This past weekend, I was witness to something truly beautiful. One of my local pubs, usually a haunt of Celtic fans and those looking for a cheap roast dinner deal, found itself comprised of two parts middle-aged Glaswegians watching football and one part twenty-somethings in glitter and faux beards.
This, my friends, is the power of Eurovision.
I cannot believe that it has taken me this many years to watch an event that is so CLEARLY aimed squarely at my camp-loving heart - all the fun and pageantry of the Olympics, none of the sports or over-long commentary. In fact, the rapid-fire nature of the nearly 30 performances was liable to induce a seizure, even without the numerous warnings about strobe effects being in use.
A competition in name only, this is the event I would have invented if it wasn't invented already. And while I'm very happy for Sweden, it's clear to me that a couple of folks were overlooked.
Ladies and gentlemen, only the finest of Israeli skipping and shimmying:
What's that you're saying? There aren't enough Azerbaijani wolf-dances out there? NO LONGER:
Sure, Serbia was blatantly trying to ride Conchita Wurst's elegant and spangly coattails to an easy win, but the song still rocked:
What's more, the theme of the event was "building bridges," an overt nod to its adorable let's-all-just-group-hug-now ethos (which, incidentally, is probably why the UK never does that well...). And Russia came thisclose to winning, which pleases on a number of Putin-shaming levels.
I have never been prouder to call this continent my home. If Brexit is on the way, then fine, take my trade deals, freedom of travel, and easily-smuggled meat and cheese products. But for the love of all that is good, let us please stay in Eurovision.