11 posts tagged “eurovision”

Setting up stage
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

There's a large crown outside our bedroom window. It's lifting all sorts of heavy looking items from large lorries parked below us across to the side of the poolside. Lots of bronzed men busy themselves wheeling flight cases from here to there and back again.

Inside, the hotel's guest list has swelled considerably over the past 24 hours. The breakfast room is occupied by inconceivably handsome men with smouldering eyes and shaved faces accentuating chiselled jaws. I'm convinced they're parading around just to irritate me as I devour my plate of cheese, salami and salad for breakfast.

The twenty-something females aren't that much better either. They float around the corridors and restaurant, dressed in billowy-white tops. Pouting lips adorn otherwise expressionless faces decked out with designer sunglasses.

The tanned glamorous set is here at the Kempinski for what I'm told is a Turkish celebrity wedding this weekend. Suddenly I feel really awkwardly British and also fuelled by curiosity all at the same time.

Unfortunately, whilst my investigations have been productive I am unable to reveal the name of the groom (or the bride, for that matter). This isn't because I'm not allowed (although judging by the way the security glared at me when I took the picture above, I imagine there would be one or two furrowed brows if I did mention the names of the couple).

Part of the reason I can't reveal the name is because I've only heard it once. Was it Volkon somebody? Turkish names are phenomenally hard to recall or pronounce or even spell. I won't even try. Would hate to humiliate myself more than necessary.

What I am certain of is that the groom is a hotel owner from nearby Bodrum and that he is of sufficient standing to attract a great many glamorous individuals on yachts to come to his event and most importantly one of Turkey's greatest pop stars, a man called Kenan Dogulu.

Shamefully, I drew a complete blank when the waiter down by the beach bar handed back my notebook with the name of the artist written on it for me. Any Eurovision fans who are reading this (there aren't that many, I'm sure, even less now) will know that Kenan Dogulu represented Turkey in the 2007 Eurovision with his song Shake it Up. (On reflection, maybe this wasn't quite as embarrassing as I first thought. The waiter had no idea who Sertab Erener was which is surprising in the grand scheme of things considering she actually won the damn contest for Turkey in 2003).

Judging by the considerable size of the outdoor stage being constructed by the pool and that a day before the nuptials the infinity pool has been partialled covered by a temporary catwalk (I'm presuming its for Kenan to sing and gyrate on rather than some kind of impromptu fashion show) that Kenan is still really quite successful despite his Eurovision appearance in 2007.

As partially exciting as these preparations for someone else's party may seem, I can't help feeling a little peeved by the sudden influx of new faces to the hotel. That's no judgement on the hotel staff who have proved that their continued sense of priority is to their existing guests.

It's perhaps more that this year more than ever before I've found myself totally relaxed, totally immersed in the laid back atmosphere. So much so that when other people break into the bubble it takes a little getting used to. It will be very difficult to resist not booking ourselves in for another two weeks when we check out later on, but for now I'm really quite relieved we're on our way home.

Eurovision grub

The day of the Eurovision Song Contest final is an agonising experience.

There are things to be done. Food to be prepared (let's not go overboard - just enough - one doesn't want to be in the kitchen all the time although it's tempting during the Latvian act) and mindsets to be got in to.

The biggest pain, however, is the thought of the home team. How will they perform on the night? What will the song be like in a large stadium? How will it look on stage? Will he or she sing in tune? How will the crowd react? What will the costume look like on TV? Will I feel embarrassed or will I feel proud? What will be the votes be like?

Fortunately (or not, depending on how you look at it), our man Andy is on second. That means it's only the day to get through and the first act to watch before we get our chance to cheer the boy on. I do so hope he does well.

I have, in the past, been frightfully critical of our acts. Sometimes not always privately either. But this year, our soulful little chap's song Even If has stood the rigours of the inevitable robust test procedure.

Ever since the UK voting public made their decision and plumped for Andy Abraham I have, I'm not ashamed to admit, listened to his song on my iPod-esque player nearly every day. In fact, I'm listening to it now as I write this. It's a corker. It makes me want to tap my foot the moment the song begins.

The same thing happened the moment I heard it in the studio rehearsals for Eurovision: Your Decision. We only got to hear three times that night and every time it got me going. He clearly enjoys himself singing it too. I told him that myself in a way when I was taking pictures during the rehearsal. "You don't have leap around a lot matey," I said, "You make it very difficult to get a decent shot of you. Tone it down a bit."

Come the night he was selected I was stationed in a room a few floors up from the studio. I'd felt a little left out at first. Somehow it felt right to be down in the studio with all the other punters. Still, come the final moment when Mr Wogan announced exactly who would carry the Eurovision torch out in Belgrade, I was extremely enthusiastic.

And that enthusiasm still holds true today.

