The Eurovision song contest meant a lot to me growing up. The eclectic performances. Terry Wogan’s despair. The yearly tradition of Greece giving “douze points” to Cyprus and Cyprus giving “douze points” to Greece.
The hedonistic, unpredictable event playing out on my bedroom television couldn’t be further away from the idyllic yet conservative Dorset I grew up in. Most of my youth consisted of trying to work out how to perfectly align my future career so I could work at the contest if it ever ended up in the UK again, all while being confused by why my friends were not interested in my written analyses on each entrant.
