Oh dear. I’m having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction in that picture. Well, I started with a pretty dysfunctional wardrobe to begin with (denim jacket, unbuttoned shirt, gelled-back hair), but I guess there’s a limit to how open one’s shirt can be before a nipple pops out. Don’t worry. It’s very Russian. Somehow. Well, it’s very sleazy. And that’s pretty Russian.
The attire, of course, was specially for Eurovision. Do you think I dress like this normally? In any case, I’m sure glad that Alex and I drove in to the pub. I wouldn’t have lasted too long on public transport looking like this. I mean, I once got heckled for wearing a bow tie.
Anyway, the occasion was Eurovision, that annual contest of ridiculousness and very little actual musicality. What I find disappointing are the acts that aren’t incredibly daggy. It’s Eurovision, you idiots! Not Idol or some generic talent show. And what are you doing here, Britain? You’re not European, really, are you? There were, however, enough amazingly crazy or daggy acts to keep me interested tonight. Even if I couldn’t for the life of me see why Germany won. Bet it was rigged.
Once the performances finished, Alex and I got bored and came home, where we ate chips and 30 Rock. Good end to the night.
