Part 1
Bolt451
Gone Fishin'
(With apologies to the Red for being impatient and starting anyway)
Are we not doing the bold text normal text thing?
No.
---
As rain battered the city of Gloucester, Lizzie Jones snuggled into her beanbag chair in the living room of her terraced house. She started flailing slightly as she reached for her glass of red wine, sipped it and genuinely enjoyed the layers of flavours. Sarah worked for a wine merchant and as such brought the best wine to house parties. She remembered the old Lenny McIntyre joke “I’m getting oak, I’m getting coffee, I’m getting… pissed.” And she genuinely could taste what it said on the label, unlike the bullshit of her usual supermarket Merlot “This is lush, Sar!” she added.
“I know, right? Its south its North Italian, its new and kinda rare but our sales guys have an arrangement with some of the Worker’s Cooperatives there,”
“delicious socialism” Michal smiled from the other beanbag,
“I thought Poland had moved beyond communism?” Sam asked, trying to be funny
“Good wine transcends economics, my friend,” Michal said, not rising to the bait
“Has anyone heard our song yet?” Dave asked
“Yeah it’s shit, as usual” Sam replied, quickly.
“I quite like it,” Sarah added,
“I worry about your awful tastes,” Sam said back to her, before getting up to get another cider. Lizzie watched as Josie counted the five second rule and then stole Sam’s place on the sofa. Lizzie watched as the adverts finished and she turned the volume up. It was pissing down outside, she was with (mostly) her friends, nicely drunk and it was Eurovision time. She unmuted the telly.
--
Meanwhile half a continent away, John Oliver took a deep breath and swallowed just before the light went green. He looked out on the audience below him and the lights focusing on the sage. On a little screen, fireworks and a BBC graphics package played an intro. “Good evening Britain, undo Wilkommen aus Munchen! Or Munich to you and I as The Federal Republic of Germany is our host for the 2016 Eurosong!”
---
Sam came back in, “you stole my seat!” he said, gesturing angrily at Josie,
“Five second rule dude!” Josie said, giving him the V and not breaking her eyes off the screen. Dave sat awkwardly on the floor. Josie added “What happened to the old host, Suzie whatsherface, Perkins.”
"I think the Beeb got rid of her when it became public she was a y’know,” Dave tailed off awkwardly, “like, a dyke,”
“Lesbian, Dave, for fuck’s sake it’s a simple concept,” Sarah sighed.
“Its just not the done thing!” Dave said before adding “at the bbc I mean,”
Sarah turned to Lizzie, “why did you invite him?”
“I didn’t, He lives here,” Lizzie sighed,
---
Two hosts came out, male and female. The male in a jacket studded with LEDs in the patterns of constellations, the female in a dress patterned like galaxies and nebulae. Captions at the bottom of the screen described them as Thomas Muller and Sophie Schmidt.
“Wilkommen aus Eurosong!” smiled Muller, “Welcome to Eurosong!” added Schmidt,
“ooh, very nice,” remarked Oliver on commentary “The space theme coming from Sophie Schmidt’s 2015 winning song “light up the stars,” unless there’s a Bavarian space program I’m unaware of, launching rockets out of Stuttgart Cathedral, but I digress,” as the two hosts continued,
“Twenty Four countries are with us tonight to compete for the title of Eurosong champion and the right to host the show next year!”
“and the financial burden,” Oliver added.
“And you, the millions,” Muller continued
“And millions!” Schmidt and the crowd joined in,
“apparently a reference to a show Muller hosts on Bavarian television, lost of most of the continent,” Oliver chipped in, Muller continued
“of you can vote, as well as our panel of judges on who will win!” pause for a cheer, “Now lets see who qualified for the final following the semi finals here in Munchen and in Stuttgart earlier in the week,” the screen went to a promotional graphic, going through all the different countires
“Luckily or unluckily, Britain automatically qualifies for the final, being a founding member of Eurosong, itself being an offspring of the Amsterdam pact, I think that meets BBC educational guidelines, don’t you?”
