Olly Alexander will no doubt blame public vote snub at Eurovision on bigotry rather than the fact he just can’t sing

THERE was a distinct pattern to television events this weekend, which began when a bloke in a dress called Tia Kofi came second last on The Weakest Link.

It was followed on BBC1 by an episode of Doctor Who where a bloke in a dress destroyed all music and planet Earth in the process.

A perfectly awful drama but the most awfully perfect segue into The Eurovision Song Contest from Sweden, won, four hours later, by a sparrow- legged little character from Switzerland called Nemo.

And I hardly need to tell you what Nemo was wearing either, do I?

No? Good, then I’ll press on with the backdrop to Eurovision, which host Graham Norton diplomatically described as “quite eventful”.

I’ll say.

So eventful that, by Saturday night, Greta Thunberg and thousands of other pro-Palestinian imbeciles had surrounded the venue and the brave and beautiful Israeli contestant Eden Golan needed 100 security officers for protection.

Toddler tantrum

Fortunately, there were no major incidents on the night, but one like-minded moron had made it on to the contestant roster.

A caterwauling bully from Ireland called Bambie Thug (real name Robinson) who hides behind all that make-up and the tiresomely predictable pronounzzzz to disguise the fact that what we have here is just another self-loathing, infantilised left-wing bore who cannot cope with a contrary opinion without throwing a toddler tantrum.

More on that little madam in a second.

First, though, the contest itself, which was hosted brilliantly in Malmo by the Swedish Eurovision legend Petra Mede but really could’ve done with a live appearance by ABBA, instead of their avatars, to deflect from all the histrionics by those October 7 apologists outside the building.

It meant, on the night, most of the heavy lifting had to be done by Graham Norton, who was in vintage form, whether it was greeting the Spanish entry by explaining, “She’s a year younger than Kylie, but in the context of this competition seems like Dame Vera Lynn”, or sending Slovenia’s Raiven on their way with this mournful farewell: “You’ve got to feel sorry for the dancers, 160million people are watching and they’ve been forced to wear pants the colour of rice pudding.”

In these circumstances, it feels wrong to criticise Norton for anything.

If he had a weak spot, though, it was a tendency to be far too generous not just to the UK’s Olly Alexander and his dreadful song Dizzy, but also to Ireland’s Bambie Thug, who is no more “the pride of Macroom” than I’m the rose of fecking Tralee.

I say this with a degree of confidence, because the great thing about the Eurovision format is that after Graham, Bambie, Greta, the national juries and all the other schmucks have had their say, the public finally get a chance to vote and upend everything.

A chance I certainly wasn’t going to miss, so I picked up the phone and voted for Israel, a place I love, in the full hope and expectation there would be millions more left sick to the pit of their stomach by the sight of a Eurovision arena crowd booing the only country in the Middle East where gay men aren’t criminalised or executed for their sexuality.

It worked beautifully.

First, there was a big fat zero for Britain’s Olly Alexander, who’ll no doubt blame the snub, in due course, on bigotry rather than the inappropriate staging and the fact he just can’t sing.

The real high, though, was watching Israel subsequently leapfrog everyone with 323 public votes, which included 12 points from Britain and ten from the people of Ireland who, unlike Bambie Thug, tend to be fitted with one of the finest bulls**t detectors known to man.

It didn’t last, sadly.

Israel was leapfrogged by Switzerland and three other countries.

But Eden Golan still beat Bambie Thug and for a glorious few hours I could not have been more proud of the UK or happy with the state of the world.

Then, on Sunday night at the Baftas, Joe Lycett accepted the Best Entertainment Performance award wearing a dress.

As you were.

Nish not funny

CELEBRITY PopMaster, Nish Kumar: “Doo Wop (That Thing), by Lauryn Hill, is the sound of me at school. Take Me Out, by Franz Ferdinand, is the sound of me at university.”

And I’ll Never Smile Again, by Tommy Dorsey And His Orchestra, is the sound of Nish doing stand-up.

