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Patsy was just putting the steam mop away when she heard the front door open. "I hope you haven't bought the entire shop, Deels. You've been ages," she called out.
"I needed supplies for tonight," Delia replied simply, staggering in with several over-full bags.
Patsy frowned. "I thought we were going out for dinner tonight."
Delia rolled her eyes as put all the bags down on the kitchen floor. "It's Eurovision. This is the first year since I've known you that we're both not working. You are going to get the full Eurovision experience."
Patsy groaned. "I do not understand what the attraction is. We never win, they all vote for each other's neighbours and wearing some sort of outlandish costume seems to be an absolute requirement."
Delia was horrified. "Patsy, how can you make sweeping generalisations like that when you've never watched it?"
"I've seen enough to know that it's not my cup of tea," Patsy retorted tartly.
"Well, you're watching it all tonight," Delia declared firmly. She lifted the first of the bags up from the floor. "I've even brought snacks and drinks in honour of Europe. We've got olives, various meats and cheeses and other assorted nibbles," she told Patsy. "And I've got a fine selection of beers from across the EU. Oh and I had to pick up some Fosters too. It was the only Australian beer I could find."
Patsy blinked and shook her head. "Sorry, when did Australia join the EU?"
Delia laughed. "They're mad for Eurovision. Probably more than anyone else in Europe. It's insane. They kept pestering to be part of the competition and eventually they were allowed to take part."
Patsy frowned. "But don't the winners host the following year's competition?"
"Oh, and I thought you didn't know anything about it." Delia laughed. "Nope, they get to nominate a country to host on their behalf. I don't think we'd be able to cope with the time difference."
"They could always run the show first thing in the morning," Patsy pointed out reasonably.
Delia shook her head in disbelief. "Patience, Patience, Patience. You cannot inject or even project any sort of logic or sense into Eurovision. You'll find that out later," she continued confidently.
"You're really going to make me sit through it aren't you?" Patsy couldn't help the slight whine in her voice.
"Oh yes. It's inescapable. But don't worry, there are a myriad drinking games for us. Trust me, you'll be embracing Europe and the whole Eurovision experience by the end of the evening."
Patsy looked at Delia sceptically. "Don't be too sure of that."
"You cannot break my enthusiasm, Pats. No matter how cynical you are." She sidled up to the taller woman and looped her arms around her neck, grinning cheekily. "All I ask is that you give it a chance," she requested.
Patsy narrowed her eyes at the brunette even as she wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss her. "You can't always get round me with a flash of those dimples you know," she mumbled as the kiss finished.
Delia grinned again and winked. "Oh, I think I can." She went up on tiptoe to peck her wife on the lips. "But honestly, Pats. Please give it a go. If it really isn't your thing, I won't make you do it again."
Patsy gave a lop-sided smile. "I promise I'll give it a go. I can't promise not to be cuttingly cynical about it."
"I wouldn't expect any less," Delia riposted easily. "Making comments about it all is part of the fun."
"Perhaps you should have invited Trix and Babs to join in the fun," Patsy suggested.
"Trixie's working unfortunately or she would have been here in a shot. Tom is hosting a Eurovision party for his local congregation and Barb felt obliged to help out and assist. But she did say she would have much rather spent the evening with us," Delia replied.
Patsy blinked before laughing. "Seriously? You asked them too?"
"Of course. Sharing the experience is the best bit."
Patsy shook her head. "I do hope you're not going to be disappointed when I hate it," she demurred.
"And you better not pretend to hate it once you've fallen in love with it," the Welsh woman returned crisply. "Now come and help me put the shopping away."
A few hours later and Delia and Patsy were nestled into the sofa waiting for the start of the show. The coffee table was laden with snacks and Delia had decided on an Austrian beer to commence proceedings, in honour of the last country through from the semi-finals. "Best not to go too mad with the drinking to start with or we'll never make it past song 11," she declared as she took a small sip.
"Song 11. Er, how many songs am I going to have to endure?" Patsy sounded quite nervous.
"26 this year," Delia replied cheerfully.
"26?" The red-haired midwife repeated incredulously. "How long does this show go on for?"
"About four hours or so." Delia smiled brightly as she handed Patsy her beer. "Have a little now while I explain the drinking game rules."
Patsy took a healthy gulp, appreciating that Delia had made the effort to get some good beers in. She inhaled deeply and then looked at Delia steadily. "Go on then, what are the rules?"
"Well, I have to put a caveat out that there will be additions as we go but there are a number of rule favourites. I will remind you to only take a sip when the rules kick in. This is a marathon not a sprint."
