Eurovision

This afternoon I attempt to make good some of the damage to my car that has resulted from part of the garage roof caving in.

Washing the car takes over an hour as various neighbours stop to chat in the glorious sunshine. Peter is out and about delivering leaflets for the forthcoming elections, Sahid is fixing his car ready for the nights cabbing, John returns back from an afternoon's bike ride, Khalid and family pass on their way home. Marjorie's son John leans over her garden gate and chats to me whilst enjoying a ciggie.

As I attempt to wax out some of the scratches, Peter returns and is amazed that I appear to 'still' be washing the car.

He looks knackered and when I enquire as to whether it was a long night last night he sheepishly admits to having watched Eurovision. Of course I'm in no position to try and claim some sort of moral or cultural highground as my Saturday night had itself consisted of fajitas, cocktails and strange European song. Peter on the other hand appears to have attempted the night sober (his house is dry) and we conclude that this is probably why he is suffering more than myself.

We resolve that next year he should join the party at mine - after all there's a time and a place for sobriety and Eurovision night isn't it.