---
Sarah spoke up, “Does everyone have their countries?”
“Yes, I will cheer for Ireland but mostly because I can't for Poland"
“Good lad,” Aine chirped up, “likewise, go Sweden and all that, but” she changed to an obviously loud whisper “go Ireland, shhhh”
“Vive la France! Vive la Sixieme Republique!” Josie butted in loudly, Aine elbowed her in the side playfully.
“Vive la Latvia, because I can’t speak Latvian,” Sam added, his voice full of disappointment, “Where is Latvia? Can I change this?”
“No!” Sarah said boldly, “Lizzie?”
“The Balkan Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, I think I win longest name,”
Sarah looked to Dave, who was on his phone, “Davo?” no response, “Davo?” she threw a cushion at the back of his head,
“What?!” Dave said, snapped back to reality,
“What’s your country?”
“oh!” he said distracted and unscrwed the little piece of paper with a red white and blue flag on it, “Czechslovakia,”
Meanwhile the video showing all the countries continued, each act stepping up and seemingly turning into a star that flew across the continent to Munich.
“The fuck is China doing there!?” Sam demanded,
“They’re the international guest, like Australia was last year, or Canada the year before,”
“Is that north or south China?” Dave added,
“South, the not-communist one, I think,” Josie answered. Lizzie poured herself and Aine another glass of wine each.
The video finished and the screen returned to a crowd full of flags. Lizzie recognised Britain, Ireland, the Republic of Germany, the German Reich. “Is that an Ulster flag?” Lizzie asked,
“ooh, someone’s going to get in trouble!” Aine said, inhaling. More banter from the hosts in both English and German, “they aren’t even taking part, the security at this really is shite,” Aine added
---
John Oliver watched from his vantage point as security removed the person carrying the Ulster flag. To be fair, he thought, the rules were pretty clear, competing countries’ flags only. Mike Wogan over in the RTE box would be pissing himself laughing, or fuming he wasn’t sure. The hosts continued talking pleasantries to cover up the action as they moved over to one said. “Please welcome our first act,
“Es Espana!”
“Es ist Spanien!
“It’s Spain!”
A video package played. As often was the case it was a dramatic clash between the editors at Eurosong trying to show the beautiful loving country and the editors in Madrid showing the wonders of Spanish architecture, industry and various national symbols. “This is, um pleasant, I think it may cut to the singer putting one foot sneakily across into Gibraltar,” It ended with the singer, Isabella Lopez on top of a mountain in front of a Spanish flag. “I don’t know about you but I feel quite intimidated and will definitely be going there on holiday or else,” Oliver remarked. As it cut back to A singer in a white flowing dress walked out into stage, a man was sat behind a white grand piano at the back. A captain appeared on screen “Isabella Lopez: Espiritu Como el Feugo,” She began singing, in Spanish as was their usual. “This is nice, you can’t march to it for a start,” Oliver remarked, the song continued. He had to let them hear at least a bit of it.
As it went into the middle verse Oliver listened carefully. “Wait,” he said, half unintentionally. “Has she changed language. He listened “Esperit com el foc, Això em manté viva” cheers and boos started from the crowd. A flag was unfurled from the crowd, Red and yellow stripes with a blue triangle with a white star in it, “Well this is different,” Oliver managed before suddenly the stage went dark. Oliver could see figures rushing onto stage and carrying Lopez away, “Bit of a, um, technical fault there ladies and gentlemen! Apologies for the inconvenience!”
---
Meanwhile in Gloucester the group were staring at an BBC test card, “Does this mean its cancelled?” Michal asked,
“Even if it’s not, I had fucking Spain in the pool!” Sarah said, before standing, stomping off to grab another bottle of wine, Sam counted five seconds and stole her seat. Finally, Sarah’s voice could be heard from the kitchen
“Oh, this is taking the piss!”
