Big weekend.  Big, big weekend.  Really “had it”, yeah went out and got “fucked up”… NOT.

Eurovision is fucking amazing.  It’s the ultimate guilty pleasure.  Watching it is like stumbling in on your parents having sex - you feel sick and perverted but can’t stop looking at the fleshy car crash in front of you. If only there was an Irish comedian standing next to you narrating the gyrations you’d find it pretty fucking hilarious.  (And although voting isn’t really applicable to parental sex, we’d give your mum a 10).

Eurovision this year was ruddy awesome.  The UK entry was Jade Ewen, a hot little crumpet from London who was accompanied on stage by the gorgoyle who fell to earth (and landed on his face), Andrew Lloyd Webber.  She wasn’t great, but she held her own, and in the ultimate shock since Boris Johnson was photographed having sex with your mum (allegedly.  That time she was a 7), the UK finished a respectable 5th place.  It seems that finally we’re not held up as the dick of Europe for being the pissy little playground bully next to President George o’ Hairy Bush.

Yeah, because THAT’S the reason we never got any points in Eurovision, yeah the IRAQ WAR stopped them voting.  It had nothing to do with the fact our last entries were Andy Abraham, and flipping Scooch who were trussed up in Ann Summer’s latex Air Steward range.  Anyway, now it seems it’s possible to do alright in the contest Platform has some tips for how you can become next years entry.


The last time we won was with Katrina and The Waves, (no I’M walking on sunshine!) and their song “Love Shine a Light”.  Only it clearly wasn’t love that shone that halogen bulb for her, it was Jesus.  Yep.  Jesus came down and turned his torch in their direction and then she kindly spread the news on to the rest of the world through the convenient medium of Eurovision – she was the religious butter on Europe’s sinful toast.  WIN.

2.    BE MALE

Platform is never one to dissuade women from getting up and shaking their love thing, but let’s look at the numbers – who watches Eurovision? Gay men and women.  I don’t want to stereotype but I can’t imagine many straight men settle down with a plate of canapés and prosecco to enjoy the contest and press the red button so they can sing along with Belarus.  If they do watch it’s probably for a quilty wank so their hand is too sticky with love juice to dial the vote number for that nice girl in the leather chaps anyway.  This isn’t to say that women are completely out of the running – remember Israel’s trans-sexual winner Dana International?  Draw on some stubble and make an adam’s apple out of peach playdough.  WIN.


This isn’t xenophobic, it’s just good thinking.  I wouldn’t buy French pop unless it was MC Solar or the soundtrack to Eurotrash (see separate article – ‘BRING BACK EUROTRASH IT WAS REALLY FUCKING GOOD’), so why would I vote for it in a singing competition?  Obviously this reasoning is based solely on my own narrow-minded and mildly prejudiced opinion, but you’re the one trying to be a Eurovision entry so maybe consider that before you start jabbing fingers in faces.  Perhaps the happiest medium is to sing mainly in English but to pepper spray the verses with songs of all nationalities, so you appeal to multiple languages.  You could also get an amazing call and response going, for example you point to all the German fans and you say “who do you love?” and then they shout back, “mein Gott”.  Way to involve the crowd and Jesus, way to WIN.


Every country has its version of Graham Norton.  In Spain it’s El Norton de Graymo.  They all have their witty comments in a bucket next to their feet and are ready to pour them over contenstants the second they hit a bum note or accidentally bum their oiled-up dancers with their violin.  The only way to prevent catty commentary on your performance is to either sleep with all the international Nortons, or have an awe-inspiring gimmick that silences them in one bitchy instant.  If you’re going down the bit-of-both-genders avenue, then one quick  sexy flash could result in a “did they/didn’t they moment”.  Alternatively just have an onstage revelation, as controversial as possible, for example start bleeding from your hands and feet. Ahem.  WIN.


When you do win make sure you book a holiday somewhere outside the UK as soon as possible.  We love underdogs, we don’t love winners, and the ensuing hoo-har about staging the next year’s competition in England and all the money/politics/Scooch involved will make the whole nation thoroughly pissed off with you.  DON’T WIN.