Go Andy.

Nice touch

How very nice

I'm sat at my desk still grinning like a cheshire cat after another member of staff commented on how very impressive my laptop and monitor arrangement made me look impressive, when a friend and colleague pops up on messenger.

"Oooh. Look at you. You're in Ariel."

Her timing is perfect. I'm listening to timeshifted Radio 3. The breakfast show at 11.15am. They're opening the show with the overture to Pirates of Penzanze by Gilbert and Sullivan. It reminds me of a time at school production of the same operetta when I persuaded the then musical director into letting me play the clarinet in the pit band. This was serious stuff. The pit band was normally staffed by people who got paid to play in it. They needed to be "shit hot".

"I'm in Ariel? What, Ariel online?" * I revert to my usual hand-beard mode, gently propping up my jar in an attempt to stop it falling to the floor.

My friend gives me the link and I go see the evidence. "My Eurovision dream came true" it says, plastered across the top of the story. "Jon Jacob, technical project manager for the BBC's all-singing, all-dancing website .. " A smile stretches across my face.

It's a hugely indulgent thing - even more so when you consider that I took a screen dump of the actual page (it's not available on the internet) and put it in my special Eurovision set on Flickr - but it means a huge amount. The past few months have been incredibly exhausting - it is for any Eurovision fan - and sometimes its just nice when people pat you on the back.

"Never speak to journalists dahling," My friend reminds me. She is correct of course. I did speak to the editor and rattled off all the things I thought he'd like to hear. But still, I do feel rather proud.

* Ariel in case you hadn't realised is the "company newspaper" which is also available on subscription to those people outside the BBC, so I reckon its OK to talk about it.

My horoscope in the London Paper is just laughable.

"Go on, I bet you're just itching for a few days off from worrying about all of life's little niggles - and you more than desrve to take it."

Thank Christ it's a Bank Holiday weekend. Saturday's will be right-off. In between doing the smallest of website updates (we've been terribly organised, preparing everything so it's just one tiny thing to do, well two actually), there'll be a spot of food to prepare and a few missives to write. I will undoubtedly be quite a nervous wreck. That's what it's like, you see. Our work here in London might be done but that doesn't stop us thinking about what our home team will be going through out there in Belgrade. I'd hate to be them right now.

My laptop has been grinding under the pre-Eurovision pressure today. It's hot and overworked. Like me, it's tired of navigating to the many subdirectories I've created over the past few months in a vain attempt at being organised. I'm sure it screams out loud whenever it senses me click on the Start button and select the FTP client. If it has to send out another data packet on port 21 it will, I'm certain, shut down without warning.

I shuddered with trepidation whenever I found myself having to crop another image. "Your C drive is running very low on disk space," it warned me whenever I loaded up the ridiculously-heavy-on-resources Photoshop CS3 or whatever the hell it's called. I don't need all these extra features. All I want to do is press one button and have the machine do it for me. To hell with it, can't it just upload the files to live as well? I need a cigarette or a coffee or a view that isn't two monitors on a desk.

Maybe there's more space on the D Drive, I think to myself, as I gingerly start up Explorer again and take a look. It must be mid-afternoon when I discover to my horror that a relatively small site such as the one I've been working on recently has taken over an astonishing 1.20GB of disk space. How did that happen exactly? Time for a clear down. It's nearly over, I remind myself and (possibly) the laptop. Not long to go now.

I'm not complaining. Obviously. I do rather thrive on the pressure and the stress.

No, I can honestly say that there is a real overriding sense of satisfaction. We've tried our very best. We've done the very best we can. We can all feel very proud of our efforts. And, of course, by "our" I am referring to everyone else who has worked on it. And in case you're interested in knowing those people are: Chris, Neil, Yuri, Paul, Al, Louise, the assistant producer who's name escapes me, the marvellous Stuart (he's a bit of a whizz when it comes to spicing things up and coding up pages),Helen and Andrew. There are loads more. I just can't remember their names right now. It's very late and I'm quite tired.

I can't help thinking that if effort equated to phone-votes, the one remaining thing on my personal wish-list for this year could be within grasp. Obviously, our relative efforts have absolutely nothing to do with the final result but I can at least dream. Not everything has been impossible.

God help everyone if fail dismally on the night. Can you imagine what sort of days at work my colleagues are going to have next week?

The end of another busy day and I can't help wondering where its all gone. Fortunately, I haven't spent quite as much time staring at the Eurovision homepage as I had done yesterday and getting a handle on quick updates seems to have been accomplished. All very good. We are a well oiled machine.

For tonight I have an evening of comfort food and the radio to look forward to. The thought of immersing myself in yet more Eurovision seems a bridge too far. Thank God there's a night off from all the frivolity.

