In the space of seven days we have gone from 400 million people watching a show of pomp and pageantry in the King’s coronation, to Mel Giedroyc sitting behind Hannah Waddingham at the Eurovision Song Contest churning butter. In what seemed to be a reference to Poland’s cheeky entry from a few years back (with the suggestive butter churner replaced by what looked like a toilet brush), Giedroyc stole the whole show and became an instant sex symbol.
This absolutely nuts, spectacularly hilarious, show-stopping moment made me want to go back on dairy. It was homage to the soft porn Eurovision performance of yesteryear, and a reminder to take life with a pinch of salt. It was also a reminder that when it comes to humour, no one can top Britain.
The opening of Eurovision saw a spectacular performance from Ukraine, with comedian Verka Serduchka losing her shoe as she opened with a throwback performance that felt like it stepped right out of the year 2007. It was madness already.
There was no end to the wackiness, from Finland – who looked like a techno bowl of bogies and bubble gum – singing “Cha Cha Cha” and absolutely adored by the crowds, to Croatia who looked like The Village People on acid. Five men with massive moustaches singing about their mothers buying a tractor, ending with them stripping to white underpants shouting, “I love you Croatia”, while rockets went off behind them, turning Eurovision into a “who can get the most naked without being arrested?” competition. It was art. It was political. It was anti-war. It was totally and utterly Eurovision.
Hosts Alesha Dixon, Julia Sanina, Hannah Waddingham and Graham Norton were the campest, most colourful hosts possible. But some of the score announcers from various countries seemed to have mistaken the song contest for an 18-30s stag do in Ayia Napa, with many of them flirting outrageously with Hannah. Shout out to the German announcer who pretended to propose, and to Cyprus who told the Ted Lasso star: “You broke my unbroken heart.”
Eurovision went on longer than Liz Truss’s premiership, and I was nodding off till I heard Graham Norton shouting: “What am I to know? I’m just an ageing homosexual in a commentary booth.” The humour was relentless and so ironic.
When the points started rolling in, it all changed and I couldn’t help shouting: “Why is no one voting for us? If they were voting for a passport, we’d win!” We’ve got Catherine Tate, Sonia and Jan Leeming!
It was an electric atmosphere, but I spent the whole night in fear that the lovely Loreen from Sweden was going to take her own eye out with her painted claws that I last saw in either the nail bars of Hackney or Dudley Zoo. I really hoped she wouldn’t have an itch up her bum; otherwise, she could lose a finger. A cross between Freddy Krueger and The Countess, the only boring moment was that it was no surprise she won, even though she constantly looked like she’d just woken up from a hot Swedish massage.
Walking up to perform one final time, in a beige cut-out body suit, abs, nails and slippers – which she took off to perform – it was like a night at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern gone horribly right.
We showed Europe we aren’t an anti-Europe Brexit nation; Liverpool is a city of humour, fun and camaraderie. We are united by music, madness, glitter and implied nudity.
It was blue and yellow all night, we had a great party in our house and Ukraine were our very special guests. Liverpool, Europe, Ukraine and Australia? Love and peace; and don’t forget your shoes.
Shazia Mirza is a comedian, actor and writer