Mike has recently been getting all excited about the prospect of Eurovision. Personally, I can't stand the damned thing. I've never yet been able to sit through an entire Eurovision Song Contest and I can't understand why anyone would want to - perhaps they are these strange sado-masochists you hear about.

And I certainly couldn't sit through the contest to pick the Swedish entry. Oh, Marcus tried to force me to watch it, but it was dire. Three women in spangly silver dresses [do you people not remember the horrors of Boney M?] bellowing their lungs out, straining and oversinging a naff disco thing. If you're going to rip off Dr Hook, at least choose Sylvia's Mother, not If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body. And then The Swedish Flatmates played the winning song seven times in a row on Saturday night. Hey, perhaps this explains my mysterious bout of depression?

Eurovision is an irrelevance. I've just taken a quick straw poll in the office:

[Me] Does anyone know where Eurovision is being held this year?
[Colleagues] Um, somewhere in eastern Europe? Croatia?
[Me] Very good. Who won the year before?
[Colleagues] No idea.
[Me] OK, what the last UK entry to win?
[Colleagues] Um, don't know. Bucks Fizz?
[Me] What's our entry this year?
[Colleagues] Don't know. Or care.
[Me] Me neither.