"What?” Lizzie asked
“The only red we have left is Rioja!”
Are we not doing the bold text normal text thing?
No.
---
As rain battered the city of Gloucester, Lizzie Jones snuggled into her beanbag chair in the living room of her terraced house. She started flailing slightly as she reached for her glass of red wine, sipped it and genuinely enjoyed the layers of flavours. Sarah worked for a wine merchant and as such brought the best wine to house parties. She remembered the old Lenny McIntyre joke “I’m getting oak, I’m getting coffee, I’m getting… pissed.” And she genuinely could taste what it said on the label, unlike the bullshit of her usual supermarket Merlot “This is lush, Sar!” she added.
“I know, right? Its south its North Italian, its new and kinda rare but our sales guys have an arrangement with some of the Worker’s Cooperatives there,”
“delicious socialism” Michal smiled from the other beanbag,
“I thought Poland had moved beyond communism?” Sam asked, trying to be funny
“Good wine transcends economics, my friend,” Michal said, not rising to the bait
“Has anyone heard our song yet?” Dave asked
“Yeah it’s shit, as usual” Sam replied, quickly.
“I quite like it,” Sarah added,
“I worry about your awful tastes,” Sam said back to her, before getting up to get another cider. Lizzie watched as Josie counted the five second rule and then stole Sam’s place on the sofa. Lizzie watched as the adverts finished and she turned the volume up. It was pissing down outside, she was with (mostly) her friends, nicely drunk and it was Eurovision time. She unmuted the telly.
--
Meanwhile half a continent away, John Oliver took a deep breath and swallowed just before the light went green. He looked out on the audience below him and the lights focusing on the sage. On a little screen, fireworks and a BBC graphics package played an intro. “Good evening Britain, undo Wilkommen aus Munchen! Or Munich to you and I as The Federal Republic of Germany is our host for the 2016 Eurosong!”
---
Sam came back in, “you stole my seat!” he said, gesturing angrily at Josie,
“Five second rule dude!” Josie said, giving him the V and not breaking her eyes off the screen. Dave sat awkwardly on the floor. Josie added “What happened to the old host, Suzie whatsherface, Perkins.”
"I think the Beeb got rid of her when it became public she was a y’know,” Dave tailed off awkwardly, “like, a dyke,”
“Lesbian, Dave, for fuck’s sake it’s a simple concept,” Sarah sighed.
“Its just not the done thing!” Dave said before adding “at the bbc I mean,”
Sarah turned to Lizzie, “why did you invite him?”
“I didn’t, He lives here,” Lizzie sighed,
---
Two hosts came out, male and female. The male in a jacket studded with LEDs in the patterns of constellations, the female in a dress patterned like galaxies and nebulae. Captions at the bottom of the screen described them as Thomas Muller and Sophie Schmidt.
“Wilkommen aus Eurosong!” smiled Muller, “Welcome to Eurosong!” added Schmidt,
“ooh, very nice,” remarked Oliver on commentary “The space theme coming from Sophie Schmidt’s 2015 winning song “light up the stars,” unless there’s a Bavarian space program I’m unaware of, launching rockets out of Stuttgart Cathedral, but I digress,” as the two hosts continued,
“Twenty Four countries are with us tonight to compete for the title of Eurosong champion and the right to host the show next year!”
“and the financial burden,” Oliver added.
“And you, the millions,” Muller continued
“And millions!” Schmidt and the crowd joined in,
“apparently a reference to a show Muller hosts on Bavarian television, lost of most of the continent,” Oliver chipped in, Muller continued
“of you can vote, as well as our panel of judges on who will win!” pause for a cheer, “Now lets see who qualified for the final following the semi finals here in Munchen and in Stuttgart earlier in the week,” the screen went to a promotional graphic, going through all the different countires
“Luckily or unluckily, Britain automatically qualifies for the final, being a founding member of Eurosong, itself being an offspring of the Amsterdam pact, I think that meets BBC educational guidelines, don’t you?”