Patsy laughed and shook her head at the serious tone Delia had taken. "Alright, but I may need to drink just to temper my incredulity."
"Oh, you'll definitely have to do that," Delia retorted assuredly. "So the initial drinking game rules are;
1) Anyone in billowy white, and if they're singing a ballad it's two sips
2) Any time the singer's face is projected behind them
3) Anyone singing in their own language
4) Key changes
5) Netted/see-through shirts
6) Wind machines, smoke effects and/or pyrotechnics - one sip for each." Delia counted them off on her fingers, sounding deadly serious.
"And all of these things sometimes occur on this show?" Patsy asked innocently, raising an eyebrow when Delia doubled over in laughter.
"Not sometimes," she corrected once she got her breath back. "These are the ones that are guaranteed to happen several times. They'll be more but I need to be prompted."
She thought for a moment as she decided if she'd missed anything from the list. "Oh, topless dancers! I knew there was something else."
"Topless dancers? Why didn't you tell me this before?" Patsy asked, suddenly interested.
"Sorry Pats. Topless male dancers. Usually oiled up. They look quite buff though," she explained.
"If you're into that sort of thing," Patsy reminded her with a wry smile.
Delia laughed. "Sorry sweetheart. I can be appreciative of the human form in all it's guises, but my heart is yours."
Patsy smirked. "You mean you're going to ogle just about everyone tonight," she clarified.
"Oh yes. But there will only be topless male dancers to drink to though." She paused again and frowned. "If there are topless women dancers I'm breaking out the tequila."
Patsy laughed. "Well, let's just hope we have enough beer to deal with all the drinking game elements, with the exception of a special occasion tequila of course."
"I'm sure we will have. If not, we'll have to start on the gin."
"I am not wasting my gin on the Eurovision Song Contest," Patsy declared firmly.
Delia smiled wolfishly. "Oh you say that now," she replied in a sing song way. "Oh, and there will be a different set of rules for when the voting starts, but I'll explain that closer to the time."
"That's a relief," Patsy muttered as she took another sip from her beer.
All of a sudden, a trumpet fanfare started and Delia leapt to grab a control from the coffee table. Within seconds, the surround sound was on and the room was vibrating.
"What the hell are they wearing?" Patsy asked incredulously as she looked at the three male hosts.
"Oh that's actually quite restrained," Delia replied easily. "You wait till we get part way through the show and change. They'll really step it up then."
After initial introductions and a lot of flashing lights, the competition began and the first act was introduced.
"Um, what's all this?" Patsy asked as they were treated to various scenes of the act wandering around and doing twee things. Patsy was grateful for the acerbic words from the commentator who seemed to have the same level of cynicism she did.
"Each act does a little postcard before they perform. It all adds to the atmosphere of the event," Delia explained.
"More like extends the whole exhibition by two hours," Patsy grumbled.
She jumped when the first act ran onto the stage and Delia shouted, "Drink!"
"What? Why am I drinking?" She asked in confusion.
"Mesh shirt," Delia answered as she took a sip. She gestured to Patsy's drink. "Go on."
Patsy gave a lop-sided smile but did as she was told and took a sip.
Two acts later and Patsy perked up. "Well this is more like what I was expecting. This is quite catchy. Who are they again?" She asked as she found her foot tapping along.
"Belarus," Delia reminded her. "All in white, singing in Belarusian, wind machines on stage behind them and smoke in the background. That's a four shot winner if ever I saw one." She gestured at Patsy's drink.
"Delia, this is song three. You told me not to go too mad before song eleven."
Delia shrugged apologetically. "I didn't think we'd score a four in one. Come on, drink up."
Patsy rolled her eyes but took a healthy swig of beer anyway. "Good job you bought good beer."
"Yeah. We might have Fosters but I'm only opening that in an emergency," Delia replied as she finished her drink and collected two more beers. "Let's just hope there aren't too many ballads or we are going to be rotten in the morning."
And so it went on. Each act was introduced and Patsy found herself entertained by both the TV commentary and Delia's outright enthusiasm for each act. There were a lot of ballads and billowy white costumes, which inevitably led to a significant amount of drinking, and Patsy was enjoying a happy little buzz as the programme continued.
She frowned as the next act appeared. "What the hell is that?" She asked incredulously.
"This is Croatia. Awesome," Delia enthused as she sat forward expectantly.
"He's wearing a leather dinner jacket." Patsy was at her haughtiest as she looked on in disdain.
