I have spent the last three evenings being inducted into the delights of the Eurovision song contest. It’s never really been on my television or musical radar before but the enthusiastic liveblogging on Circulating Library and the expert commentary at The Memes of Production got me thinking there might be more this whole Eurovision caper than I had first recognised.

So, I sat in front the telly, laptop on my lap and twittered my way through two semifinals and the final (although I did go to bed once the singing was done because I knew who won and was less than impressed.) I didn’t stick around for the Olympic opening ceremony type entertainment. Because let’s face it I’ve seen enough of those to last me a lifetime. Still, I probably missed something wonderfully Eurovisiony, like dancing bears, or a giant pink military tank.

Anyway, I’m not going to get into a debate about who should have made it into the final (SERBIA) and who shouldn’t (ROMANIA,) and who should have won (MOLDOVA, TURKEY or PORTUGAL), but I will say this I am now far more educated about the ways of Eurovision than I was a week ago.

Firstly, fire is good, whether it be flames shooting up from the stage, or, more impressively, shooting out of the palm of your hand.

Secondly, too many fireworks are never enough, especially if they spark up in time with the music not just at the end of the song, but during it as well.

Thirdly, lighting. You can never have too much in the way of blinding lasers, light beams and all round flashing lights. Minimum level required – epilepsy inducing. More, it seems, is more.

Fourthly, if you’re going to wear national costume make sure you jazz it up with some garish colours, shorten all skirts to the point of indecency, and tighten all pants the same.

Fifthly, it’s not about the quality of the songwriting or the sincerity with which you sing. Some entrants made this mistake (Estonia I’m looking at you).

Sixthly, (and this applies beyond the boundaries of Eurovision) Andrew Lloyd Webber is never a good idea. Ever. Neither are white grand pianos. Again I stress – ever.

Seventhly, save the proper professional hosts for the final. Natasha and Igor (or whatever his name was) were suitably cringe-inducing for the semi-finals. MOscow kept the hosts who knew what they were doing and didn’t make inappropriate remarks with regard the magic button for the final. (Well I’m guessing on this last bit seeing as I didn’t stay up for the magic button part of the final).

Eighthly, Australia isn’t in it. However, our jingoistic national pride insists that Julia and her hosting friend found some tenuous link to Australia in the Greek entry.

Ninethly, Julia Zemiro is not funny unless she’s working in front of a live studio audience. I base this fairly unsubstantiated opinion on my viewing of Rockwiz and Thank God You’re Here where she was much more entertaining than her Eurovision commentary would have you believe.

Tenthly, well I can’t think of a tenthly. But I’m sure with future viewings in the years to come, I will become more learned in the ways of Eurovision.

And I leave you with a quote from Clive James from his TV column the year that ABBA won and Olivia Newton-John represented the UK
“Representing Sweden were ABBA, a two-girl and two-man outfit with a song called ‘Waterloo’. This one, built on a T-Rex riff and a Supremes phrase, was delivered in a Pikkety Witch style that pointed up the cretinous lyric with ruthless precision…The girl with the blue knickerbockers, the silver boots and the clinically interesting lordosis looked like being the darling of the contest…There could be no doubt that in real life she was squarer than your mother, but compared to Olivia she was as hip as Grace Slick, and this year..hip was in…As the girls clattered off in their ill-matching but providentially chosen clobber, their prospects looked unnervingly good. The hook of their song lasted a long time in the mind, like a kick in the knee…” (from Visions Before Midnight).

Perhaps that’s won it for Mr Norway. He was like a giant kick in the knee.