Having time off between hospitality jobs, I decided do a Parks and Rec styled ‘Treat Yoself’ week and live in luxury (at least whatever luxury my pitiful paycheques would afford me). I slept in till 10:30 every day, watched endless amounts of Buffy on Netflix, soaked up the sun on London rooftops and ate so much delicious food.
I spent most of this week by myself, simply enjoying my Andytime, but this was all inevitably going to reach a climax with some good old fashioned Eurovision shenanigans alongside friends and a bunch of strangers.
So with some Eurotrash music on in the house and a heap of delicious Broadway Market food sprawled out on the kitchen table, I got myself prepared for the night ahead. And as every Eurovision party should be a dress-up party, I began to put myself together.
Donning my lederhosen I bought for Oktoberfest in Munich last year and a cool red cap turned to the side like some 90’s white rapper, I thought I looked schmick. I called my look ‘Traditional German Rapper’ and attempted to bust some German rhymes around the house (thankfully I was alone for this disgraceful display).
This foolishness ended once my friend joined me for a few drinks and soon we finally mustered the courage to leave the house in our costumes (she was wearing a red wig, tiara and fur vest over some regular clothes but I was expecting more elaborate costumes to be at the party). We Ubered around the corner to the Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club and got ourselves pumped up, ready for some silliness.
Getting out of the Uber, I was immediately faced with a line of hipsters who were too cool to wear anything but their black ripped jeans and corduroy shirts. The most dressed-up people I saw had merely smeared some glitter on their cheeks. Why am I wearing a lederhosen?!?!
I should have known Brits don’t do this. Too proper and this crowd is definitely not gay enough for this to be ok. Whatever, they are the ones who didn’t dress up for a Eurovision party. They are the fools even if they clearly think otherwise. So my friend and I ignored the judging looks and giggles and strutted, yes strutted, to the bar. Cider! I need Cider! Or Beer! Just Booze me up!
I soon forgot how I was the odd one out in this large crowd (oh how this is not such an unusual occurrence for me). I took a deep breath and a big swig of my Bulmers and prepared myself for Conchita (At least she’d appreciate my efforts, right?).
As the show began on the two large projectors, I could see how perfect the venue was. An old dirty pub, with that typical bar/club sticky smell which seeps into all your clothes was decked out with European (and Aussie) flags and a stage right up the front.
Out stepped the hosts, one 30 something year old guy who had so much fake tan on it looked as if he’d tried to, well you know, be very racist. He was trying just that bit too hard to be funny but as the night went on, his tragic failings at Terry Wogan sarcasm were entertaining in itself. The other host was a curvy blonde lass in a tight sequin dress which made her look a bit like a drag queen – so this was perfect. Unfortunately, she barely spoke and just stood there watching the show with a microphone in her hand. But their presence wasn’t necessary. What was on the screen was more than enough.
Conchita was flying through the air, three necessarily stunning hosts were saying something I couldn’t hear over the crowd and then all the fun began. Well I must admit it was a slow start with Slovenia being a bit meh and France being absolutely dreadful. But the Israeli boy band’s performance created uproarious love and dancing. And so the party was finally started. The buzz built from there. It peaked again and again with Serbia’s super Eurovisiony song with back-up dancers wearing all white with masks, wind machines, dorky characters and an amazing costume change which came out of nowhere. YES!! This is why we love Eurovision!
The beautiful Swedish performer came up later and showed who all the gays were in the bar as (I kept an eye out) as he sang his cheesy song to the gushing Austrian crowd. And then Australia joined in on the fun and Mr. Sebastian kicked some butt. The song perfectly fit into the Eurovision world as the whole crowd found itself singing along right from the get go. Woop woop.
The rest of the performances are a bit of a haze as I had been drinking copious amounts of booze and was sweating like crazy in the cramped hot space. But once they finished, the DJ took over as we all swayed and danced along to ABBA, Kylie and Mariah while the people of Europe voted. Now even more perspiration ensued as I realised how difficult it was to dance in a lederhosen. There was surprisingly more energy input required to pull off my… ‘moves’.
But the counting soon began and I found myself cuddling up to a cute Belgian boy. Australia and Belgium were neck and neck for 4th and 5th position so we had some strange flirtatious rivalry going on. The entire room booed every time Russia got points and, as it was clear Sweden was our only hope of stopping Russia, we all became his biggest fans. I screamed, jumped up and down and hugged the cute Belgian boy right up until Sweden finally came out on top.
Belgian beat Australia by a few points so I conceded defeat. I kissed the pretty boy, well made out a little, and then got into full-on crazy Andy dance mode. My friend left as she was tired and I had been a bad friend, neglecting her for the boy. But I was a bit too drunk to feel bad.
I don’t know how it happened but I then befriended two German and one British girl on the dancefloor. They were so much fun!! The five of us danced and danced for hours as the music was just so good. Could sing along to everything.
But I realised how I was so not sexy at this point. I was the only one dressed up and sweat was streming out of my pores. I feared I smelt horribly so didn’t get too close to the Belgian boy. I stopped drinking and routinely went to the bathroom to drink from the water bason (totally not classy). At one point I got so desperate that I rubbed hand wash into my armpits to stop myself from smelling. And to my surprise this actually worked. I was smelling as fresh as rainforest – at least that’s what the soap container told me.
With this new-found confidence I continued to dance until the early morning. By about 3am we had much more space to do our thing but were also exhausted. We unanimously decided to exchange numbers and go our separate ways (planning to go out together on Thursday). I soon found myself wandering around Hackney getting lost while desperately searching for home and my beautiful, beautiful bed. Finally, I asked some people (who were on something) for directions. While wait for one guy to look up my address, I hugged his girlfriend on the side of the street until they showed me where I was – home was literally around the corner and I was sitting in front of my local Sainsbury’s – FOOL!!
Anyway, I got home, drank a litre of water and fell asleep in my lederhosen. This was a great way to end my week of fun. Now to sleep in tomorrow and stay in bed watching Buffy all day. Life is good.
Tales of an Aussie Traveller 