Chiki Can't, Chiki Can't

And as threatened, the blog's annual visit to the mobile-phone fest that is Eurovision. One has but to assume that Gazprom had texted the whole of the former eastern bloc to let them know that if their boy didn't win, they'd cut off the supplies. Or maybe it was just fear of renewed Russian expansion. Either way, I'm still trying to figure out where the intro to the song was lifted from and also wondering what clout Heinz had in the whole affair. Unnoticed by many perhaps was the fact that one of the song's composers was someone called Jim Beanz.

Apparently Sir Wogan is thinking of giving up in protest at the whole farce, but had he not noticed before that there was something slightly biased about the voting? Not to defend the last place scooped by the UK; it might have made it on to a Real Thing album circa mid-70s as a last-minute filler. Not that old-fashioned is a crime in Eurovision circles.

But at least Spanish TV has got into the mood a bit more. Gone is the seriousness that it once attached to the event, as was evident from the Spanish "song" performed by a Viz-Elvis who had modelled himself on Tucker from "Citizen Smith"; see, told you there was nothing wrong with old-fashioned. And the Spanish commentator amused himself hugely by guessing, usually correctly, where the votes were going. Mind you, he was not alone. The contest needs a return to a bit of good old bribery and corruption of a Franco-esque nature to right the injustices of the voting system. There again, the UK can't complain too much. In an act of cross-Irish Sea fraternity, Dublin top-three-ed our boy, though there was clearly some display of sympathy emanating from the Emerald Isle as the other two were the Polish woman who could have teethed for Eurovision (and indeed did) and only beat our chap on some form of goal difference principle and the Latvian pirates who would be made to walk the plank were they ever to have the brass-neck to pitch up at Magaluf's Pirates Adventure.

I am grateful to today's "Sunday Times" for presenting some of the lyrics (sic) of the drivel with which Tucker, sorry Chiki Chiki, regaled Europe with the story of the girl who dances with her knickers in her hand:

"El Chiki Chiki is a reaggeton
Dance in Argentina, Serbia and Oregon
Give el Chiki Chiki to that little sister
With el Chiki Chiki
She's gonna like it mister"

Fabulous.

Still, the Greek girl was acceptably girl-next-door even if she was doing a sort of Kylie in the early days of Stock Aitken and Waterman. The only song that had any real merit was Sebastian Tellier for France. Way too clever for Eurovision, and it duly flopped. There again, France doesn't have a bunch of former satellites to boost its score; even Andorra sided with Chiki rather than stump up for Seba. France doesn't even have the Italians to maybe help a bit. They've taken their ball home and, which about sums the whole thing up, have let San Marino onto the Eurovision field of play. You know, it's all those years of making up the numbers in football qualifying events - Moldova, Azerbaijan, Armenia, Estonia, etc. They're just getting their own back, even if San Marino have yet to learn the full lesson, which is don't give the UK six points.


QUIZ
Chain - Peter Wyngarde was in "The Innocents". Em, do I really need to explain the association with George Michael? Yesterday's title - Pet Shop Boys with Dusty. Today's title - a variation on?

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Sing Something Simple

Eurovision. An annual event, and an annual feature on this most Euro of blogs. The Spanish take this nonsense seriously, but given that it is indistinguishable from the rest of Spanish television, this is not surprising.

The contest has never been about music. Now it is a glorious and cynical exploitation by the mobile industry of the diaspora and the nationalistic and xenophobic tendencies of the not-so-long liberated eastern Europe and near Asia. They should just junk the song part and move straight to the voting. Brilliant.

But it cannot be taken seriously. If it were, how could one possibly explain the UK entry. Only at one level was it spot-on – a couple of homosexualists and some dodgy totty. Pretty much like any cabin crew. And for anyone who wondered whatever happened to Timmy Mallett, it would appear he’s now Ukrainian.

For what it’s worth, there was but one song that grabbed me. Despite or perhaps because of the George Michael rip-off, Turkey was the stand-out.


Meanwhile … after all the dire weather, it is now starting to large it. Perhaps all those predictions of a hot-hot-hot summer might come true.

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