Happy Eurovision!
Tonight I’ll be raising a rhubarb bellini and toasting a day of gay Christmas miracles: my country – Australia – will, all geographical logic to the contrary, be competing; the place where they take Eurovision more seriously than anywhere – Ireland – has shaken off its cassocked ghouls and said yes to fundamental human rights; and our Sissi of Hearts, Conchita Wurst, will be our hostess in Vienna.
Is it too greedy to ask for one miracle more? That Zeki Müren and Sotiria Bellou rise from the dead and sweep the board with a showstopping duet, a beseeching, keening, melismatic anthem of pan-continental love? Greek and Turk, butch and femme, rembetiko and razzle-dazzle – I mean, can you imagine these two voices together?
L’amour: douze points.
Strange Flowers 
My Turkish choice for the celestial Eurovision is Dario Moreno – Izmir’s favourite son. “Cherie je t’aime, cherie je t’adore – como la salsa del pomodoro …”
Oooh…nice choice. A catchy novelty song which manages to say nothing in several languages is Eurovision par excellence.