To Eurovisionland - minus a phone

Eurovision spectacular

The day started well. You know when you read that statement that nothing good happens thereafter. And you’d be right. We were travelling to Liverpool from Bergerac, which is a 90 minute drive from our house, and about an hour in I realised I had left my phone at home. I had my laptop, which, for reasons best known to itself had stopped receiving emails. The intention was to get to the Apple Store in Liverpool to have them fix it, now a more desperate mission than before. Not having the phone was an inconvenience, but no more than that I thought, because I have WhatsApp on the laptop, or do I? Of more anon …

We got to the airport comfortably which was when I realised my boarding pass was on my phone. When flying with Ryanair (no choice from Bergerac), if you don’t check in online, the airline charges 55 euros to check in at the desk, but I was checked in, so I just needed them to print off a boarding card. Simple - you think so? The smiley lady behind the desk who speaks good English fortunately, tells me that its costs 20 euros to print off a boarding card, then magnanimously beams that, because the flight’s late, she will make an exception and not charge me. I weighed up the pros and cons of whether I should be grateful for her not charging me or pissed off because the flight’s late. I decided I could be both and sulked while eating an extortionately priced Kitkat from a vending machine. Chocolate is usually my answer to everything.

Arriving at my husband’s flat later than we expected, he asked, “Tea?” I stared at him. (Has he learned nothing from our years of marriage?) “Gin.” I corrected him. What you need to know is that I had asked him while on the plane if we needed any gin. He waved me aside. “Awash with it,” he said. Having searched every cupboard, including the broom cupboard, (you never know), we concluded we were not awash with gin, in fact there was a distinct absence of gin, chez Mike. I was though, delighted to have belated birthday presents to open from my sister and step-daughter. I wanted to thank them immediately. Oh wait, I had no phone and my emails and WhatsApp were dead on the laptop.

United by music. Photos courtesy of Daniel Drust

My daughters and I had been planning this event for months, too good an opportunity to miss. It’s probably the only time the UK will have the chance of hosting, given their track record, last year being a lucky aberration. The plans were nearly scuppered when the train strike was announced but, having explored the alternatives, (including Easyjet’s offering - fly from Luton to Jersey and up to Liverpool in 3 hours!), a car and driver from Essex was the answer for one of my daughters.

But I’m ahead of myself, back to Thursday night. We got the bus into town and bobbed into the first hostelry we came to, which happened to be The Slug and Lettuce, an experience never knowingly to be repeated. It’s fair to say that Liverpool is a sparkly party town at anytime, but give them a theme, especially one as big as Eurovision, and there won’t be a sequin or a spangle left anywhere else in the world. Would love to have taken photos but … The city glittered as did the sun for the whole weekend, and the Scousers did the city proud. Ukrainian flags, banners and pennants were everywhere, in all the shops, bars and restaurants. After one extortionately priced G & T each, (which would have paid for a litre on the plane, yes, I did rub it in), we moved on to the Pier Head which was packed with people queuing to get into the (free) Eurovision village to watch the second semi-final on the big screens. We swerved the queue and went for something to eat instead. The Albert Dock was festooned and crowded.

the birds were a Ukrainian symbol and the world floated

Friday morning the Apple shop sorted out my email problems. I almost wished they hadn’t when 114 emails shot into my inbox. WhatsApp was impossible because the laptop needed to sync with my iPhone … I walked through the city centre which was thronging with musicians every few feet, fans queuing at the souvenir shop and karaoke kiosks. I bought a payasyougo phone for 25 quid, then realised that I didn’t know anyone’s number, because why would you need to remember them when you have an iPhone …? My daughters thought it hilarious that their mother had a ‘burner’ phone and suggested it wasn’t too late for me to make a career of drug dealing.

I picked up my grandson, Daniel, from school and we got the train into town where we met his mum, Jo, who got a break from the madness of the Arena; she was fully lanyarded to access all areas. Hundreds of ticketed fans were queuing to get into the dress rehearsal for the final, which didn’t start for another 4 hours but they were hard-core. After admiring costumes, especially the onesie unicorns,

it's called Making An Effort!

we ambled off in the direction of the Eurovision Village along with crowds of sparkly people and Bucks Fizz wannabes. The queues were vast, but Jo had taken the precaution of obtaining some magic wristbands which allowed us to bypass the queues. Once inside the village, which had taken over the Pierhead, (the whole area in front of the the Three Graces), we had access to a huge stage and screens, bars and food stalls, so we bought thimblefuls of rosè wine for £8 each and settled in to listen to the bands along with hundreds of others.

A party starting.

Saturday and I had my nails done in Ukraine colours and then into the mêlée again with older daughter because she hadn’t seen it. We had no problem in getting around the Village because it was ticketed for the final with no-one under 18 allowed in, and it seemed that most people were saving themselves for the evening ahead because the queues of amazing costumes was growing all afternoon. Compared with Friday it was relatively empty in the early afternoon.

Eurovision party in waiting

The crowds were phenomenal in the Eurovision village - see this video

The big screens as the sun went down

To get some idea of the atmosphere - watch this video

I got home on Sunday to be reunited with my phone, which had been waiting patiently in the kitchen all weekend, and I promised it I would never forget it again. It gave a bleep of contentment as I accessed the 200+ WhatsApp messages and photos from the weekend.

I’ve read

Wayward by Emila Hart - Three women, three timelines and they are all linked together by dangerous gifts. enjoyed this very much.

The Narrow Door by Joanne Harris - another multiple timeline story, told in a delicious way. I listened to this on audible, brought to life very well.

Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan, a beautifully written novella set in Ireland at the time of the Magdalene laundries.

Joan by Katherine J Chen, a feminist retelling of the story of Joan of Arc. This book was troubling as, I had always understood Joan as a devout, worshipper of God, but in this book she seemed to be more concerned to win wars for the weak monarch, with the only mention God was to tell him what she needed from him. As a recovering Catholic, I find this retelling upsetting. My confirmation name was Joan of Arc at a time when all the other girls in my class were choosing Mary or Theresa or Agnes. Such a rebel!

I’m watching

Queen Charlotte on Netflix - Absolute tosh but great spectacle, sumptuous settings and costumes.

Ten Pound Poms - BBC9pm Sundays - two weeks in and it’s promising. They seem to thrown every experience that the emigrating brits might have encountered into the first two episodes, but it’s engaging and moves along.

I’ve seen - in our small cinema in our local town (the French government support the Arts)

The Son - Hugh Jackman and Laura Dern. Very depressing, Jackman miscast, Dern battles on but it’s too long with unnecessary scenes.

Emily - based on the life of Emily Bronte. Too long with repetitive scenes. what is it with productions these days. The story can be told in 90 minutes, doesn’t need to be padded out to 2 hours - tedious!

Don’t Worry Darling! Even the title should warn you against it, but we feel we should support our little cinema that shows English language films on Mondays. It’s just that they maybe can’t afford the best! Awful, don’t go, not even for the sight of Harry Styles doing an uncalled for tap-dance in the middle of an excruciatingly bad scene. At least he wasn’t called on to speak with an American accent… the only time he was called on to act was when he was performing fellacio on the actress playing opposite him. Oh wait, maybe that wasn’t acting.