television

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Odd Shoes

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I always wanted to be famous, an actress probably, but then I had a better idea, I would become a newsreader. Just as famous, in people’s homes every night, regular work, short hours and best of all, I would be able to sit behind a big desk. Nobody would see my legs and hips, not my best feature and I certainly would not have to do any nude scenes. And I would not have to learn any lines, just read from the autocue.

I practised in front of the mirror… and in tonight’s news… serious face, serious tragedy face, reassuring expression, Royalty voice, lighten up with cheerful final item…

‘As many as three thousand people are feared dead in… the King and Queen met a 117 year old veteran today when they visited…   the Coastguard and lifeboats are still searching for three people missing after their… A Jack Russell terrier named Lucky had a lucky escape when he fell over five hundred feet off Beachy Head and landed in an RNLI lifeboat searching for three missing people…’

It transpired that there is more to being a newsreader than I thought, but I made it… local news, national lunchtime news, main evening news! Someone to do my hair and makeup, different smart jacket or blouse every evening and I was soon a well known name. Under the desk I could wear my bunny slippers and what my husband called my pyjama trousers, but what I called lounge wear. Then one day the producer called a meeting.

The evening news was going to be revamped, the desk would be no more. We would walk around pausing now and then to look commanding. How would I walk, read the autocue and look intelligent all at the same time… and what on earth would I wear?

Luckily my brother is a drag queen, not a profession I or my parents ever thought would be useful, but he came round to offer advice. Picking out a couple of pairs, my only pairs, of smart trousers and a dress and two skirts, he put his hands on his hips and said ‘Now all you need is a decent pair of high heels.’

‘I don’t wear heels, I don’t possess any high heels.’

‘No problem, you can borrow a pair of mine.’

‘Won’t they be too big?’

‘Just stuff some tissues in the toes, it’s only for half an hour.’

Monday evening launch and I’m at the studio back door waiting for my brother who had promised to bring the shoes on his way to his show. He had assured me he would choose his most conservative pair with the shortest heels. With minutes to spare I rushed to my dressing room and opened the shoe box. Black, good, four inch heels oh dear. I stared at them, I was unused to wearing such shoes, but even I could tell something was not right, what was odd about them? Something was right, both shoes were right! He had so many pairs of shoes, presumably lots of similar pairs and rushing around getting his dresses ready he did not notice his mistake.

I had no choice but to wear them, I was expecting them to be uncomfortable anyway, so what difference would it make. Out in the corridor I steadied myself against the wall. My producer said ‘You look lovely, whoops, politically incorrect, you look very professional. Oh by the way, we have got breaking news, no idea what or where, keep your eyes on the autocue and listen on your earpiece for updates.’

I tottered over to the prearranged starting point, my feet in agony already and my earpiece buzzing with the producer’s mumblings and urgent hissings. I peered at the autocue, but I was not used to this angle.

‘…and we start tonight with breaking news from … how on earth is that pronounced…

‘Start walking across’ hissed my producer.

I couldn’t even think which foot to put forward first and they hadn’t told me I had to walk up steps…

My leg became the breaking news…

Thursday Thoughts from the Unherd

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Here we are, standing shivering, wondering why we have been woken up before sunrise. TV cameras intruding just to please breakfast television, then the reporter has the cheek to say

‘Of course these chaps don’t feel the cold, they come from the Antarctic.’

I come from Bristol and my feet are frozen.

Yup, same with us. There they are in their Alpine designer outdoor wear talking about our fur coats keeping us warm in the Gobi desert. They don’t even keep us warm in English snow, let alone the Gobi, not that I have ever seen an actual desert.

Don’t know why they were so surprised we had a baby, we’ve known for ages, chose a name weeks ago. Now they have the cheek to announce a competition to name OUR baby.

She’s right, taking away our dignity and identity, trying to disconnect us from thousands of years of family tradition, the proud name of our clan. They have no fashion sense then laugh at our stripes. Then the ultimate insult, what name do they give us? ZEBRAS! How ridiculous a name is that.

It could be worse, what about me. Miss know-it-all reporter is telling everyone I’m going to give birth to a mammoth. I thought they had laws against offensive remarks. There is nothing more insulting you can call us than Mammoth. There is a very good reason those hairy idiots died out millennia ago.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Roses

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When I arrived, Uncle Brian was furtling around in the compost heaps.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Potpourri potential.’

