Eurovision puts tears, terrible tunes and kitsch on to our screens. We ask devotees how they’ll cope without it – and why the event has such significance for the gay community
They say you never forget your first time, and Paul Jordan is no exception. It was a Saturday night, 15 May 1993, to be precise. Downstairs at his family home in Peterborough, his mum and dad were holding a dinner party. Their son, meanwhile, had sneaked into his parents’ bedroom, desperate not to attract the attention of the grown-ups.
A few hours later, emotions overwhelmed him. His dad came up to check on his son and when the bedroom door burst open, their eyes met as the credits rolled on the small television set. The Eurovision Song Contest was over, and after a nail-biting finish to voting, the United Kingdom’s contestant had missed out on first place in the final round.