Terry Wogan: national institution - even if he is Irish. Photograph: BBC
Terry Wogan has been criticised. There's a sentence akin to treason in most right-thinking people's ears. The upstart who dares to question the judgment of Sir Terry is none other than the man in charge of Eurovision, Bjorn Erichsen.
The Danish bigwig expressed his fears about the Irishman's levity when commentating on the event, saying: "Terry Wogan is a problem because he makes it ridiculous." That's right, he makes it ridiculous. Not the endless parade of loopy minstrels and go-go dancers. It's the commentator's fault. He added that he understood Wogan was probably part of the contest's appeal in the UK, but also made dark mutterings about him having to retire "one day".
We in the Royaume-Uni know there's nothing finer than the sound of a well-disposed Wogan heartily slapping his knee and benignly cursing the antics of some imaginatively moustachioed German. It's the equivalent of watching Top of the Pops with your dad. He can't believe what they're wearing. His mind boggles at their abstract lyrics. He's positively baffled by their dance routines.
He's only saying what every sensible person is thinking. Not that it's rubbish and you shouldn't be watching. Just that it's ludicrous in a very entertaining way. It's not the xenophobic ramblings of a museum piece, but the light-hearted cultural commentary of a man with a sound head on his shoulders.
The best thing about Eurovision is the UK's repeated failure to take it as seriously as the rest of the EU. (Although Ireland's singing turkey might be taking it a bit far.) In a land short on definable national characteristics, we have to rely on an Irishman to remind us that we do share a pretty good sense of humour.
Listening to Wogan comment on Eurovision is like zooming out from the brightly lit stage, littered with madly-dressed people, until it's a tiny, flickering dot in space. The oceans lap the mighty shores of every continent. The techtonic plates shift restlessly causing earthquakes and volcanoes. And still someone will complain that their ear monitors weren't working properly, their wardrobe malfunction spoiled their chances and it's all a fix anyway.
Should we take Eurovision seriously? Of course we shouldn't. With it's ridiculous Balkan back-pat voting and annual Cyprus-Greece-Turkey deadlock. And the surfeit of eccentric middle-aged men in flying helmets singing about knockwurst. It would be like introducing a serious competitive element into It's A Knockout.
And look what happens when a country does take the contest too seriously. If last week's stories are to be believed, Cliff Richard's Congratulations only came second in 1968 because General Franco himself intervened to ensure a Spanish victory. Honestly. "For the glory of Spain!" he was heard to roar as he superglued Sir Cliff's deck shoes to the floor and ran off with his spare pair.
What next? The murder of one of the contestants? Lighten up, Bjorn. You've as much chance of getting Britain to take Eurovision seriously as you have of getting Wogan to sing the Irish entry.
