Good News Items
It seems that Camp Euromoments (how very dare you!) is divided on the outcome of the Irish selection. I for one am quite delighted with the song choice and I think that Ryan Dolan will put on a good performance in Malmo. Actually, in stark contrast to Mr Thompson's reservations about qualifying, I think this is a potential winner. Honestly. And the fact that he managed to sing it well in the Late Late studio's anywhere-but-here acoustic was a victory in itself. I also love Strabane.
If I can be so bold, dear Momentee (I'm sure there's at least one of you), I will share with you that it's not been an easy day for me as I am struggling with one of 'life's big decisions'. Be assured that there are no Mrs or Mini Carlytimes on the horizon. However, as I returned to my Happy Place - glued to the glow of my computer monitor - this evening, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. It seemed that nothing would lift it. And then, the hand of fate loomed forth:
First of all, I thought my fusiform face area had malfunctioned when I expected to see Lena "It Hurts" Philipsson and instead was presented with someone whose hands and head seemed to come from two different eras. Why, Lena? I vociferously (to two other people, once, through red-wine teeth*) defended you against Keith Mills' quip about the concrete plant in Istanbul, and then you went and blimmin botoxed yourself into oblivion. Anyway, aside from this minor blip I can report that this live TV performance of 'Om Igen' from Lena P and The Great C was like no tonic I could have ever dreamt up to alleviate the freezing grey misery of failed househunting. Thank you, Sweden. Thank you Carola. Thank you, the artist formerly recognizable as Lena Philipsson. Thank you.
*(c) Noogie
If I can be so bold, dear Momentee (I'm sure there's at least one of you), I will share with you that it's not been an easy day for me as I am struggling with one of 'life's big decisions'. Be assured that there are no Mrs or Mini Carlytimes on the horizon. However, as I returned to my Happy Place - glued to the glow of my computer monitor - this evening, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. It seemed that nothing would lift it. And then, the hand of fate loomed forth:
First of all, I thought my fusiform face area had malfunctioned when I expected to see Lena "It Hurts" Philipsson and instead was presented with someone whose hands and head seemed to come from two different eras. Why, Lena? I vociferously (to two other people, once, through red-wine teeth*) defended you against Keith Mills' quip about the concrete plant in Istanbul, and then you went and blimmin botoxed yourself into oblivion. Anyway, aside from this minor blip I can report that this live TV performance of 'Om Igen' from Lena P and The Great C was like no tonic I could have ever dreamt up to alleviate the freezing grey misery of failed househunting. Thank you, Sweden. Thank you Carola. Thank you, the artist formerly recognizable as Lena Philipsson. Thank you.
*(c) Noogie
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