If you missed it, this is what you missed:
'Drip Drip.' 'You smell like lipstick.' Eh? Female vocalist with pleasingly short dress but oops, only seventeen. Bookies favourite.
'Something Tiny.' Spain tend to go all novelty. Boy do these people not want to host next year. Real clock-work toys. How can you possibly put so much energy into something so unnecessary? They got to go again because someone interrupted them in a way no-one noticed.
'My Heart is Yours.' Shenandoah meets Titanic. At the key change there was no agreement as to which key to change to and several were chosen. If in doubt, sing louder. Keep the heart; take the oesophagus.
'Run Away.' Fiddler with a mullet. True Europop is safe. Malfunction in the underwear department left us with stockings held up badly by over-long suspenders. Neither funny nor sexy.
'Time Changes Everything.' 4/4. Not that this will improve with age. Quite sweet. 'