Sunday, March 26, 2017

Eurovision Drinking Game Rules 2017

It is so nearly that time again...

I know, I know; it seems like only yesterday that we were all waking up with the mother of all hangovers but it's nearly here. Like an iceberg looming over the horizon ready to take the Titanic entirely unprepared, the Eurovision Song Contest is quietly sneaking up on us. And, thankfully, the Eurovision Drinking Game is here to offer you the kind of alcoholic support that might (just) get you through the night mentally (if not physically) unscathed.

Now, this year - as well as few minor updates - there is also going to be a Dutch specific rule (assuming they make it through from the semi-finals) due to the fact that one third of this year's Dutch entry (the band O'G3NE) is one of my former students. I know, clear favouritism on my part. I can only hope that they haven't read the rules and decided to perform in a manner that breaches too many rules...

As with all the previous years, some of the rules are slightly UK-centric so, if you intend to play this in another country, just ignore rules 1 and 26 and knock back two shots before you get started for good measure. Or, watch it on BBC and pretend to be British for the night so you to can feel our pain.

Finally, I need to issue my customary word of warning; this game is based upon the consumption of strong alcohol. I cannot, therefore, be held responsible for your health (or lack of) if you stringently follow the rules of my game and drink yourself into oblivion. Play this game entirely at your own risk…


1. A shot glass for every person playing (probably best to have a couple of spares in case people get overexcited).

2. The national drink of Ukraine is, perhaps unsurprisingly, vodka. If you want to be a purist, then you can find some rather fine Ukrainian vodkas out there, including Staritsky & Levitsky. However, I would suggest that you feel free to play hard and loose with the rules in this respect and pick something suitably alcoholic and to your tastes...

The rules are really very simple. You take a sip of your chosen spirit if:

1) Any time the British entry - Lucie Jones - is mentioned.

2) Any time the Dutch entry - O'G3NE - are mentioned. If it is mentioned that they entered Junior Eurovision in 2007, take a shot. If any kind of ABBA comparisons are made, knock back two shots immediately.

3) The host(s) attempts to sing.

4) The host(s) pretends to be surprised at something that's going on in what is clearly a vaguely-rehearsed piece of improvisation.

5) The host(s) loses track of their autocue or mess up their timing.

6) The video shown before an act manages to put you off the act before they've even taken the stage.

7) You are not entirely sure whether the singer is man who looks like a woman, or a woman who looks like a man.

8) The singer is barefoot.

9) A country is represented by a singer from somewhere else in the world. Drink an entire shot if a country is represented by what seems to be a random person (or persons) scooped up off the streets and then pushed out on stage.

10) The act involves people on stage banging large drums or objects acting as large drums.

11) An item of clothing is removed on stage. Drink an entire shot if it is removed by someone else.

12) The act is bald. Drink an entire shot if they are also female.

13) The act possesses a large moustache.

14) The act is dressed in leather. Drink an entire shot if they are dressed in leather and have a large moustache.

15) If you hear a language used other than that of the nation who is singing (for example, English words in a song by Ukraine). One sip per language. If in any doubt, just take a sip.

16) You recognise the song immediately as being a blatant rip off of a previous winner of Eurovision.

17) The song is an ode to world peace. Drink three shots immediately if there are any children on stage at any time during the song.

18) There are dancers on stage who, by their movements and lack of synchronicity, appear to have perhaps had three dance lessons as a child and have never heard the song before tonight. Take a shot if they're wearing an especially outlandish costume.

19) People are pretending to play instruments on stage. Drink an entire shot if they take a pretend solo.

20) Every time there's some kind of pyrotechnic on stage.

21) Every time someone employs the use of a wind machine.

22) If the act attempts to distract attention from the paucity of quality in their offering by getting some kind of celebrity on stage with them (for reference, see Germany in 2009 who employed the services of Dita von Teese to no effect whatsoever).

23) If there is some kind of random digital animation going on in the background that seems to have very little to do with the song that's being sung. Take a shot if something goes badly wrong with this during the performance...

24) Every time there is an awkward silence and/or miscommunication between the hosts and the people reading out the votes. Drink an entire shot if the votes get mixed up.

25) Every time one of the people reading out the results of a country’s voting attempts to secure their 15 seconds of fame by babbling on incoherently and generally delaying things and winding a few hundred million people up.

26) Every time it’s "Royaume-Uni? Nil point!". Drink a shot each time, at the end of a voting round, the UK is in last place overall.

27) Every time a country gives top marks to someone for geographic, political or ethnic reasons.

28) If there is any alcohol left once the show is finished and you’re physically capable of coordinating the movement of alcohol from the bottle to your mouth...take a sip!

At some point in the next month I'll rustle up a printable version like I did the in the last five years. Oh and I would suggest that, in order to maximise the chances that your rules survive the night's entertainment, you may want to think about laminating them!

Have fun and please don't blame for the pain and misery you will have to endure...not to mention the hangover the day after!!

Saturday, January 28, 2017

An Unlikely Saviour

So, the following story was inspired by a writing prompt on reddit posted by the user crimsonpuppet that went as follows: Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year. It was prompt that immediately fired up an idea and, since it went down rather well, I thought I'd post it here as well...

Alien abduction, let me tell you, is nothing like the movies. So if you were expecting a story of flying saucers, of bright blue beams of light and levitation, you are set to be rather disappointed.