Fortune, fun and failing

THE Fortune Hotel, Mike and Adam: “We’re fun, cheeky chaps. Our strategy is to be the fun guys, so they want us around.”

And plan B?

Eurovision's quirky credit

EUROVISION credits query: “Commentator Service – Ivor Lyttle.”

Ivor Lyttle what?

Hotel's rip-off traits

GIVEN the extent to which ITV has ripped off BBC1’s The Traitors, all reviews for this next show should really be posted on CrapAdvisor.

It’s called The Fortune Hotel and is such a shameless, second-hand enterprise, I even recognised one of the contestants, Louie, the self-styled “king of skin”, who was making a nuisance of himself on Josh Must Win a few weeks ago.

The reference point for everything else, of course, is Claudia Winkleman’s hit show, right down to a master of ceremonies with a ridiculous fringe, which belongs here to actor Stephen Mangan, who comes across less like a TV host and more like the hotel owner’s idiot son-in-law who’ll be fast asleep in a club sandwich by midday.

There is a significant difference in the settings, however.

Whereas on The Traitors everything takes place around a beautiful and haunting Scottish castle, which sets the tone perfectly for intrigue, alliances and skulduggery, The Fortune Hotel is set in a five-star Caribbean resort, which sets the tone perfectly for the all-day snorkel cruise, with pick-up in the lobby at 11am.

The rest, though, is just deeply dull, cut-and-paste formality.

Ten couples are trying to win £250,000, hidden inside one of ten cases, via a series of games, pass-the-parcel exchanges and Room Service challenges where the contestants are asked such searching questions as: “Which guest was caught having a poo in a plant pot in a stranger’s garden?”

My money’s on the Exec Producer.

She’s got form.

Unexpected morons in bagging area

BEAT The Chasers, Bradley Walsh: “Scottish football club Airdrieonians is based in what town?”

Jonathan Ross: “Aberdeen.”

The Finish Line, Roman Kemp: “Eilish No.3 is a fragrance by what US pop singer?”

Gillian: “Beyonce.”

Roman Kemp: “Seville is the capital of what Spanish region?”

Kerri: “Italy.”

Roman Kemp: “Dover Castle overlooks what body of water?”

Steve: “The Isle of Man.”

Random TV irritations

THE hopelessly woke Baftas pretending the final disappointing series of Top Boy was better than Slow Horses and Happy Valley.

The sad demonisation of maverick cops who don’t play by the rules but get results, like DI Canning on Blue Lights.

Gabby Logan describing Rebecca Spencer’s goalkeeping howler at the women’s cup final as merely “unfortunate”, when she knows it’s the biggest brain fart Wembley’s ever witnessed.

And My Family & Me plank Ferne McCann claiming, “It’s mad that we don’t need passports to go to Wales,” when the real shock is they don’t demand she’s inoculated against foot rot and microchipped in the arse.

TV gold

THE Swedes’ brilliant ten- second recap on the previous 67 years of Eurovision.

Sky Comedy repeating the “Beloved Aunt” episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm on Tuesday.

Amanda Holden finally using BGT’s golden buzzer to put through a fringe nutter, like Japanese hair impersonator Nabe, rather than a sob story who’s already a cert for the live shows.

And the two saving graces of Sunday night’s Baftas, which were Timothy Spall’s award for the outstanding drama The Sixth Commandment and hosts Romesh Ranganathan and Rob Beckett, who got a genuine belly laugh for their Stacey Solomon introduction on Sunday: “To present this award for Factual Entertainment is the host of Sort Your Life Out.”

“Which is a bit much coming from the person who married Joe Swash.”

Great sporting insights

PAUL MERSON: “Trossard did what every winger should do. Get in there and break his neck.”

Robbie Savage: “The fans see everything through rose-scented glasses.”

Steve McManaman: “Vinicius is unstoppable. Only Neuer can stop him.”

Lookalike of the week

THIS week’s winner is Eurovision dud Olly Alexander and Jeremy from Yellow Submarine.

Sent in by Sam Wilde, Boston.