We may be babies, but when it comes to the EV gravy train, we're fully developed.

Years ago, when I worked in a newsroom, while compiling the brilliantly hilarious news that Lynne Faure had come just before last at the Eurovision – was it Lynne Faure? does anybody remember? – a colleague and I started planning our Eurovision entry for the next year.

If she could place herself (us?) at that number, we reasoned, then we could go one better and come…last. We planned horrendous clothing, a massive ego and parents who thought we were Maria Callas and Demis Roussos rolled in one even though our ‘experience’ extended to a few warbles in the shower and humming.

We planned to alienate the gay crowd as much as possible by pretending the EuroVision was straighter than a ram-rod. We planned a retinue of village hairdressers and wannabe make-up artists to accompany us. Lord how we planned. Oh well, try doing the night-shift in a newsroom when the most exciting thing happening is this and believe me, you’ll come up with a few things yourself.

Obviously, we had no idea how much this would cost, because money, we figured, really would not be an object.

Sadly, I no longer work with my ex colleague. She never pursued her EuroVision dream and neither did I. Crazily, we kept the day job.

Last year we found out that PBS spend an average of €400,000 on this annual farce and I choked on my microphone. Or rather, evening biscuit.

I used to be a fan of the EuroVision, not for the reasons most of Malta, iz-zokra tad-dinja, is. I don’t think that a three-minute stab at fame and fortune in front of millions of viewers who have absolutely no interest in visiting us is ‘good publicity’ or ‘bad publicity’ or any publicity at all. I used to just enjoy the night-in I always plan with my uber-gay mates. We sit at home, cook a lot of food and scream with laughter at 98% of the participants. The other 2% would somehow be worthy – good looking, or simply, odd enough. Five minutes after the ‘contest’ was over, by which time half of us would have passed out on the sofa, we would not remember a single song.

Then we stopped getting excited about it. The whole thing became so amazingly boring that we realised that if we wanted to eat and watch TV, we were all better off renting a comedy DVD. The EuroVision contest had become a sort of comedy-of-errors devoid of humour.

Now we cannot even be bothered with the party. Nonetheless, Eileen Montesin is still at it, isn’t she? Good lord! Who sends this woman every year to ‘comment’? Who gives her this right to inflict auditory pain and suffering upon our already bruised ears with tixwix to ‘not’ vote for this country or ‘vote’ for the other as if we could possibly be bothered picking up the phone.

We used to laugh at this but €400,000 is not really that funny, is it?  Have you ever seen the retinue that ‘accompany’ the singer on this gravy train? Well, if you haven’t, maybe you should. One of my closest friends had actually participated in the EV so I do know what goes on behind the scenes. Gravy train does not even begin to describe it; that is unless the ‘gravy’ is laced with gold leaf. Moreover, the singers themselves have hardly any say in anything. They are almost ‘victims’ of their bid for fame and these leeches who cannot organise their own holidays.

PBS say they are tied to the EuroVision because they are members of the European Broadcasting Union. So is the Vatican State TV. So are a few stations from Algeria, Armenia, Lebanon and Libya.

If somebody in Malta feels obliged to ‘invest’ in a local singer, they can just use the money to help quite a few produce an album and market it. We don’t need to go through this charade every year. Oh, and if some of the usual suspects are so adamant about it, maybe they can set up a fund and use their own money for this ‘investment’.

If Malta’s gay men want to go to the EuroVision and be part of the audience, then they can continue doing what they are doing already: paying their way, or going on a massive gay cruise, which is more fun and more honest.

Anybody else who just wants an excuse for a holiday can stop using our tax and license money to do it please.

 

An earlier edit of this article was published in 2010. Since then, a big fat nothing has changed except maybe we spend more.