Everything’ 1970. I know, It’s a poor-man’s ‘My Favourite Things’ (Julie Andrews not John Coltrane) but she’s the most shaggable contestant in the history of the show.
* Jemini ‘Cry Baby’ 2003. This is of course the momentous ‘nul points’ entry. A landmark of human history like VE Day, the moon landing, the Sarajevo assassination of Arch Duke Ferdinand or the capping stone being placed on the great pyramid of Giza. Not many of you know that their dressing room was vandalised by a distressed attendee afterwards… the criminal’s anger stretched to taking a shit in their suitcases. ‘Cry Baby’ was certainly a load of old bobbins but I don’t think Chris and Gemma deserved that treatment.

Bring on the big day! I will of course be glued to my 93” Tesla self-charging telly… C’mon Olly!