Saturday, May 24, 2003
Those Were The Days
No prizes for guessing my telly-viewing tonight. A UK newspaper recently called it the "gay Cup Final". They might just be right.
For a song-by-song analysis, commentary, and post-mortem, probably accompanied, I wouldn't be at all surprised, by Excel spreadsheets, obscure statistics, back-stage photos and first-hand gossip, click here or here. As for me, I'll just be anaesthetising myself with ten Stellas before wallowing in the gloriously primary-coloured, big-haired, fluffed-up, sequinned kitsch of it all. (Oh, they sing songs as well, do they? Gosh, I never noticed.)
But it won't be as good as it was in my childhood. None of this post-modern irony in those days. Then we took it deadly seriously. Back when Sandy had bare feet, Cliff had sideburns, and the Mary Hopkin Friendly Society had me as a junior member.
I'm not sure I should have let slip that last piece of information.