Greetings Oneuropers, from the continuing adventures from a fugitive from the bounds of sanity. I found myself uttering 'Am I still at this fecking contest' for the first time this morning. Maybe I should get out more.
The Greeks gave us a wake up call in the Caldicot Odeon this morning, saying something we know patently isn't true. Not this close to the Kattegat anyway. It's a three-minute pastiche of all things Hellenic, and would only need some ancient Greek statue to complete the set. Hang on a minute, what's that playing a bouzouki? Anyways, it bumbles along as only a song like this can. I understand from a reliable source that Kosa Mostra are aware that many people out there have drink problems, so they couldn't possibly condone heavy drinking. They might get a shock if they come to the Euroclub on any given evening.
Israel's own walking advert for Specsavers (which has Swedish branches too) showed off what her 'styling och consulting' gurus told her to wear. You'll look educated they said. Then there's Moran's plunging neckline that no-one has found the end of yet. When you see the song, play 'Where's Mossad'. They're out there somewhere.
The Dorians did what they did with a song like this. No trace of Tony Iommi's fingerprints on this, it would seem. They've still yet to meet Black Sabbath's best. I didn't think it stood a chance when I first heard it, and I don't think it does now. Maybe next year.
If people are still alive after Armenia, then Hungary might be a breath of fresh air. If you like songs about girls being raised by (Kati) Wolves or carriages pulled by crickets, then you will be in song heaven. He looks quirky, but the song wouldn't be right if it was sung by someone 'normal'. Not only this, but if you want to sing along, the words are on the screen behind him. I know I will.
My thoughts on the final five will come up when I can escape surveillance for a short while later.