This year’s Eurovision Song Contest has come and gone, and it is was a fiasco.

There has always been diplomatic voting, where Norway gives top points to Sweden, or Malta and Greece heal wounds by exchanging 12 points of goodwill; however this year, with the inclusion of so many former Eastern-bloc countries, it was just irritating to watch. Eight of the final top-ten countries were Eastern European (i.e. ex-Communist), as Ukraine, Russia, Belarus, Bulgaria, Armenia, Hungary, Moldova, and countless others helped secure a “Soviet” victory.

Next year could see a further invasion of the East European Song Contest and, if the organisers have not found some cunning way to deal with the problem, we shall not vote. It’s not radical action, I know, but how radical can one be against a TV show? I reckon we could just not watch it, but I think that’s extremism.

We had Mattias, Linda and their youngest daughter, Mira, over to console each other by consuming obligatory alcohol (not Mira, obviously) that such events demands. Freya and Mira played well together, and didn’t fall asleep until very late (or was it early the next morning?).

Mattias and Linda finally crashed (Mattias somewhat sooner than Linda) on the sofa sometime later than the girls fell asleep, waking the next morning to headaches and croissants.

Dad and Mum took me to O’Leary’s today, to see “we are Wolves” play a football match. Rich was there, too, without my school friend (and his daughter) Esther. He let the side down a bit by not having a Wolves shirt on (unlike most of the other people there), but he seemed to be very happy when the side Wolves were playing scored goals. It perplexes me, this game. Ooh, some more popcorn!

Dad was quite nervous for the first part of the game, so it must have been important for him. I happily ate popcorn whilst Wolves were being shown on the many screens around the pub, and Mum, Dad and Rich consumed necessary glasses of beer.

I hear Dad trying to get me to say “Boing Boing”, which is something Rich has taught him, though I suspect the other Wolves supporters would kill Dad if they heard him teaching me the enemies war-cry. It appears Boing Boing has something to do with The Baggies, or West Brom, or Tescos. I’m not really listening because the popcorn keeps coming, and there’s only so much a girl can keep her mind on.

Lots of the other Wolves people there kept patting my head or dancing for me. It was all very nice, especially when Wolves scored a goal, but they didn’t give me much popcorn.

In the end Rich seemed happier than Mum, Dad and Wolves people. I was even happier because the man who gave the beers to people gave me popcorn, all without Dad taking out his money. I guess it pays to be small.

Johan, Freya’s cousin, went back home today, after spending the week with us while he did some work experience.

Jo had asked Linda, a film producer and friend of ours, for the placement, and she kindly took Johan under her wing. She let Johan produce his own three-minute film, which he did by himself (from the initial idea to the editing). Not a bad placement really; better than cleaning the toilets at McDonalds.

This was his first time alone away from his home tract. He seemed to take to it easily, spending the evenings out with his “friend”, Victoria. Freya didn’t get to see Johan much because of this, but still talked often about him, and even proclaimed her love for him.

It was nice to spend a little more time with him. He is quite a quiet person, and I didn’t really get so much out of him, though he seems to know the lyrics to many of this year’s Eurovision Song Contest (the final being tonight).