Queueing

This year's Eurovision Song Contest has come to an end again. For the first time in 9 years, 'we' (= the Netherlands) actually took part in the final, and we became 9th, which is pretty respectable for 'the worst performing Eurovision country ever'. Maybe now the Dutch organisers have realised that sending music that 'most' Dutch people like is also sending music that 'most' other people do not like, and that sending a good artist with a good song will lead to better results. Probably not, but for the first time in 10 years I didn't cringe with shame when our singer went on stage.
I love to watch these kinds of things, can't really say why, but must be the same reason I watched the Royal Wedding or the queen's abdication: feeling like you're part of something. And I am a member of the television generation, after all.

One of the things I like about Eurovision is the self-promoting videos of the countries in between. Sweden had a long stage section with dance and music, with the presenter telling us stuff about Sweden. This year it was extra fun, because ironically, the stuff that makes Swedes feel like real Swedes is apparently the same as what makes Germans feel like Germans, or British like British, or Dutch like Dutch. Not showing your emotions in public, being polite, and standing in line were the things that were emphasised. I always thought the British were the ones who liked to stand in line most, and as for the other things, almost any Scandinavian or western-European country can relate to them.
So the things that a people feel really 'define who they are', are the same things that define at least 10 other peoples. We're more alike than we think. Which is of course wholly in line with the 'We are one' slogan.

About queueing (I love that word), there is a poem hanging around the office I did my internship in, used to promote our British-oriented school books. Since I like the poem, and we could all do with more poetry in our lives, I'll end this post with the British fascination for queueing:


Q by Roger McGough

I join the queue
We move up nicely.

I ask the lady in front
What are we queueing for.
'To join another queue,'
She explains.

'How pointless,' I say,
'I'm leaving.' She points
To another long queue.
'Then you must get in line.'

I join the queue.
We move up nicely.