The 69th Eurovision Song Contest ended in a crescendo of chaos… a magnificent, melodramatic finale that surely left the organisers reaching for the defibrillators.
Israel’s Yuval Raphael almost pulled off the ultimate party-crasher victory, which would’ve guaranteed that the 2026 contest came with a side order of diplomatic migraines and extra riot police.
You could almost hear the presenters, the BBC, and the wokerati humming with the fury of a wrongly microwaved Greggs sausage roll. But sadly in the end (yes, I was rooting for Israel) Austria’s JJ held on, howling his lungs out in what sounded like a romantic tax audit. Still, he won. Good for him.
Of course the UK’s ‘Remember Monday’, with their superb harmonies and eerily appropriate anthem What The Hell Just Happened?, were given the infamous Eurovision public vote snub: nul points.
Let’s pause here. Deep breath. And now say it loud and proud: GOOD.
Yes, we should celebrate this glorious snub. Because getting no points in Eurovision, in this geopolitical climate, is also practically a mark of greatness. A sign that we are still feared, resented, envied, and most importantly, noticed. This wasn’t a musical judgment. This was a statement.
We’ve seen this script time and time again. Even the spectacular Sam Ryder had to settle for second in 2022, beaten by a Ukrainian rap-folk entry that sounded like a Nokia being exorcised. Sorry Ukraine, but it did. And we saw it again last night. At the end, quite rightly, Israel soared on the camaraderie-vote jet stream, belting out a song best left echoing quietly through the duty-free lounge. But yes, I’ll admit it again, I was firmly rooting for them. Because these aren’t victories of melody. They’re political karaoke.
Of course I was also enjoying the thought of Gary Lineker, Graham Norton and their wokerati kin choking on the socialist champagne they were undoubtably quaffing.
So when the UK’s Remember Monday got iced out by the public, despite a solid showing from the professional jury, we saw through the glitter. Europe isn’t voting on talent. It’s voting on message. On alliances. On vibes.
And guess what, dear readers? We sent them a very clear message back in 2016. It started with a B and ended with the sound of bureaucrats weeping in Brussels.
Brexit wasn’t just about sovereignty or trade deals. It was, at its heart, a gloriously public, fantastically messy divorce. We RSVP’d no thanks to the most passive-aggressive family dinner in history. And now, like the effortlessly cool ex who turns up to the wedding in a top of the range Bentley, we’re still invited, but we’re not adored. That’s fine. Let them boo. Let them sneer.
The truth is, the UK has always been the effortlessly cool kid across the road, a little aloof, a bit amused, and never quite sold on the continental drama. While Europe squabbled over treaties and technocrats, we were busy building an empire, winning world wars, and forging a special relationship with the most powerful nation on Earth, the US. Our heart also lies with the Commonwealth, not the Commission.
Every summer, we commandeer their beach resorts. Every winter, we colonise their ski slopes. And yes, we expect the menus to be in English. Our language dominates global business, science, tech, music and media. And yes again, they resent us for it. Not because we’re rude, but because deep down, they know we don’t need them.
We are the United Kingdom and we are proud. We export culture, finance, services, our language… and don’t even get me started on real music. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Adele, Queen, Bowie, Coldplay, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd… Ed Sheeran’s entire global streaming empire. Our small isles have probably earned more from music than the rest of Europe put together.
We don’t need a glittery plastic trophy from a contest that once let a man dressed as a turkey represent Ireland. No offence to poultry, or Ireland.
What the public votes often represent is emotional outsourcing. You’re not voting for a tune, you’re voting against a flag. That’s why we should wear our nul points like a nuclear-grade honour. Like the US in the UN, the UK in Eurovision is too big, too bold, too easy to blame. As a well-known American movie producer recently said to me, when you’re top of the cultural food chain, you become the bad guy in everyone else’s movie.
Look around. We’re signing trade deals in the US, India and the Indo-Pacific while Europe squabbles over tech permissions. We’re leading in AI, finance, biotech. Sure, our Eurovision score looked like a binary error message, but on the world stage we’re still first class, with or without sequins.
So raise your Union Jack tea mug this morning to Remember Monday, whose only crime was being British in a world that loves to hate us. You were brilliant. You were bold. And by getting zero from the public, you’ve proven something far greater than a win.
They still care.
Because nothing is more punk rock than getting nul points and strutting across the stage like you’ve headlined Glastonbury and won at life. And to be fair, you did. You were born British. As Freddie would say, we are the champions.
By Claire Bullivant
