My confession...

I have a confesssion to make.
Last night I watched the BBC's "making your mind up"

The programme which bestows upon the British public the heady responsibility of choosing the song and performer(s) to represent these fair isles in the forthcoming Eurovision Song Contest.

For those of a foreign (not european) constitution a word of explanation.

The Eurovision Song Contest occurs once a year around April/May time and has replaced the once popular past-time amongst European nations of going to war with each other, now instead of fighting another German Reich every twenty 'years or so we don't vote for them in the Eurovision Song Contest, or we don't vote for whoever we have argued with in the European Parliament that week.

If you (non-europeans) ever have the chance of watching the four or five hour extravaganza on some public service network then do yourself a big favour and skip the first three hours when the different countries representatives actually sing their songs, and just watch the voting at the end instead when each country in turn picks ten entrants and awards them points from 1 to 12 (no I don't know why either), you can't help but notice that Greece or Cyprus never award anything to Turkey and viceversa and likewise with the former Yugoslav states and since we now allow former Russian states to enter and Isreal too (who also never vote for Turkey), then you can only imagine the resultant bun fight come marking time.

Last night the BBC showcased six acts who were all hoping to represent our country this year ranging from former boy band, drug addict and failed suicide bidder Brian Harvey who sang an appalling ballad that he admitted to having written himself, about himself, and like himself it was fekkin awful, to a former member of girl band Atomic Kitten Liz McLarnon who sang a song that she had written herself, it was fekkin awful, to former lead singer of The Darkness Justin Hawkins who sang a duet with some bint that he'd written himself and was so fekkin awful that I felt physically sick for the lad, to a band of soul, funky, hip-hop rappers who's name escapes me who sang a song that they had written which wasn't that bad really, to a french girl called Cindi who wanted to represent the UK in Eurovision (no I don't know how that works either), and finally to Scooch, the tradition Eurovision two boys and two girls all of whom look like they have just been moulded from pure sugar and whom, if you were stood next to them on a train for more than five minutes you'd punch them very hard in the throat just for being so.

I watched them all and cringed for most of the way through, but when Scooch walked on stage dressed as air stewardesses and pilots to sing a song with an avionic theme complete with a dance that had been devised by a pre-school playgroup high on suger saturated Fanta orange, then I hid behind the settee such was my discomfort.

Unfortunately their song was exactly what is required to win the Eurovision Song Contest for if our European compadres have one thing going for them its that they have absolutely no taste whatsoever when it comes to music.

Every year across the Spanish Costas some fekkin sickly song and dance reaches the parts of your bowels that Epsom Salts cannot reach and for months every sad fekker that goes for a cheap package holiday in some fekkin concrete hellhole on a Spanish coastline returns to these shores singing the fekkin stupid refrain and doing the fekkin stupid little dance that they have spent the whole two weeks of their chavvy little holiday learning.

Scooch's song "Flying the Flag (for you)" (retch) is of that genre - it reminds me of the son of a friend of mine who spent last summer in Spain working as a tour rep for Thomas Cook who, after he'd returned home and we'd got him drunk enough, showed us the song and dance routine that he had to do at the friday night "reps entertain" evening, it was appalling and embarrassing and I wish we hadn't forced him to show us, but it was exactly the same dance that Scooch did last night.

They will win Eurovision hands down, for our European kinfolk have no shame.