He was a man of few words.

‘I can’t imagine you will find anything fragrant there.’

‘Potpourri for insects, a quick way to attract all sorts of creatures when you are rewilding your garden.’

‘The customers who come to Grandma’s rose nursery are unlikely to be into rewilding are they?’

‘Sell on the internet, besides, roses are going.’

‘Going?’

‘Yup, going same way as your gran.’

He turned his head and nodded towards the Victorian brick tool shed, behind which smoke spiralled into the air. Now he had drawn my attention I noticed the divine scent of wood smoke and wandered in that direction. My grandmother, his mother, had requested she be cremated and her ashes placed in her favourite rose bed, but the cremation was not taking place till next week. I tiptoed round into the yard to be confronted by a tangle of burning rose wood.

‘Has there been some kind of rose disease?’

I did not know much about Grandma’s beloved roses, but I knew she inspected every leaf and petal for signs of spottling.

‘No, told you, roses are going, getting a rotavator in, then let the grass grow, the seeds blow and the weeds return.’

It was the longest speech he had ever made.

‘Does Mum know what you are doing?’

‘Nope, doesn’t need to, this was left to me.’

It was true that Brian had been the one who lived and worked here and frankly we assumed Grandma left the nursery and house to him as the prospect of him working or living elsewhere was unlikely.

A few weeks later we took Grandma’s ashes with us to the Chelsea Flower Show where she had had many successes with her prize roses. We met up with her good friend Gerald, a Chelsea Pensioner who had a red rose named after him. He was wearing a ‘Captain Gerald’ rose bud in his button hole and took us to a quiet spot in a rose garden where the Pensioners liked to sit and where three of his rose bushes took pride of place. No one was around so we quickly interred the ashes in the bed and left Gerald to his memories.

A few more weeks passed and we hadn’t heard much from Uncle Brian, but that wasn’t unusual. Mum thought we should pay a duty visit soon. That evening we sat down to watch Gardeners’ World, commenting on roses that weren’t as wonderful as Grandma’s.

‘Actually, I never really liked roses in the garden,’ said Mum ‘all that trouble and most of the year they are prickly skeletons. But birthdays, Xmas, new babies what did I always get? Another rose; climbers, ramblers, patio pots, bushes, old classics, new varieties named after us….’

‘How come we have so few in the garden then?’

‘I don’t think roses liked me, they never thrived and often died. Brian had the right idea.’

As if he had heard her the presenter moved on to the next segment.

‘While many people treasure their roses, others feel the need for a change. We visit a former rose nursery in Surrey where all the roses have been dug up and the whole area rewilded. Brian Floribunda has just been recognised as holding the national collection of dandelions.’

There was Uncle Brian standing amongst waist high grass surrounded by tall dandelions waving in the breeze.

‘How long did it take you to establish this wonderful collection?’

‘Few weeks, they pop up everywhere given the chance, quick turn around, not long to breed new varieties.’

‘How many varieties are there?’

‘Fifty Seven so far, just working on creating a blue dandelion.’

‘That sounds incredible or impossible.’

‘Not as difficult as producing a true black… got to get on…’

Uncle Brian turned away and the presenter was unable to get any more conversation out of him. The camera panned round the Field of Gold.

‘Grandma must be turning in her rose bed’ I said.

‘Especially as she never managed to appear on Gardeners World’ said Mum.

Seasonal Short Story – Music Festival

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Julian Mountjoy was on top of the world, or at least almost at the top of the Royal Albert Hall. At last his dream to be a BBC presenter at The Proms had come true. He could combine his two dearest interests, music and talking. In his eerie close to the gods he could look around the glorious plush red interior and the tiers of seating, then down at the tiny figures of the Prommers in the arena. With the first piece of music just finished there was time to chat with his two musician guests while the orchestra jiggled positions and the grand piano was carefully wheeled into place.

‘Ariadne, what did you think of that stunning premiere of John Smith’s Symphony in one movement for strings and mobile phones?’

‘I had thought five minutes would be a little short, but there was so much to take in, it was quite long enough.’

‘George?’

‘What an amazing sound picture, I felt… ’

‘Now let’s move on to the piece we are about to hear for the first time at the Proms. Composed in 1911 by Anton Slivervitz it is not often played, perhaps because of its reputation for being fiendishly difficult?’

