Project 289 - Day 59 : Waterloo! I Was Defeated, You.... OMG That Was 35 Years Ago! DAY 2 of EuroFest 2009

What does any sane rational kitsch-obsessed gay man do after a hard day toiling away in the Cubicle of Death and Greyness?

Why he goes home to see his dear friend, Kerry (who was feeling very unwell with a headache but rallied nonetheless, Eurovision tragic that she is, to watch the entire first semi-final, and cheer on her favourites, Israel -see above), and wait to be joined by his gorgeous guy, to watch the first Eurovision semi-final! Oddly enough for a man who loves Eurovision in an almost unseemly way, this is the first year I watched both semi-finals before the final. "Quelle fromage!" as my friend Lincoln is fond of saying. But distressing though that graphic admission is, it is, sadly, and no doubt I shall not hear the end of it when next I go to Oxford Street, it is the truth.

Still how better to face such dark secrets that could shame on entire Kylie of gay man (yes it's the collective term, I swear darling!) than to bury them deep where they turn into cravings for pizza, self-indulgent shopping and trips to healthy and beauty spas. Despite the fact that the words SEMIFINAL spelt out in large block letters on the screen looked a lot like Somalia from where I was sitting - apparently Somalia is not in Europe although you can hardly blame even a geographically literate guy like me for thinking so when Israel makes the cut! - the first semifinal turned out to be chock full of good songs and talented performers, which for those of us who adore the musical train wreck that Eurovision so delightfully often can be, was a sign tantamount to the four horsemen of the iPodocalypse riding by humming muzak.

Thankfully the inexplicable rise of decent talent to the Eurovision ranks was sullied in the best possible way by cheesy acts such as the Czech republic (see directly above this paragraph)- which featured a Freddie Mercury lookalike in an orange jumpsuit! - or technocolour acts so bright, such as Portugal (see directly below this paragraph), that they make Fischer-Price toys look monochrome. 

Mollified by the inclusion of such deliciously typical Eurovision acts as this, and wishing they would make the final (though we doubted that even the European public could stomach as much fromage as the Czech were happily offering!), we sat back, soaked all the rainbow-hued kitschness and wondered if the hosts (see below)- one a leering, female co-host groping major Russian TV star; the other a breathlessly vapid model with a slippery grasp of pre-scripted French phrases - were doing their utmost to restore the wackiness of old, all by themselves.

In the end, we simply didn't care. It was Eurovision. Is cheesy. Is good.