Copyright 2010 Kris Mole
This book is dedicated to the memory of two people
My aunt Susan Proto 1952 - 2007
For whom I completed the challenge
My father Kevin Mole 1956 - 2009
For creating me
Terry Wogan plants a seed
I don’t like the Eurovision Song Contest. I love it. And despite the loss of Terry Wogan, and despite being a heterosexual male, I always will. You see, for me as a young boy growing up poor firstly in South-East London and then Brighton, the Eurovision Song Contest provided me with my only glimpse of what the continent across the water had to offer: Jolly fat men with moustaches and the beautiful girls who loved them. And smiles. Big, cheesy – and most importantly, genuine – smiles. Europe took on mythical status in my pre-pubescent mind as, come the end of the annual Saturday night’s entertainment, I would drift off to sleep with dreams that one day I too might get to experience that Promised Land. That one day I might be able to smile like the Europeans. I wasn’t yet eight years old but already I was a confirmed Europhile. And this in itself was quite some feat, because at that age my limited vocabulary didn’t yet include the word Europhile.