‘Yes Julian, Slivervitz was famously polydactylous, having five fingers on each hand plus his thumbs. In addition, he was also unusually tall at six foot six, so he was blessed with long slender fingers.’

‘No wonder this piano concerto has always been such a challenge. Tonight’s soloist has waited till this mature stage of his career to add it to his repertoire and this will be the first time he has performed it in Britain. Ariadne, what do we know about Torvig Absalom?’

‘He has been acclaimed as the greatest pianist of his generation and is also a polymath, speaking half a dozen languages fluently and having a masters degree in physics. His upbringing and studies in different parts of the world have made him popular with many great orchestras and he brings his unique personality and energy to every piece.’

‘Well the piano is in place now, there is growing excitement and anticipation in the audience as we wait for Torvig Absalom to step onto the stage. The leader of the orchestra has taken up his position and played that all important note to lead the orchestra in tuning up. All the players will need to be on their toes for this marathon piano concerto that lasts one hour and twenty minutes. Now we wait for the conductor to lead tonight’s soloist onto the stage. The string section are turning their heads obviously expecting tonight’s young conductor, Melody Fairweather, to lead her guest soloist on at any moment. Excitement is building as we all wait for the grand entrance. Daisy Fairweather is making her first appearance at the Proms and this will be a thrilling moment in her career no doubt. We can imagine the excitement back stage as they prepare for their entrance. At rehearsals this afternoon you could see and hear the very special connection she has made with this world famous pianist. If tonight’s performance repeats the wonderfully energetic rehearsal, we are all in for a treat. As we wait for them to appear, Ariadne can you tell us what it’s like in those last moments as you wait for the go ahead to walk on stage and be greeted by the best audience in the world?’

‘Nervous and excited, however many times you have played in a prom. But Torvig is a such a natural performer he knows how to build the excitement, keeping the audience waiting just that little bit longer.’

Backstage at the Royal Albert Hall there was a very different kind of excitement and tension. Daisy Fairweather was getting very nervous with the delay, she just wanted to get on stage and raise her baton. The bossy woman who seemed to be in charge of the crew was also getting edgy.

‘Alison, are you sure you gave Mr Absalom his final call? Is the intercom working, did you knock on his dressing room door?’

‘Yes but he didn’t answer, maybe he got lost.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous and where’s Jerry, it’s his job to escort him so he doesn’t get lost, ah you’re here Jerry, where is Mr. Absalom?’

‘We seem to have lost him, he didn’t answer when I knocked so he must have slipped out.’

‘Alison go and check all the corridors and you too Ben. Jerry go and knock loudly and if he doesn’t answer open the door.’

‘The door was locked.’

‘I think we need to call security, we can’t keep the audience waiting or the BBC, this is a live television broadcast. Ben get hold of security, Jerry get yourself back to his dressing room and… and…’

‘And this is Julian Mountjoy live at the proms for this very special concert. There seems to be a delay bringing on tonight’s highly esteemed soloist… George, as an orchestra leader tell us what it is like as you wait for your conductor and soloist to step forward to the front of the stage…’

‘Jerry, there you are, what the hell is going on?’

‘I’m afraid it’s bad news.’

‘How bad?’

‘The worst, he’s… he’s dead.’

‘What do you mean, who’s dead?’

‘Mr Absalom, dead in his dressing room.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 800 – CCTV

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She didn’t even know his name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Lottie Lincoln, new in Puddleminster-on-Sea, hadn’t imagined the little town even had CCTV. The recently widowed writer had moved here for peace and quiet and anonymity.

Lottie walked past Queen Victoria Memorial Park every morning on her way to the beach. The locals were friendly and the man was one of several regulars who passed her and smiled or said good morning. She had no idea when the picture might have been taken, most mornings she had the same coat on. Though the picture had now faded from the television screen it was imprinted on her mind, two strangers exchanging a smile on a sunny morning looked like a couple exchanging intimate words.

