As we wake up to Eurovision’s last day, we felt a bit like Duncan after an encounter with a group of Wiwiboys, see illustration:
We’ve experienced yet another 24 hours of greatness, but are also a little tired after 7 days of no sleep, lots of vodka shots, profound shouting along to the artists’ performances in EuroClub, constantly being interviewed by media in various countries and actually doing our work as journalists for this website and the international media outlet of Namdalsavisa. Then again, it hit us that Victor Crone has been here for 16 days, and in addition to all of the above, he’s been rehearsing and serving us alcohol. What a stamina those PartySwedes have! Then they also have stand-in holograms, come to think of it.
Yesterday, we woke up after 9,7 minutes of sleep, had a shower and a triple espresso shot and took a cab to the Royal Embassy of Norway to spend a few hours pretending to be grown-ups celebrating our national day and interviewing the glorious Tom Hugo. We got a report from one of our father-in-laws, who apparently is a friend of the Norwegian Ambassador had seen the celebration on TV, so we’re glad we remembered to put clothes on.
Later we went to the Press Center to interview Victor Crone, as we had agreed on in the wee hours of EuroClub a few days earlier. But when we got there, we were attacked by an endless stream of journalists from countries such as Belarus, Iceland and Norway, who had been waiting for us to tell them our views on Eurovision, so we had to get our priorities straight and cancel that Swede. Good thing Belarusian TV filmed close-ups of both our press passes, so Lukashenko knows what awaits him shall he try to win this thing.
Then we broke the holy shabbat, saw the jury final and reported of more than the fact that Norway’s Alexandra survived a Jimmy Jump from the camera crew. Read all about it here. But we get it, she is very pretty and #metoo doesn’t seem to be a thing in Israel.
When we had published our stories and delivered in time for our deadlines, we skipped the endless rehearsals for mediocre interval acts and went down to EuroClub for some proper entertainment. First thing that happened was we got a vodka. But second thing was that we met Epic Sax Guy, who came running out from backstage to give us a hug:
We were a bit surprised Epic Sax Guy remembered us at first, then we remembered how much we have been stalking him and his bandmate Sergey for interviews, pictures and a few shots of their Stolichnaya and it it all made sense. And then Sunstroke Project started playing and we totally remembered why we did THAT. What amazing artists those two guys are. They can sing and play like they are Ray Charles’ big daddies, and we don’t want anyone else to participate for Moldova ever again.
IGOR DODON, CAN YOU HEAR US?
Epic Sax Guy blew us some kisses from the stage, so we fainted a little, and then he filmed a movie of us where he asked us to give message to the Moldovan people. We told them to send some money so we could afford yet another day of partying.
Also, Timebelle from Switzerland/Romania played. Who knew they also have a Sax Guy?
In the end, IMRI from Israel played, and excuse our holy pheromones, but what happened here?
IMRI, 2019: Hold my beer!
Now, by some kind of magic, we are awake again. We’ll take a stroll in our gated community and then dress up in our finest frocks, which should be no problem, as we’ve only had dinner 2 of 7 days while here. We call it the 2-7 diet, and it’s perfect for Eurovision.
Also, we’ll be focusing on the following:
- The Icelandic delegation gave us 376 flags to hand out to a few selected members in the audience. We gladly accepted the task, knowing they will pay us later in some carefully selected leather goods.
- We wonder if Fred Buljo remembers to bring our sami flag to greenroom. We spoke to it this morning, and it is so psyched to get on TV.
- We wonder if Victor Crone will still be with us and if he found the Palestina scarf for his pocket just in time for Netanyahu watching his performance.
- We wonder if Madonna will manage to sing on key. After all she didn’t rehearse one single time.