Notes from Last week #1.

A woman dressed in feathers and holding a piano accordian is warbling away in Finnish on the small TV that sits in front of me. It makes me think of my daughter. Last year I watched the Eurovision broadcasts from my hospital bed, having just given birth. This year I'm sitting in a hospital chair in a fluro-lit slightly cold lounge and watching it quietly so as not to disturb anyone else. Nobody is sick, I'm just here because the daughter whose arrival so unexpectedly coincided with Eurovision last year simply doesn't sleep. The ins and outs of that are fodder for a different post, but my two consecutive hospital-viewed Eurovisions have opened my eyes to a fundamental (and in hindsight, rather obvious) truth. Eurovision is more fun with company. And possibly alcohol too.

There are many other parents here at the residential parent support centre run by our local health service. Some are engaged in the wrenching task of teaching their children to sleep, something that had me in tears earlier tonight. One lucky couple is out on their 'date night' - all part of the service here. Others, knowing there's probably a tricky night ahead have sensibly gone to bed. A few are watching TV but they're in the other lounge cheering on their footy team.

But me - well I'm hardcore. It's a box of BBQ shapes and hours of cheesy Euro-pop for me. Of course if someone walks in wanting to watch NCIS I'm going to pretend that I just happen to be sitting in front of a TV somebody else turned on - I'm not sure I'm ready yet to confess my love of Eurovision to random strangers. (not ones whose facial expressions I can see anyway.)

It's all a bit empty though. I'm worried that if my daughter wakes I won't be able to respond as quickly as she deserves and popping up to check on her frequently is stopping me from getting cosy (the fluro lighting doesn't help either). But it's the lack of company that makes the biggest difference. Eurovision isn't for merely sitting back and watching. It is an interactive experience. There are costumes to be giggled at, earnestness to be mocked, non-musical bravado to be marvelled at, and one or two songs to get hopelessly stuck in your head and hummed for at least a week. Without all this it's just another really, really bad TV talent show.

Next year I think I'll tape it and watch it during the day while the little chicken is awake. She can watch it with me and sing, dance, giggle and marvel at the costumes the way that only two year olds - and Eurovision tragics can. And if she should grow up and end up representing Cyprus or Malta in the competition one day I can't say I'd be surprised. She's barely one and she's already shown a distinct penchent for dramatic behaviour at Eurovision time.

(written 28/04/10).