May Countdown to Copenhagen: memories of Kiev 2005

2005 and the Eurogays flocked to Kiev, to worship at the leather-clad altar of Ruslana's whip collection, following her glorious 2004 triumph. What's Ruslana up to these days? Well, apparently she's the Kylie of the Ukrainian Voice and has released a song called This Is Euphoria - which seems a *bit* of a finger up to Loreen, but Wikipedia, with a flagrant disregard for conventional spelling, tells me that “the music video differs from all the previous clips of Ruslana as she attempts to raise awareness about the social problems of Ukraine, especially the lawlessness. Ruslana is thrown into jail on political reasons but she doesn't give up and fights until she brakes out [yes 'brakes'] thanks to her state of euphoria”.  So maybe it's not quite the same vibe as Loreen's silk pyjamas, Winkleman fringe and crab scuttle dance move to Eurotrance brilliantness.  

ANYWAY, Europe clearly hadn't quite had enough of sexy-strong ladies leading the dance-pop charge with attitude, messy hair tossing and tiny skirts, so we crowned Greece's Helena (Elena?) Paparizou as our Number One, leaving Eurovision stalwart and Maltese funky chunky Chiara to be the number two.  But My Number One  was a deserved winner - it's a TOTAL corker.  Much like Ukraine's 2004 win heralded optimistic claims of EU membership, Greece's 2005 victory promised the revival of the Greek economy and tourist industry.  

Hmmmm.

Helena wasn't the only pop diva clad in silk hankies gyrating to ethno-pop, as we decided to put future husband borrower Javine out front for the UK, where she duly requested that Europe “Touch My Fire”.  Sadly, Europe was all like, nah, s'alright thanks.  (Personally, I thought it was a catchy little affair, which should have done better than 22nd - OUCH).  Perhaps Javine should have stuck to single men, I mean, a less substantial dress for her performance, like she did in the UK selection show – nip slip ahoy.  If it's good enough for Janet Jackson... (But let's not linger too much on the slut shaming, and remember that MC Harvey was the real shitshovel in all this.)

Another 'highlight' to note: the now-established tradition of Moldova Crazy Watch.  In 2005, they went for: a mulleted lead singer in a Native Indian kilt, an Adidas-clad drug dealer on the panpies, Mike Flowers on the drums and, of course, a drum-banging granny - years before the Russians multiplied that gimmick by six.  Good old Moldova - so much visual crazy that no-one noticed the lyrics suggesting she's a suicide bomber.

GOOD TIMES.