I couldn’t believe the Eurovision Song Contest would ever become a topic of conversation for our lot but Paddy raised it before we’d got the first round in. 

    “What do you think about it being won by a woman with a beard and a moustache?”

    The question got greeted with shrugs.  We’d all seen the papers with celebrities queuing up to get their picture published with facial hair mocked up.     Paddy wasn’t ready to let it go.

    “It’s not like you lot not to have an opinion.”

    Clearly it wouldn’t go away.

     “Was it the best song?” I posed.  It seemed a reasonable question.

     None of us had watched it and decided to let Adrian open up his phone, normally banned when we’re having a pint, to check what the pundits said.  It was hard to get a precise view but comments suggested other songs were better, but the overall performance probably deserved to win.  We considered doing another of our straw polls but only one of the drinkers had watched the programme, and he’d dozed off mid competition and wasn’t sure how many acts he’d missed.   The UK came nowhere, continuing a trend that has gone on for several years so maybe a performance would give us a better chance next year.   We tried to decide which of our bearded members might represent the UK.

    Ben has a beard, a bit ragged and more than slightly grey, but it made him a potential entrant.  He’d be a bit static until he gets his new hip and any dancing would need serious choreography to avoid a nasty fall.  None of us knew if they made trainers with high heels.   The only time we heard him sing was at Vic’s funeral and that turned heads in the crematorium, most mourners thinking it sounded like a last breath and fearing they’d have to stay on for a second event.   Jez suggested Ben could make his entrance in an upright coffin but we thought enough singers had already died during their performance.  

    Paddy has the other beard but combines it with the build of a front row forward.   He loves to sing and in fairness doesn’t sound too bad in our opinion.  None of us had any idea what sizes dresses went up to, 12 to 16 our only experience, leaving us pretty sure Paddy would need something over a 30 and that might be a squeeze.   The other issue would be his ears.  He grows more hair there than most of us on our heads.  He would need earrings the size of dinner plates before they’d show.  Sam thought platting it might be different.

    We soon tired of the Eurovision but the discussion led us onto the social changes that we’ve seen since we were kids.  Even H G Wells couldn’t have forecast these and any fictional book, even in our youth, that had described modern society in social terms would almost certainly have been pilloried, probably banned.   Is it all for the best, progressive, positive?   A consensus in the group said we weren’t sure.   We’ve reached an age where we tend to keep our heads down most of time, pretty comfortable with whatever way people live their lives, provided it doesn’t impinge negatively on ours, happy to accept the oft used ‘silly old farts label’.  After all, what do we know?  We’re comfortable in the knowledge that our time is limited and we won’t be around if there is a downside to what passes as normal behaviour in the modern search for celebrity.