No one was walking past Queen Victoria Memorial Park now, the whole area cordoned off by police tape, including the adjoining sea front. Lottie had been shocked to hear on the local news that a murder had been committed in the lovely park full of daffodils. Or at least body parts had been found, presumably the murder could have been committed anywhere. Police were not revealing how many or what sort of body parts. Surely they did not think she had been carrying a foot or hand in her back pack? The man never carried anything except a newspaper. Men were lucky with all their pockets and these days the chaps probably only carried a phone and door keys. If this man was married he might not even need his keys. Married… if his wife saw that picture she might assume the worst, an affair… an affair with a younger woman. Lottie guessed he was older than her and was rather insulted to have it assumed they were a couple.

None of this was like one of her novels; crime and forensics were avoided, though she did fancy writing a psychological drama. How would the lives of innocent people be affected by a terrible crime? But this was real life and what should she do now? Would the man go to the police station, did they mention a number to ring?

Time for her walk, she needed to get out in the fresh air to think, walking was her therapy for any stressful situation. Lottie set off to the little parade of shops and cafes that passed for a town centre; she could at least see if the weekly local paper had caught the news in time. Somehow her feet led her to the quaint old police station. She wasn’t even sure if it would be open to the public with all those cut backs, but now she was here she must try. The feisty heroines in her novels would not hesitate, though they usually only had romantic problems to deal with.

As she mounted the stone steps to the door she heard a car and turned to see a police vehicle draw up at the roadside. Two officers emerged and extracted a person from the back seat; it was the man from the picture and he was handcuffed. Any idea that prisoners were taken in the back door was quashed when he was led towards her. She could not retreat and in panic pushed open the door and rushed inside to get out of their way.

Inside, the front desk was unattended. Lottie edged into the corner and pretended to be totally absorbed in the posters about safety at cash machines and zipping up your shopping bags. When she risked turning to look they were already disappearing through a door. Lottie fled back outside, feeling as guilty as if she had committed a crime.

She was soon back in her little cottage, the door firmly closed behind her. Had someone dobbed that man in or had he confessed? He could be innocent,  dobbed in by an enemy, or perhaps his wife recalled him coming home in blood stained clothes…   No one knew her and even fans of her books were unlikely to recognise the windswept CCTV picture; the Lottie Lincoln author photo on the back of her novels was very different.

The lunchtime news merely showed lots of forensic suits trampling over the daffodils in the park. But the evening news headlined with the arrest of a man who was being kept in custody for further questioning.

‘Police believe a woman caught on CCTV at Puddleminster Police Station is the woman caught on camera with the arrested man. Chief Inspector MacDonald has urged her to come forward to help with their enquiries and stressed that there is no suggestion she was involved in any way with the crime.’

Did he mean that or was it a trick to catch her?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Gardeners’ World

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And now we visit another viewer’s garden, someone who has created an interesting garden around his self built home on a brownfield site.

‘This is a small, unusually shaped piece of land surrounded by a main line railway, a motorway and a huge Amazon Warehouse. The house itself is certainly unique. Did the house inspire the garden or the garden dictate the house design?’

‘I created the garden first while we lived in the tiny caravan that is now my potting shed.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Two years.’

‘That is amazing, the luxuriant feel, the fact we are unaware of the outside world, shielded by mature trees and interesting boulders and you did all this by yourself?’

‘Yes, never done any gardening before, just went on instinct, buying plants and searching scrap yards to create unusual features.  It’s been so good for my mental health, creating a garden that would bring joy.’

Two Weeks Earlier

Marcia peered out from the grim unfinished interior of Harry’s unfinished self build house, wondering how she ever got involved with him. The continuous rain had made his so called garden a quagmire; the new plants had given up the struggle to survive amidst the rubble. At least she had insisted on keeping her cosy flat. Marcia had no intention of staying in the squalid caravan he called a park home. As a high speed train raced by she missed half of what Harry was telling her.

‘Camera crew in two weeks’ time, what are you on about?’

‘Don’t you remember Marcy, I told you I had applied to feature on Gardeners’ World?’

‘But you haven’t got a garden, what on earth possessed you…?’

‘I couldn’t get on Grand Designs so I thought I’d show him, Kevin Grand McCloud. Just needs a bit of tidying up, didn’t know all the plants were going to die, a bit of topsoil should do the trick.’

‘Just cancel it Harry and concentrate on finishing the bloody house. I’m going back to my flat right now.’

‘I’m not going to cancel, they do those Flower Show gardens in a couple of weeks. Rick’s mate does Chelsea, or at least he drives the huge trucks that deliver trees. Don’t you worry your pretty head Marcy, I’ve got a plan. A bit of disruption, but we haven’t got any neighbours to annoy.’

