As usual, it’s proving to be a bit of a marathon. The sun was still shining when we sat down in front of the TV tonight; now its dark outside and we’re switching on lamps and still we’re not even halfway through. Twelve down, thirteen yet to go. We’re experienced enough at this to know you have to come prepared, you can’t just turn up and expect to be able to stroll through it unscathed. We have pizza and chocolate and beer and a healthy sense of the absurd – all good things you need to get through a night like this. Even so, your eyes are drooping already and you’re not sure you’ll manage to stay awake till the end. “Don’t worry,” I say. “You’ll make it. You always do.”

Georgia were scary, but we think they’ll do quite well. Bosnia were brilliant, even though we didn’t understand a single bit of what was going on. We both love the French entry, but are shocked and upset to hear them singing in English (“Do they have no pride left?”). I’ve been watching this stuff every year for as long as I can remember and I like to think I’ve seen pretty much everything there is to see but even I’m left stunned and speechless when Azerbaijan come on and do their thing with the Angel wing outfits and the black-clad devil women writhing around in fake blood on the floor.

During the intermission you get into your pyjamas and I go off to make a cup of tea. We try and figure out who we think will win, who’ll score highly and who’ll get no points at all but all our guesses end up wrong. We don’t even come close. We never do. What I can’t understand is this thing about Eurovision that makes neighbouring countries suddenly be nice to one another when they’re usually such bitter, ancient rivals. Portugal would never support Spain in football or rugby or anything, but here they’re throwing twelve points each others way as though they’re the best of friends. I can’t ever make any sense of it. How come Russia are so popular all of a sudden? We know that noone likes us very much, but what has everyone got against France and Germany? Who can figure these things?

Right at the end, when the winners are dancing around on stage and the credits are beginning to roll, I decide I’ve had enough and need to leave the room. My head feels like its been battered with a mallet for several hours. My eyes are red and watering and I have a twelve second loop from the chorus of the Greek entry spinning through my ears like the worst kind of earworm, but its ok. It might sound like and look like torture (and it certainly feels like it right now), but I know that by tomorrow I’ll have forgotten about the whole thing. More than that, I know that next year, when it all comes round again we’ll say “wow! Is it that time already?” and we’ll make pizza and we’ll buy chocolate and we’ll sit down to watch it all over again. Just like we did this year. Just like we did last year. Just like we do every year.