I'm at Brother Edward and Sascha's house watching Melodifest: Sweden's massive song competition which culminates in the selection of a song for the gay man's World Cup, Eurovision. It was won by a rather peculiar, somewhat messy song performed by a part-British lad who can't really sing. You could have blown me down with a feather when we were told that the song, If I Were Sorry, was already the favourite to win the whole competition. I genuinely wonder if I'm getting a bit old, because the UK entry this year, which Sascha and Edward both rate really highly, strikes me as a bit of a non song, or a nong as we like to call it in Highgate. My immediate prediction was that it would come 23rd. One place above Germany - whatever they've chosen this year. But what do I know? I gave this year's Swedish winner nul points on my little scoreboard.
We've been shown all the other entries for this year. Expect to belly laugh at San Marino. Expect to be moved by Italy. Your shoulders might say yes to Spain. Estonia is louche and quirky. You'll like Russia despite yourself. Serbia and the Czech Republic have offered up the big singers. The Serbian entry is a cross between Amy Winehouse and Judi Garland with a whiff of Maria Callas! Intrigued? You should be.
I've been all over London today. We walked through the woods to Muswell Hill with Mezza for lunch and then walked back again giving all the dogs we passed marks out of ten. Nathan refused to score them, fearing they might be offended!
We took the bus into town and met Raily at the British museum where we looked at African, Inuit and Indian art. I wouldn't necessarily have rushed in that particular direction, but I'm glad I did. Anything is interesting when Raily is around. She has an uncanny ability to engage anyone in fascinating conversation about, well, anything. Meriel was greatly knowledgeable about Buddhist religious iconology. I brought nothing to the table but the mildest whiff of sarcasm. I have a cold coming on. What can you do?