I'm still not entirely clear how I'm going to be feeling post-Saturday night. There'll be the usual mourning but will be sad the experience is over? Relieved the experience is over ? Or maybe a little numb?

Remember the feeling I had during Eurovision time when people suddenly start "checking in" with each other? Well, it's happened again. It's spooky. And it happened before I'd posted the previous entry.

Manchester Dave is going out to Belgrade to see the second-semi final on a big screen in the press centre, do a handful of two-ways for BBC Radio Manchester before flying back on Saturday morning in time to host his own party on Saturday night in Manchester. Nutter.

"I'm backing Malta for the semi, I'm sure it will do well." he says in his email. I can almost taste his excitement and his certainty. I screw my nose up and shout it out loud, "It will crash and burn Dave, it will crash and burn."

Still, I hope he enjoys himself. It seems like such a bizarre Eurovision week to put yourself through, almost as bizarre as working on the Eurovision website.

For want of a better expression, the "company newspaper" has been on the phone asking me about the Eurovision website. I momentarily bristle with excitement before laying things on the line. "There are three things to tell you," I say quite insisently almost as though heads of department are breathing down my neck, "I'm not the editorial lead but it is a private passion of mine and it's a terribly special experience to be working on it," before launching in to a bullet point account of what the website contains and throwing in the extension number of the man he needs to speak to.

I hope that's OK.

It wasn't until last night I remembered a strange trend which emerges when ever a Eurovision Song Contest broadcast is imminent. Fans who know other fans are suddenly overcome with a desire to "check in" with each other just to wish each other luck and to "enjoy themselves". It is an incredibly endearing thing which, I suspect, will be lost on most other television viewers.

Eggs

The message at home, however, hadn't got through to long-suffering partner Simon whoappeared oblivious to there being a semi-final on TV at all. Blissful in his ignorance of the show and clearly my constant harping on about it over the past few weeks, he instead busied himself preparing the evening meal, using up the army catering supply of eggs my mother had given me at the weekend. Eggs mornay is, if you haven't already tried it, nothing more than hard boiled eggs in a cheese sauce, but my God is it hugely satisfying comfort food. The kind of food which hits the spot after a day at the Eurovision coal-face.

I'd positioned myself in front of the TV, laptop at the ready, email inbox, fired up waiting to see whether or not anyone would message from the BBC Eurovision website. I suddenly became aware of anxiety fermenting in the pit of my stomach. Would this thing I'd been working on during the day actually work?

Come the programme actually starting I quickly realised I wasn't actually enjoying myself as much as I thought I might. My attention wasn't focussed on the TV screen like it normally would be, but instead on the emails which trickled in to begin with. Then, as soon as Paddy O'Connell and Caroline Flack mentioned the immortal words "email us at this address" my inbox started to go a little wild. Simon and I stared in fascination - we were witnessing real time calls to action like "tell us what you think" on TV. And, for the first time, I wasn't wriggling uncomfortably when I saw it.

I was surprised by how much I wanted to get to the results of the show. These semi-final nights never really feel like the proper deal for me. I look forward to the seemingly endless hours of the grand final, the agonisingly gut-wrenching harmonies of various euphoric numbers and the endless countries casting their votes at the end. The semis in comparison always feel like a bit of a rush watched by a half-filled arena. And frankly, there's nothing worse than the sight of people wandering aimlessly around at the back of the arena during a live TV show.

What was impressive were the inserts the BBC provided in those surreal moments when the rest of Europe goes to a commercial break. Each of these inserts illustrated the Eurovision "package" is being offered to a newer audience yet at the same time in a way which doesn't alienate me. That's a terribly important thing. It made me feel young even though my 35 years don't exactly make me old. Much respect to Mr O'Connell for his sterling work explaining why the voting system had changed. This was, it seems, a serious attempt to stop political voting. How very encouraging.

The all important results at the end of the show, made it was clear that I'm a bit of a Eurovision fraud. Whilst I make it sound as though I'm one of those serious fanatics of the event with a supposedly encyclopaedic knowledge of all things Eurovision and the ability to pick out the dross from the good stuff, it's clear I'm none of those things.

OK, so Ireland got knocked out although I was surprised Estonia did too. I warmed to its comedy but it seemed noone else did. So too Moldova (a personal favourite) and Belgium who's act looked terribly disappointed in a cut-away during the announcements at the end. Poor old Belgium. I'm rather sorry about that.

But most gratifying was the sight of Simon sat beside me on the sofa, pen in his hand and finger scratching his forehead. "What the hell are you doing?" I asked as I looked on in horror at his list of nineteen countries, three word comments scribbled beside each one. "I want to see whether my views match the voting tastes of Europe." Ten years ago Simon never watched the Eurovision. Now, here he was, making notes during a semi-final. My, how things have changed.

