Care & Control x Eurovision


The living room looked like the aftermath of a minor international incident.

Takeaway cartons littered the coffee table. Sabina Hussein had commandeered the good blanket. Aliyah Adam sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by snacks and online shopping tabs. 

Louis Mortimer lounged dramatically across the sofa with a large glass of red wine in one hand like a Roman emperor awaiting entertainment.

And Damien Haley — a six-foot-four Glaswegian totem of muscle and tattoos — sat bolt upright in the armchair watching the Eurovision Song Contest final with the concentration of a military analyst tracking hostile troop movements.

Onscreen, a man in silver trousers descended from the ceiling dressed as what appeared to be a bisexual space hawk.

Luke Porter blinked slowly, lager can lolling in his hand. "What the fuck is this?”

“Lithuania,” Louis said with an air of knowledgeability that he had no right to.

Luke frowned. “That doesn't answer my question.”

Louis pointed his wine glass toward the television. “It’s art, Luke.”

“It’s a crime.”

Sabina snorted without looking up from her phone. “Aliyah, I’ve found the silver trousers.”

Aliyah leaned over immediately. “Oh my God. Add to basket.”

Luke looked between them in alarm. “You’re not seriously buying Eurovision clothes?”

Sabina looked offended. “You say that like it’s irrational.”

“Sabina, the lad’s dressed like a disco ball.”

“Exactly!” Aliyah replied gleefully. “Summer glow-up!"

Onscreen, flames exploded behind six screaming men dressed in leather and antlers while double-kick drums thundered through the room. Norway bringing the heavy metal.

Damien leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

"Right,” he said. “Now THESE are excellent.”

Louis turned slowly to stare at him. “Of course you like the heavy metal entry.”

Damien frowned. “It’s technically folk-metal fusion.”

There was a beat of silence.

Luke swung his head around. “How do you even know that?”

Damien shrugged. “Eurovision has a rich history of genre experimentation.”

Sabina lowered her phone very slowly. “Excuse me?”

Now encouraged, Damien gestured toward the screen as though delivering a lecture at a university.

“People wrongly assume Eurovision is novelty nonsense but historically it’s actually reflected changing European identity post-Cold War.”

The room fell silent.

Louis blinked. “Who are you?”

“Take Lordi winning for Finland in 2006,” Damien continued, unperturbed. “Important cultural moment. First hard rock act to win the competition. Completely shifted public perception of viable entries.”

Louis, Luke, Sabina and Aliyah stared at him with genuine fear now.

“Baby,” Louis said softly. “Have you been watching documentaries about Eurovision behind my back?”

Damien looked offended. “I’ve watched Eurovision every year since 1998.”

Louis nearly choked on his wine.

Sabina physically slapped the sofa. “Come off it! Damien 'Heavy Metal' Haley!”

Aliyah was crying laughing by this point. “You absolute fraud! You pretend to be this terrifying hard man and meanwhile you’re sat at home analysing Balkan voting patterns!”

“The bloc voting issue is legitimate.” Damien crossed his arms stubbornly. "Anyway, Norway’s entry is objectively strong.”

"Of course you'd say that!" Louis cackled. “You are literally a Glaswegian Viking.”

"If you believe my Ancestry DNA," Damien retorted drily.

Luke still looked deeply troubled. “Can somebody explain Australia to me again?”

Nobody answered.

Onscreen, the Australian act appeared riding a giant mechanical boomerang while techno bagpipes played in the background.

Luke pointed furiously. “LOOK AT THAT. THAT. IS. NOT. EUROPE.”

“It’s spiritually European now,” Sabina said.

“That’s not part of the entry criteria!”

“It’s a state of mind.”

"They're a part of the EBU," Damien weighed in. "They got invited to participate as a guest one year and never left."

Aliyah suddenly gasped. “Oh my God.”

Everyone turned.

She held up her phone triumphantly.

“I found the exact boots the Spanish entry’s wearing.”

Sabina leaned in immediately. “How much?”

“Thirty-two quid.”

“Buy them now before they sell out.”

Luke looked at Louis desperately. “You’re the only sane one here.”

Louis took a slow sip of wine while on television a French man covered in glitter screamed emotionally beside a burning piano.

“I don’t know, Luke,” he said dreamily. “There’s something magical about all this.”

Damien nodded gravely. “Exactly.”

Louis turned toward him with narrowed eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

Damien looked genuinely confused. “It’s Eurovision.”

As though that explained everything.

Then Norway received twelve points from Sweden.

Damien punched the air so hard he nearly launched the armchair backwards.

“YES!”

The room erupted instantly.

Sabina screamed laughing.
Aliyah fell sideways onto the carpet.
Louis physically slid off the sofa crying with laughter.
Luke stared at Damien like he’d just discovered Bigfoot spoke fluent Swedish.

And Damien Haley — brooding Glaswegian Viking, human battering ram — sat grinning proudly beneath the glow of Eurovision stage lights like this was the greatest night of his life.


**Dedicated to my Eurovision-loving hubby Chris **