Luckily for Harry there were major works going on at the motorway junction and nobody took any notice of the succession of trucks, cranes and pantechnicons making there way to the patch of wasteland that motorists and train passengers thought was part of the creation of a new slip road.

Harry got some of the blokes from work over to help and Rick got some blokes from goodness knows where to help with deliveries. The endless rain at least meant new trees and plants did not need watering in.

Two Days Earlier

‘There we are Marcia, all we need now is an adorable dog to complete the cosy scene.’

‘We haven’t got a dog.’

‘That’s okay, Rick knows where to get one.’

Two Days Later

Police are investigating a series of reports of audacious burglaries from country estates, professional gardeners and quarries. It is not known if they are connected. The thieves took mature trees, plants, sculptures and a Great Dane. One theory is that professional gardeners preparing for the garden show season have been targeted.

Tuesday Tiny Tale 369 -Whatever The Weather

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And in tonight’s news Storm Zelda has arrived. Red warnings remain in place for the whole of the British Isles. Experts say it is unprecedented to have had twenty six named storms in the first month of the year. Travel plans have already been thrown into chaos. All flights are being diverted to Reykjavik and many train journeys have been cancelled after landslides on several mainlines. The M1, M3, M6 and other motorways have experienced flooding and the RAC is advising drivers not to travel, even if it is absolutely necessary.

The RNLI is warning people to stay away from coastal areas. Mandy Mariner is speaking to us from Cornwall.

‘We are a volunteer organisation and no crew will be volunteering to go out tonight in this weather. People don’t realise that you can be sucked out to sea in seconds by wind and waves, so please do not go sightseeing, Instagram and Facebook are not worth risking your life for.’

His Majesty’s Coastguard has reinforced this warning, especially as all their helicopters are now grounded. In an emergency call 999 Coastguard, better still, avoid emergencies.

And in a dramatic move Deliveroo have suspended all deliveries.

For more details on tonight’s weather we go over to Gail Macleod who is on the end of the pier at Easton-super-Mare.

‘Wind speeds of up to 150 miles an hour have been recorded here this a…ft..er…noon an~~ emr~~~gen~~ ser~~~ ha~~ wa~~~

We seem to have lost Gail for a moment and we apologise for the sound quality of that report. So let’s go back to Sonny Dai in the studio and take a closer look at the weather map.

Welcome to Point of View and we start with your views on coverage of Storm Zelda. Delia Baxter sent us this email

‘How reckless of the BBC to send reporters out in Storm Zelda. Gail Macleod was out in the elements and not even wearing a hat, what sort of example is that?’

We managed to contact Gail, at present sheltering on an oil rig in the North Sea. She sent us this message.

‘I was wearing a nice warm hat, but unfortunately it blew away, along with my umbrella.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Pinpoint

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Why they pinpointed our house I have no idea. I have no interest in celebrities and would not recognise one if they were on my doorstep. Which is why I did not recognise the celebrity on my doorstep this morning. I could not even tell if they were man or woman, girl or boy, but that was okay because nor could they. Apparently they are non binary and like to be referred to as they, even though there is only one of them.

I was on my doorstep in my dressing gown this morning because it was bin day and I was about to fetch the wheelie bin off the pavement before Betty came by with her rollator.

There they were with one foot on my doorstep and camera crew, microphones and blindingly bright lamps squeezed onto our narrow front path. I hadn’t even brushed my hair because it’s still dark these December mornings and I was not expecting to see anyone. If Roger hadn’t had his DIY accident he would have already fetched the bin in and gone to get his paper.

‘Good morning, six days till Christmas, how are you feeling?’

At that moment the front door slammed behind me; we still have a yale lock.

‘Trapped’ was my terse reply.

‘Ha ha, just like I was, but congratulations, you are the winner of today’s Christmas Cheer. Your decorations certainly brighten up this road.’

‘All my husband’s doing, he gets a bit carried away, that’s how he had his accident on the ladder.’

Our house did stand out, mainly because nobody else in our little road bothered. Why the celebrity and this team from Cheerful Cornflakes Channel had come to the dullest town in Britain, I had no idea.

By now the neighbours across the road, who never talk to anybody, were at my front gate, grinning like idiots, while Betty was caught in the spotlight like a frightened rabbit. I should have been in the shower getting ready for work.

