Waterloo? More like The 100 Years War...

So...did you watch it then? Come on, it's just a simple guilty pleasure, only without the 'pleasure' bit and admittedly, pretty much a clear sign of being tragic. But I'm not the only one out on the limb here so I'm making a stand as a big old saddo that watched the whole thing.

My excuse is that my Lovely Best Friend said 'Come round and watch the Eurovision' which was kindly and since none of my other friends said 'Come round and hang out with Guy of Gisborne from TV's Robin Hood, plus there'll be snacks', it seemed the best offer going.

Some hours later when we were taking it in turns to talk each other in from the ledge, I did of course, question this decision.

Granted, I got a lovely dinner out of the evening and a year of feeling smug that we have Duncan James From Blue to read some numbers out on the telly rather than a total mentalist like the rest of Europe. But I also drove home everso carefully as I didn't want watching four hours of cat poo to be my final night out should I get killed in a car crash.

Let's be honest, our entry was rubbish and it was only because poor old Jade (unfortunate name) was frogmarched (even more unfortunate phrase) around Europe on a four month PR tour that meant we got any more votes than we usually do.

'Jade's been working her socks off,' fabulous and loyal Graham Norton confirmed as Jade came on stage with legs weighing two ounces and her terror of Sir Andrew Lord Website obvious to everyone watching. That she managed to carry a note (mostly) as well as stare like a rabbit in headlights for three minutes was something of an achievement. I don't think Leona Lewis will be losing much sleep.

Meanwhile, Lord Andrew was fantastic and I loved him which is something I never thought I'd say, least of all on the internet and I realise requires an explanation.

Well, I loved him because of the way in which he played the piano to one hundred million viewers with the clear fury of a man screaming at every single one of them 'DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM NITWITS? HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY NOT VOTE FOR ME?'

Brilliant!

And he wouldn't sit in the green room to be filmed with all the other losers which was highly commendable, opting I am sure, for a light dinner of panda cakes covered in diamonds in a room at the Kremlin instead. Good work Lord Webber. You did all that you could for us. (Apart from win, obviously).

Meanwhile, the rest of Europe had done their usual doolally best by fielding a line up of women dressed as hookers and mime artists in gimp masks. Always worth a go, although I quite liked Germany who turned up with Gok off of Fashion Fix singing Minnie The Moocher. I always thought you had to actually write a new song for the Eurovision but apparently not. They were well on for my vote until that Dita Von Trapp woman interrupted doing her usual talent packed routine of Having A Very Small Waist.

Well done dear - we can all have our vital organs removed. Now tell us what it is you actually do?

Of course Iceland tried to spoil everything by sporting a pretty girl who actually did her own singing and even more of a cheat, sang something resembling a proper song. The wiser countries of Europe realised the incredible insurgency of this and voted her into second place, but sadly no one was brave enough to do the right thing

So here we all were then, left with Harry Potter without his glasses pretending to play a fiddle that wasn't plugged in (not that any of the instruments were for the entire evening) and singing a song that was, by anyone not deaf's standards, dreadful.

Frankly me and the Lovely Best Friend were bewildered. Surely we'd missed something? What on earth made it favourite and even more concerning, what an earth made people actually vote? I could only put it down to something subliminal we'd been shouting at the telly too loudly to hear.

Thankfully a note of normality returned as LBF's boyfriend walked in, announcing he was 8 out of 10 drunk and for all that, speaking the only sense of the evening by saying we were bonkers to have watched it in the first place.

'We didn't come last,' I said in our defence. 'We got votes this year and everything, but the Danish spoilt it by singing the hokey cokey and making it all total rubbish'.

'It's Eurovision, you muppet' he replied, not unkindly. 'It's supposed to be rubbish.'

Good point.

After three everybody...."She's a fairytale yeh, even though it hurts....."