What, I say, WHAT on EARTH is all this malarkey surrounding the Eurovision Song Contest this year? It’s all over the BBC like an irritating rash. It’s bad enough there are programmes devoted to the run up to Saturday’s main event without every other programme being given a Eurovision slant to it, too. I am convinced that my annoyance at its unnecessarily in-depth coverage is yet another sign I am growing old, along with my increasing inability to understand anyone with a strong regional accent, my growing issues with being able to digest anything vaguely spicy and my total bewilderment as to why anyone would deliberately walk around in public in those jeans with designer holes and slashes in them.
Back to Eurovision. I remember the good ole days when it was a one Saturday evening a year event bringing together around 20 countries who presented songs of varying standard, which were then followed by some very partisan voting (Greece gives Cyprus 12 points, Cyprus returns the favour etc) invariably meaning the wrong country won and I’d retire way past my bedtime feeling slightly piqued. I ought to say now that I haven’t watched Eurovision for many years and judging by the fall out in the newspapers the following the day, I’m jolly glad I haven’t.
Buck’s Fizz, England winners back in 1981. Ah, those were the days! Fab song with requisite key change, nice little dance routine, could understand all the words!
What I can’t stand about this year’s over-extravagant waste of my licence fee is the NOISE, the EXCITEMENT, the larger than life costumes, hair and makeup, the PRANCING, the POSING, and the whole over-the-topness being shoved in my introvert face. And this is why I’m spending a lot of time gardening and cooking, and studying Pilates, herbalism and Tarot. Yes, not only I am growing too old for all this Euro shizzle, I am turning into a witch.
I’ve also been focusing on preparations for His Lordship Malarkey’s birthday which is tomorrow. I’ve made him a cake - chocolate, and decorated with Maltesers and chocolate coated cornflakes. It’s never been done before - I like to think it adds texture. We are going out for dinner in the evening. I was at a loss as to what to buy him for a present this year so have gone rogue and curated (yes, that’s definitely the word to describe the birthday collection) a selection of exciting stuff he never knew he wanted! I’ve written little cards for each of the items in order to explain my thinking behind each one, and there is only one which I now think, ‘Good grief, woman - what possessed you to buy THAT?!’ Still, it could be a hit. Who knows? Tomorrow will tell.
Last week I sowed some basil seeds and coriander seeds. I don’t know why I bothered with the coriander because whilst I was on my hands and knees weeding the gravel in front of the herb beds in the courtyard, I discovered loads of self-seeded coriander which is doing way better than the stuff I’ve deliberately planted and lovingly cared for in the greenhouse. See, it’s a lesson in just leaving life and events to their own devices. No need to bother with the niceties of compost and vermiculite and spraying the seeds trays with fine mist. Bah!
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