NORMAL LIFE: Eurovision Is Over, A Trip To UK in Order

Another Eurovision Song Contest comes to an end and, by god, didn’t Finland do well? In the Finnish media, there has been some internal worry as to the Nordic nation’s ability to carry off such a demanding show. Well, they excelled, they surely did. The stage was wow, albeit somewhat distant from the audience who had paid an arm and a leg to witness the festivities first hand. Lordi opened the show and Father Christmas, Finland’s most famous citizden, made a special appearance alongside presenters Mikko Leppilampi and Jaana Pelkonen.

Watching the live broadcast from the comfort of my own living room, however, with the sound system perfectly aligned to receive high quality audio, I was left feeling already somewhat wary as to the show’s results. There’s a sense of foreboding as the first half of the show consisted largely of participants from the former Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia.

After two hours of performances interspersed with amusing ‘postcards from Finland’ highlighting fascinating aspects of Finnish culture, the voting began. I don’t quite know how the voting system is functioning, but as the results were revealed, it was obvious that it had all gone wrong. Again! From the results, it was clear that any aspect of modernism, except for the Ukrainian entry which came second, was not appreciated by whoever who had voted; the first half of the show had consisted of music of such funereal proportions that I was desperate for a bit of pop.

Turkey fared well and rightly so, but isn’t it wrong that a singer with 24 number one hits under his belt should be representing his country? I mean, in all fairness, if Robbie Williams or Kylie Minogue were to represent the UK entry in 2008, would we still walk away with a measly 19 points? Probably. And if we did, it would surely be a way of proving that the system is flawed.

We have three choices: do away with the semi finals so that everyone participates on an equal footing (the concept of a Big4 automatically getting to the final each year is wrong); change the voting system so that Russian and Yugoslavian votes are somehow weighted and averaged (this would do away with the issue of having a common language as well as any remaining alliances); or pull out altogether. I mean why should the UK, a major contributor to the costs of the event, be constantly undermined by more than 40 countries who have highjacked our language? We deserve bonus points for that alone!

The UK entry this year wasn’t that bad. Personally, I think the UK entry was actually better than the victor, Serbian Marija Serifovic, who walked away with a staggering 268 points. I know it’s wrong to point out that the top ten winners – which automatically qualify for a place in 2008’s final together with the Big4 – are of Eastern European origin, but I personally don’t want to listen to a show that consists of former Russian Pop Idol winners thinking they’re all that, where swords are considered adequate props in the 21st Century and where yelling along with drums is still considered an art form worthy of votes.

I woke up this morning feeling like I had actually been partying on the dance-floor rather than having enjoyed the show – I have to stress again how well the Helsinki crew did, I am proud of them – from the comfort of my own sofa. Over breakfast, we debated once again the results, having printed out the results from both the semis and the final. Used to feeling singled out following repetitive and somewhat predicable perceptions of the UK entry, Bree was totally unamused. I mean, of the Top 10 winners, only Belarus awarded points to Finland and, in doing so, just one measly point; if a point was a tangible object, I would gladly roll it up and shove it up their arse.

After breakfast, and having packed for my evening flight to the UK, we went for a walk around nearby Töölönlahti (Töölö Bay); it was a glorious day, clear blue skies, a fresh breeze rustling through the trees donning new buds of immense bright green. Already nearly mid-may, the trees were finally starting to sense the season and, having spent many months waiting for this moment (for it usual signifies the blink-or-you’ll-miss-it start of Summer), I felt somewhat sad that I was leaving for England for a week.

Over an early dinner, discussion soon turned back to the Eurovision once again. How could this have happened? Will is mark the start of the end, given that the Big4 ranked 19th(Germany), 20th (Spain) and joint 22nd (France and UK) place? After dinner, I downed two of Bree’s delicious Banana Muffins before heading to the airport; after all the Eurovision madness, the streets were quiet once again. Within twenty minutes, I was at the airport, checking in. Five minutes later, I was inside the departure lounge, having already cleared Security. By god, I love this airport, I thought to myself.

I wandered through the airport, with an hour to spare and surprisingly bumped into a colleague of mine. Glum-faced, she was off to Milan on business. Listening to her incessant moaning, I quickly made my excuses and left. I headed towards the main part of the departure lounge, find myself a seat and making some calls.

Underneath the SkyBar walkway emerged two members of Scooch, the British Eurovision entry. When the dark-haired female member of the group was within earshot (I confess I don’t know any of their names), I coolly complemented her: You did a great job to the unappreciative masses last night. She came over and made polite chit-chat. I asked her where do we go from here? She shrugged her shoulders, indicating that she had no idea. She was in high spirits, however, because the UK as a nation knows we make good music. We therefore don’t need countries like Serbia, the Ukraine, Bulgaria and Belarus to tell us that. To prove that I’m not just negative towards the west, weren’t the Russian and Turkish entries fab?

Before long, it was time for boarding and I started to feel sorry for Scooch. Seated with the rest of us in Economy, people hassled them for autographs on all types of media, be it postcards, scraps of paper or t-shirts. I was seated along the back row and monitored every one of their movements. Next to me, I got talking to a guy who, from London, had visited Helsinki for the Eurovision. Before long, the guy sitting next to him, in the aisle seat, joined in and somehow hijacked the conversation; he was so camp, pointing out how fab this and that was and how entries from as far back as 1997 were superior compared to this years acts. I quickly switched off, feigning tiredness and looking out of the window. As the guys chatted, I yearned to be back on terra firma – I have noticed that as I get older, I am more restless on flights.

After a pretty bumpy landing, I waited patiently as it took half an hour for the plane to find a place to park. When the plane had come to a halt and the seatbelt signs had been switched off, an announcement sounded through the cabin, explaining that there was no staff waiting for us at the gate to escort us off. Sometime I wonder why people bother to fly scheduled if someone can’t be bothered to come and let you off the bloody plane! When I finally managed to get off the plane, I headed towards the baggage reclaim area where, for nearly an hour, I waited for my luggage while biting my tongue. As I rushed through customs, emerging into the passenger reception area, I headed to the hire care desk which was closed. Proceed to Bus Stop 5, the sign said, so I did. It was only when I left the terminal building and looked right that I realized I was in England; all traffic comes from the left! I walked along the pavement in search of Bus Stop 5, with a grin from ear to ear; I noticed that my smile disturbed some onlookers; this just made me grin even more!