Finally. I've eaten my pot noodle, I've made my cup of tea and I'm now sat comfortably with the vomit inducing spectacle playing out in front of me in glorious technicolour. As I type a Sand Painter - winner of Ukraine's Got Talent is decorating the stage to a song sung by a woman with feathery shoulder pants and the bleachedest hair I've ever seen.
This is amazing.
Now, usually my Eurovision festvities would involve me being with my older sister with a sharpened pencil and score card to keep a scrutinous eye on the proceedings. I haven't been able to get home this year due to these filming commitments so instead I'm eating chocolate hobnobs and sitting with my friend's dad (who I met for the first time yesterday) and wondering how my life always ends up this surreal.
Graham Norton is doing a good job of being a drunk, sarcy bastard while the acts attempt to stay afloat without autotune and a soul. What more could you want in an evening's entertainment? This is so much better than Britain's Got Talent or X-Factor or any of that other crap, purely because - by having got this far, sane people have voted each of these acts as the best they had already.
We've spewed out Blue this year... it's not that we're proud of ourselves is it? It's that we're desperate. What a sad state for a country to be so desperate, and not desperate to win - just desperate to get into double figures - that we've resurrected a past their prime manband to represent us. Did no one at that meeting clear their throat and tentatively just try, "Ahem - Adele?".
It would be nice if, just for one year we could put forward someone with actual talent who might have been born in the British Isles... I mean, we've had one or two haven't we? I think the British music scene is fairly eclectic isn't it? Got a fairly good reputation hasn't it?
It's almost like we lose our bottle. Are we worried people think we're too good at too many things and that we should be letting someone else have a go? Because, I've got news for you Britain - we don't exactly clean up at the Olympics either. Equally though, we never exactly go crazy and do something psychotic either... why not solve the London homeless issue by training a tramp choir to sing a song written by a tearful Elton John about our people's princess? Right at the end we can wheel out Peter Kay to wink hilariously and remind the rest of the world why they love us... a guaranteed win methinks. Let's go Britain...