I am human and I need to be loved...
...Just like everybody else does.
After the initial furore in the UK press over the sainted Morrissey, we haven't heard a peep out of the Beeb since. While the rest of Europe explodes in an orgasm of song, the UK has fallen silent. One of my favourite Google searches at the moment is typing in the three words 'girls', 'aloud' and 'eurovision', on the off chance that some conspiracy speculation page will provide some thread of hope that I will "get what I want".(please? please?). On my most recent google I came across yet another article about Morrissey (you can read it here). The most interesting info gleaned however had nothing to do with him. It appears that at least one other person has spotted the achingly obvious answer to who the BBC should approach for Helsinki: the pop perfection song writing machine that is Brian Higgings and Miranda (one of Gina G's Oohh..Ahh 1996 backing dancers) Cooper: Xenomania. Time will tell if anyone with any sway at the 'Haunted Doughnut' has come to the same realisation, or if it was reached by one lonely Times media correspondent. Come on BBC. Give me some love. Girls Aloud may be a dream as impossible as Glennis', but surely no more implausible than the 'Pope of Mope'.
Maybe silence isn't a bad thing. No news is good news. I fear that this silent anticipation may be the most enjoyable stage of the BBC selection process. The announcement of the real 'names' and selection format may have us yearning for the silent treatment.
At least the dignified (read: we don't give a shitified) silence from the world's first broadcaster means there is one less country to worry about keeping up with. Every song is a cry for less songs. I come from a simple time. A time before the internet. Before a semi final every three minutes. Before the now traditional explosion of Euro Juice from December on. I come from a time when the entire build up was a few sheets of photocopied A4 and preview show a fortnight before the contest. Even that wasn't shown most years. I don't know if I can manage this avalanche of europop, opinion and debate. (I have just realised that every word I write is directly contributing to what I am whinging about.) I may have to lie down in a darkened room and have my assistants hand me tipsheets with breaking news in managaeble amounts. Written on a paper so that we know. Or move to Italy. Or to the UK for that matter. Problem solved.
After the initial furore in the UK press over the sainted Morrissey, we haven't heard a peep out of the Beeb since. While the rest of Europe explodes in an orgasm of song, the UK has fallen silent. One of my favourite Google searches at the moment is typing in the three words 'girls', 'aloud' and 'eurovision', on the off chance that some conspiracy speculation page will provide some thread of hope that I will "get what I want".(please? please?). On my most recent google I came across yet another article about Morrissey (you can read it here). The most interesting info gleaned however had nothing to do with him. It appears that at least one other person has spotted the achingly obvious answer to who the BBC should approach for Helsinki: the pop perfection song writing machine that is Brian Higgings and Miranda (one of Gina G's Oohh..Ahh 1996 backing dancers) Cooper: Xenomania. Time will tell if anyone with any sway at the 'Haunted Doughnut' has come to the same realisation, or if it was reached by one lonely Times media correspondent. Come on BBC. Give me some love. Girls Aloud may be a dream as impossible as Glennis', but surely no more implausible than the 'Pope of Mope'.
Maybe silence isn't a bad thing. No news is good news. I fear that this silent anticipation may be the most enjoyable stage of the BBC selection process. The announcement of the real 'names' and selection format may have us yearning for the silent treatment.
At least the dignified (read: we don't give a shitified) silence from the world's first broadcaster means there is one less country to worry about keeping up with. Every song is a cry for less songs. I come from a simple time. A time before the internet. Before a semi final every three minutes. Before the now traditional explosion of Euro Juice from December on. I come from a time when the entire build up was a few sheets of photocopied A4 and preview show a fortnight before the contest. Even that wasn't shown most years. I don't know if I can manage this avalanche of europop, opinion and debate. (I have just realised that every word I write is directly contributing to what I am whinging about.) I may have to lie down in a darkened room and have my assistants hand me tipsheets with breaking news in managaeble amounts. Written on a paper so that we know. Or move to Italy. Or to the UK for that matter. Problem solved.
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