"No, he's wearing half dinner jacket, half leather jacket. He's doing a duet by himself," Delia explained patiently.
"I'm sorry, what?" Patsy couldn't quite believe it.
"See, he keeps turning slightly, depending on which one of him is singing," Delia explained, clearly enthralled by the spectacle.
"There are 26 acts in Eurovision. You have to stand out to make a difference. Catchy song and topless dancers aside, you need to have a gimmick. Ukraine managed to come second with an act wearing a mirror hat and singing in German. Just the best. So this guy is the stand out act this year, in my opinion."
"Is this a singing competition or 'who can stand out' competition?" Patsy felt quite confused by it all.
"Look, with all the different countries taking part, plus all the additional countries entering, there is inevitably a difference in taste. So some of the songs are bad and by bad I mean badly sung, horrific lyrics or at least horrific translations, and bad tunes. Then there are the good standard power ballad songs, you know, peace, peace, love, love, type songs. They tend to attract a lot of votes. But it's the je ne sais quoi that really makes the difference. It's like they are so odd, it's genius." Delia was waxing lyrical now the beer was flowing and Patsy found it both amusing and endearing.
"So you think this is the winner?" She asked.
"I reckon it will be right up there," Delia replied confidently.
Patsy pulled a face. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to make a guess about this. That song is doing nothing for me."
"Don't judge yet," Delia advised. "Wait until we've seen them all, and then we can bet on who's going to win. Just remember, you need all the butter churning, hamster wheel, magic show, inside raining elements in order to stand a chance of featuring in the top three."
Patsy blinked in astonishment before smiling almost apologetically. "I recognise all those words Deels, but I am failing to see how they all go together."
"Keep watching and you will," the brunette promised.
Several songs, and a significant amount of alcohol later, the acts had finished and Patsy and Delia sat back on the sofa, grateful for a break.
"Now what happens?" Patsy eventually asked, as she poured herself a glass of water. The evening was nowhere close to being done but already her head was spinning.
"Well, there's an interval act, which is usually so over the top it's hilarious. It should be interesting given that this year's theme is 'diversity'."
Patsy snorted. "Yes, nothing says diversity more than three white men presenting a show."
"Now, now. At least they're trying," Delia replied. "And then, we come onto the scoring. That can be quite entertaining in its own right."
"How? Surely it's just providing some numbers."
"Oh, well here's where there are more drinking games to be had. Lots of voting is tactical, there's no denying it. Some countries always give 12 points to their political neighbours, no matter how bad the song is, and will snub other countries if they've done something to upset them."
"Oh well, that's us fucked then," Patsy demurred.
Delia nodded her head. "Probably. Shame really, as I quite liked our entry. But the votes are split halfway between a public vote and a music jury. Twelve points for the top act, then 10, then 8 to 1 points. They're given in reverse order of course, and there's always a problem with communication."
Patsy frowned as she collected some snacks. "What do you mean?"
"Some of the countries won't be able to hear the feed and they'll just be standing there with a big tense smile on their faces waiting to say something, and the hosts are waiting. It's hilariously awkward."
Patsy smiled. "Let me guess; drink game?"
Delia nodded enthusiastically. "Yep. As well as the political voting. So basically, once they can hear what's going on, they'll say some excruciating joke about how wonderful it is to be part of Eurovision and then announce the countries for 8 points, 10 points, and then say 'our 12 points go to...' and then pause for effect before announcing the name of their political ally."
"Tell me how this is a competition again?" Patsy was baffled.
"Oh it is, Pats," Delia insisted as she poured out more beer. "Because some of the countries don't play the game, and the public vote can make a difference too. Look at Conchita Wurst winning. Who would have thought a woman with a beard could win. It's not all ABBA you know."
"Alright. Hand me my drink. Let's really go for this."
Patsy would never admit this to Delia but she was actually thoroughly enjoying herself. Some of the acts were certainly not to her taste, but her wife's unreserved enthusiasm and sheer delight at the spectacle was infectious. She was also grateful for the commentary that wasn't taking the whole show too seriously. It was quite an entertaining evening. Patsy had sworn to herself to ensure she was on the duty roster next year when Eurovision came round. Now she was going to make sure she had the night off.
As she took yet another swig for a political score she sat back and threw an arm across Delia's shoulders, smiling as she felt her love lean back into her. "Let's make sure Trixie and Barbara can make it next year," she remarked with a smile.
Delia punched the air with her hands in celebration. "I knew you'd love it!"
~finis~