It began with the sudden appearance of a black, metallic dodecahedron about the size of a garbage truck in my back garden. I had been pottering around the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea; one minute, the garden had been empty save for an ugly rosebush in the middle of the lawn that I'd never got around to digging out; the next minute, there it is was.

I think I must have squinted at it for a few moments, trying to think up a rational explanation for its intrusion upon the lawn, but it seemed a little too large to have come over the fence from the neighbour's children and so I quickly put rationality to one side and shrieked. Which was the moment that I realised that everything had stopped.

The cup of tea, which I had dropped in surprise, was still in mid-air, splashes of tea frozen like brown petals around it. A large fly, wings static, hovered in the air a few feet from my face. I reached out one hand, finger outstretched, and prodded the fly; it moved back a few inches but stayed resolutely suspended in the air. From what I could tell, with the obvious exception of myself, time had completely stopped.

"Terribly sorry about this," said a small voice from my left, and I looked down to see what looked like a small blue teddy bear standing by the kitchen door. "Time is of the essence or I'd not have to resort to such crude methods."

"Crude methods?" I asked.

"Mmm," said the bear and clicked on a small box he held clutched in his right hand (paw?). "Follow me."

Now, let me explain. At this point my mind was thinking "you must be joking, I don't know what is going on here but I can tell you one thing I know for sure; and that is that I am not going anywhere with you" but - despite this - my body said "sure thing, mr. blue bear."

And so, despite my mind desperately shouting orders to stand still, my body plodded out of the kitchen on auto pilot, traipsed barefoot into the garden, and then trudged up a ramp and into a portal that had opened on the side of the dodecahedron. The inside of the craft smelled strangely like burnt toast; which was the last thing I had time to notice before everything went suddenly black.

"He's coming round," said a small voice to my right.

"I don't think he is," said a small voice to my left.

"No, look, his eye coverings are all twitchy."

"Oh yes, so they are," there was the sound of furry paws clapped together. "Wonderful!"

I cracked open one eye, hoping this had all been some kind of terribly strange and not particularly pleasant dream. But no; I was lying on a flat surface, staring up at a featureless but lit ceiling, and two small blue teddy bear-like creatures were peering down at me.

"Oh bollocks," I said, "this isn't a dream is it?"

"Afraid not," said the bear on the right.

"Please tell me this isn't the bit where you anal probe me," I said, a degree of desperation creeping into my voice.

"Anal probe you?" said the bear on the left.

"What kind of perverts do you think we are?" asked the bear on the right.

"Well, I've just heard you aliens like to do that sort of thing," I mumbled, sheepishly.

"Sorry to dash your hopes," said left bear, "but anal probing isn't on the menu."

"No," said right bear, "We have brought you here because you have been chosen to save mankind."

"What?" I spluttered, "Me, save mankind? Are you sure you've taken the right person?"

"Oh yes," said the bear on the right, "It's definitely you. We ran the algorithms 393 times to be sure."

"But save mankind?"

"Oh, not all of it," laughed the bear on the left, "Oh dear no, that would be a silly thing to ask."

"No," said the bear on the right, "We need you to save the best of mankind. The very cream of the crop. Our analysis has predicted that you are the single most objective person on the entire Earth."

"But why?"

"Well, I don't know," said the bear on the left, "It could be purely a product of genetics, although I'd imagine parental upbringing and environmental factors also contributed to your objectivity..."

"No," I interrupted. "I mean, why do I need to save mankind?"

"Oh that," said the right bear, "Yes, we should probably have mentioned that. Gamma Ray Burst. Big One. Heading this way; going to boil the planet to a crisp."


"366 days from now."

"Only a year?"

"A year and a day."

"But can't you help us stop it?"

The bear on the right grimaced slightly, "Would love to, really I would, but there are protocols for these sort of things and - frankly - we're bending them a bit going this far."

"But how many people can I save?"

"Well, not everyone, as we mentioned; but quite a few. At least if you want to."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Got a soft spot for the place," said the left bear, "Would be a shame to see all you humans gone."

"And how do you expect me to save them?"

"Oh, you'll like this," said the bear on the right, "you have to take their photo."

"Their photo?"

"Yep, you photograph them and we'll make sure they're scooped up before things go thoroughly tits up around here."

"And that's all I have to do?"

"Well," said the bear on the right, "You only have a year. 365 days and everyone you photograph we'll save. Relocate you somewhere nice and altogether less Gamma Ray Bursty."

I began doing calculations in my head. 365 days. It was a lot. I could travel, I could take pictures of people in sport stadiums. I could take pictures of people at concerts. I could take pictures of heaving cities. I was sure, even with the limit of a year, that I could save millions. Maybe tens of millions.

"So, you up for it?" asked the left bear.

I nodded.

"Brilliant, well we'll see you in a year then," smiled the right bear, before looking slightly downcast. "Sorry about this again"

The world went black.

I opened my eyes and the tea cup smashed loudly on the kitchen floor, china flying in every direction.

For a second I thought it had just been a dream, a momentary bout of imaginative lunacy, but then I caught the faint whiff of burnt toast and I noticed the camera that was sitting on the kitchen worktop.

I looked at it. Then I laughed.

I had 365 days to save as much of mankind as I could photograph. And the blue teddy bear aliens, in their wisdom, had chosen to give me a 35mm Kodak Funsaver camera.

27 shots to save the world.