Last night I rekindled the ancient tradition of celebrating Eurovision with my old uni friends. We do not believe in proper parties, with more than five people, so we watched as a merry trio, filling out scorecards and feasting on onion rings, chips, millionaire shortbread* and cupcakes.
Early on in the night Rob had an excellent idea.
"Zing! Why don't we rename all the songs?"
An excellent idea, which yielded varied results.
Malta became 'Your Mum'
Lithuania became 'Fisting'
Iceland became 'Cold, Dead Eyes' and 'Record Exec Rape-a-thon'
Estonia became 'Fiddle Me This'
France became 'Milf Noir'
Norway became 'Zac Efron is Safe'
Mead was cracked open...
The Ukraine were ROBBED... and the evening ended with us all yelling Wonderstuff songs in Elin's face and mocking her for buying a ticket to see them next week. We were all secretly pleased that we were too young to remember many of their songs properly.
*Why is it called this? It is inexpensive.