Needless to say he picked nearly all of the songs to go through to the final. I picked a measely two. Still, there's always the second-semi. I'm sure I'll be more on target then.

I hand back the lighter I've borrowed from another equally tired looking member of staff outside the office, take my first full drag on my roll-up and clamp my headphones to my ears.

Ahead of me, a long line of people make their way towards White City tube unbeknownst to them accompanied by a track from Moldova I've been listening to almost constantly these past few weeks.

To the BBC staff heading home in front of me it's four days until their bank holiday weekend. To me, it's the first of three incredibly exciting evenings laden with double meaning that seep endless amounts of self-indulgent emotion.

Only half an hour before I'd received a call from a TV producer in Belgrade whilst I was having another cigarette. It was a call I was expecting but one which still gave me a thrill nonetheless.

The producer wanted to check everything was in order ahead of a live TV broadcast a couple of hours later. Everything had to be linked in. Everything had to be just so.

"I haven't coded up the page yet," I said almost automatically with my calmest, most charming of voices. "You'll see it in about 10 minutes. Just taking a little break. I'll call you when it's done."

"No problem," he replied.

It would be ten minutes too. It would be all there. It would all be fine. I was sure of it.

Nearly six years ago it was that very same producer I ended up calling when I took my first tentative steps into the strange but necessary world of cold-calling. 'You'll never realise a dream just by dreaming about it,' I remember thinking. 'Give someone, anyone at the BBC a call. That should get things moving.'

They all seemed really big and important. They were far too busy to be talking to me. Who was I anyway? I was just a member of the public. I could be anyone. I had to call though. I had to give it a go and make the first move.

I didn't realise quite how long a path it would be. Nor did I really know for sure what I'd like to do when I found it. To a certain extent I still find myself wondering day to day whether I've actually reached the goal or, like a radio producer once advised me, whether the mountain just gets bigger and bigger in front of your eyes. Those niggling self doubts cast to one side, I step on to the tube train destined for home and my position in front of a 36" TV screen. I reassure myself: I've climbed a reasonably sized hill, at least.

Tonight, the first semi-final in the 2008 Eurovision Song Contest is a very special one. It feels like the culmination of seven months of hard work, not to mention the hopes, fears, charm, persuasion and doubt.

I'd been in the vicinity of the BBC for three years, each year edging closer and closer to working on the show I'd watched devotedly for twenty five years. Then, in October of last year with a new job and the same unfailing amount of naiive optimism I'd seen a chance to work on the Eurovision website.

Here was something I knew something about. I'd worked on websites for a few years. I knew how a website was put together and I knew how a BBC website went together as well. Everything was falling into place. Maybe this was my chance.

Things like this are never easy. People have to be persuaded. Sometimes that isn't an easy process. Sometimes people don't necessarily warm to me. Raw enthusiasm isn't a passport to getting what you want.

Still, after much gnashing of teeth and - I don't mind admitting - a great deal of tears I and a whole bunch of other people have pulled quite a large rabbit out of a bag. I don't in any way take the credit myself - there are writers and producers and designers and coders and executives and also sorts of other people who contribute to putting a website online, more than perhaps you realise.

Today was, in some respects, the icing on the cake. Quite unexpectedly one email arrives in my inbox. A member of the public completed the feedback form on the website complimenting the BBC on a marvellous Eurovision website. "The best ever," it read, "Thank you BBC."

I had two choices. Either cry or start mailing it on to the great and the good inside. I chose the latter. I've always been shameless in coming forward. Why change the habits of a lifetime?

It's not over tonight, obviously. There is one more live semi-final to go on Thursday before the similarly live grand final on Saturday. It promises to be a very special evening indeed. It's going to be the best four days ever even though I know that come Sunday morning I'll be sad it's all over.

I wouldn't be me if there weren't a few things I wanted on top of all this. The first is inevitable. For the UK to win Eurovision this year would be incredibly special (I'm trying to deny hearing anyone say that we haven't got a chance - I'm that kind of person). The second, one other person knows of old. The third, is something I cannot possibly say here but there's time for that to happen before the week is out.

I really should know better. In fact, I really should have start this earlier than I have.

What kind of Eurovision fan am I?

Tonight somewhere in London, hoards of Eurovision fans will descend on a Schalger party - that's just "proper terminology" for how the Swedes and Germans (and various other countries, no doubt) refer to the kind of music which appears at Eurovision from time to time.

I could go to the party but, I have to confess I probably won't because a) I haven't got a ticket b) I'm in my mid-thirties and hate loud places where I can't talk to people very easily and c) I'm not big on paying through the nose for my drinks.

Instead I'll be paying some attention to this year's Eurovision efforts and blogging about them. Best to get cracking on it. Wapping Psycho has started already. I don't want to get left behind.