Nations crumble, empires burn, the Euro kicks the crap out of the American dollar and no-one can wrench Silvio Burlusconi's nose out of the toilet, but nonetheless Europe endures - and brings us new heights of fabulous camp in this, the first Eurovision Song Contest to be hosted by Serbia. And oh, what a treasure trove of musical talent and jawdropping gormlessness Belgrade has for us this coming weekend.
Elnur and Samir from Azerbaijan, whose song 'Day After Day' presumably explains why two Torana-banging high-school dropouts from the western suburbs are suddenly pretending to be Eurasian popstars. Seriously, these two look like the fish Big Brother
rejected, dedicated Corey Worthington clones down to the sunglasses and hairdos. I'm pretty sure one of them works at my local McDonalds.
You know what Eurovision's being crying out for? Septuagenarian accordion players in white suits and straw boaters. I sense a movement. Oh, and this is Kraljevi Ulice from Croatia. So expect gunfire when they play to a Serbian crowd.
Two years ago Finland won a special place in the world's heart when monster-rock act Lordi won Eurovision. This year their entry is Terasbetoni, who appear to be a Whitesnake tribute band. Or possibly a group of young WWE hopefuls. I must admit that when I think bare chests, leather pants and body oil, my imagination goes more to Mardi Gras than Eurovision. Although maybe they're the same thing.
This is Germany's entry, No Angels.
...no bras, either.
For God's sake, Ireland, you're not even trying
to look like you want to win any more. Last year's alcoholic folk band was bad enough, but a glove puppet? Why not just send a giant animated bum to moon the audience? "And now, here's Blarney O'Browneye with Ireland's entry 'Stick a Tater Up Me and Send Me Home.'" Hmm? Sound good? Call me and we'll work something out, Ireland; my consultancy rates are high, but it's still cheaper than having to host Eurovision.
Jeronimas Milius of Lithuania.
Don't cross him. He's the Toreador Prince of Dandenong, you know.
The most awesome thing about Spain's Rodolfo Chikilicuatre is not his novelty glasses, nor the fact that he looks like Rolf Harris in an Elvis pompadour wig. It's that he plays reggae. Yes, Spain is pinning its hopes on a garden gnome doing a dance-hall bo selecta
version of the Chicken Dance with a drum machine backing him. I would like to officially declare that SPAIN IS AWESOME. See, Ireland, this
is how you shoot yourself in the foot with style
Latvia's entry, the Pirates of the Sea.
Nothing I write could make this seem any more ludicrous than it already is.
Roll on Sunday night, that's what I say.