---
Sarah spoke up, “Does everyone have their countries?”
“Yes, I will cheer for Ireland but mostly because I can't for Poland"
“Good lad,” Aine chirped up, “likewise, go Sweden and all that, but” she changed to an obviously loud whisper “go Ireland, shhhh”
“Vive la France! Vive la Sixieme Republique!” Josie butted in loudly, Aine elbowed her in the side playfully.
“Vive la Latvia, because I can’t speak Latvian,” Sam added, his voice full of disappointment, “Where is Latvia? Can I change this?”
“No!” Sarah said boldly, “Lizzie?”
“The Balkan Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, I think I win longest name,”
Sarah looked to Dave, who was on his phone, “Davo?” no response, “Davo?” she threw a cushion at the back of his head,
“What?!” Dave said, snapped back to reality,
“What’s your country?”
“oh!” he said distracted and unscrwed the little piece of paper with a red white and blue flag on it, “Czechslovakia,”
Meanwhile the video showing all the countries continued, each act stepping up and seemingly turning into a star that flew across the continent to Munich.
“The fuck is China doing there!?” Sam demanded,
“They’re the international guest, like Australia was last year, or Canada the year before,”
“Is that north or south China?” Dave added,
“South, the not-communist one, I think,” Josie answered. Lizzie poured herself and Aine another glass of wine each.
The video finished and the screen returned to a crowd full of flags. Lizzie recognised Britain, Ireland, the Republic of Germany, the German Reich. “Is that an Ulster flag?” Lizzie asked,
“ooh, someone’s going to get in trouble!” Aine said, inhaling. More banter from the hosts in both English and German, “they aren’t even taking part, the security at this really is shite,” Aine added
---
John Oliver watched from his vantage point as security removed the person carrying the Ulster flag. To be fair, he thought, the rules were pretty clear, competing countries’ flags only. Mike Wogan over in the RTE box would be pissing himself laughing, or fuming he wasn’t sure. The hosts continued talking pleasantries to cover up the action as they moved over to one said. “Please welcome our first act,
“Es Espana!”
“Es ist Spanien!
“It’s Spain!”
A video package played. As often was the case it was a dramatic clash between the editors at Eurosong trying to show the beautiful loving country and the editors in Madrid showing the wonders of Spanish architecture, industry and various national symbols. “This is, um pleasant, I think it may cut to the singer putting one foot sneakily across into Gibraltar,” It ended with the singer, Isabella Lopez on top of a mountain in front of a Spanish flag. “I don’t know about you but I feel quite intimidated and will definitely be going there on holiday or else,” Oliver remarked. As it cut back to A singer in a white flowing dress walked out into stage, a man was sat behind a white grand piano at the back. A captain appeared on screen “Isabella Lopez: Espiritu Como el Feugo,” She began singing, in Spanish as was their usual. “This is nice, you can’t march to it for a start,” Oliver remarked, the song continued. He had to let them hear at least a bit of it.
As it went into the middle verse Oliver listened carefully. “Wait,” he said, half unintentionally. “Has she changed language. He listened “Esperit com el foc, Això em manté viva” cheers and boos started from the crowd. A flag was unfurled from the crowd, Red and yellow stripes with a blue triangle with a white star in it, “Well this is different,” Oliver managed before suddenly the stage went dark. Oliver could see figures rushing onto stage and carrying Lopez away, “Bit of a, um, technical fault there ladies and gentlemen! Apologies for the inconvenience!”
---
Meanwhile in Gloucester the group were staring at an BBC test card, “Does this mean its cancelled?” Michal asked,
“Even if it’s not, I had fucking Spain in the pool!” Sarah said, before standing, stomping off to grab another bottle of wine, Sam counted five seconds and stole her seat. Finally, Sarah’s voice could be heard from the kitchen
“Oh, this is taking the piss!”
"What?” Lizzie asked
“The only red we have left is Rioja!”
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