When I finally did get to work I didn’t have to explain, they had all seen me on Cheerful Cornflakes Christmas special. It seemed Roger and I were the only people on the planet who had never watched I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of the War Zone. My celebrity was famous for not doing anything and being famous. They had won the competition, though as they had to be rescued by the SAS I don’t think  that should count.

They were quite nice actually and came in for a cup of tea. Roger was bemused as he had no idea what had been going on outside. They asked him about his lighting arrangements, but it wasn’t a very interesting interview. Roger’s not a very interesting person. He isn’t on Facebook so nobody knows about our house and we don’t raise money for charity. Now everybody knows about our house.

TV Thursday

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Happy Birthday Doctor Who. Many of us, including the media are indulging in nostalgia as it is sixty years since BBC children’s drama series Doctor Who appeared on our screens. I was always rather resentful that I missed the first episode as we got stuck in traffic on the way home. In those days if you missed a programme that was IT, no recording on your video player, or catching up on iPlayer. It was not until 1990 when we bought a boxed set of videos of the first four episodes for a relative, that I discovered why the Time Lord travelled in a police phone box. The Tardis was meant to change its appearance to fit the surroundings wherever and whenever it landed. It landed in 1960’s London, but due to a technical fault ( or perhaps the BBC budget ) the Tardis remained a police box forever.

It was the second series that introduced the iconic Daleks. With sink plungers their only weapons and unable to climb up stairs, they still struck terror in our hearts. I only have to hear the word EXTERMINATE and a chill goes down my spine. I only have to hear the words Radiophonic Workshop and the electronic theme music fills my head.

Urban myth has it that children used to hide behind the sofa when the Daleks were on and I know this to be true. My aunt and uncle for many years recalled my friend hiding behind the sofa at my 11th birthday party and this same friend today recalled that she did indeed hide behind the sofa.

Doctor Who is wandering round my local area at this very moment, his police box is parked in the middle of Boscombe.

Back to adult television in 2023 and at last there is a drama with Janet as the lead character. Unfortunately she has her fingers chopped off in the first few minutes… well only one hand. Boat Story is a black comedy drama and there were more scenes I couldn’t watch! Not sure if I can face the second episode…

For proper adult drama I am really enjoying the second series from Australia of The Newsreader, set in the 1980s.

Were you a Doctor Who fan?

I know not all bloggers watch television, no doubt having better things to do like reading our blogs and writing their blogs. If you are a viewer have you found a favourite programme lately?

Eurovision Eve

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May Madness continues… after the excitement of the coronation I realised I did not need to take down my bunting, but just add to it and celebrate Eurovision 2023. Some ribbon from HaberDasherDo and a few safety pins..

...then I discovered Amazon would deliver a flag by 10pm… which turned out to be a bit bigger than I expected.

Teddy has been carrying the Ukrainian flag since Ukraine was invaded last year.

The Eurovision Song Contest was started in 1956 and I doubt those who participated in those early black and white days would recognise the colourful stage productions and strange outfits in the twenty first century. There are many more countries participating now, some newly created borders and a few countries not in Europe… Some countries have always loved it, while in the United Kingdom many of us may have been indifferent or embarrassed by our song entries. Sweden famously produced Abba whose songs have been a background to so many lives and when Ireland hosted the contest in 1994 the interval entertainment of Riverdance took on a life of its own and millions have been thrilled by the many live Riverdance shows.

Last year everything changed when the UK actually had a song people were talking about and seemed to have a chance of getting good scores, Sam Ryder with ‘Space Man’. More importantly Ukraine was was going to enter and despite the awful suffering of their country send a positive message to the world. Their Kalush Orchestra won with ‘Stefania’ and the UK came second. Ukraine should have been the host this year, but sadly that would be impossible so as second place holders the UK was chosen and are jointly hosting with Ukraine in Liverpool.

It is the first time for 25 years we have hosted the contest and for those who have always loved Eurovision and Liverpudlians, there is great excitement … and it’s catching. Whatever you think of the various songs a lot of people are having fun, both locals and Ukrainians in exile here. On the news you can have a break from what is going on in the rest of the world and see happy people gathering in Liverpool. There have been two semi finals and tomorrow is the Big Night...

Will you be watching tomorrow night?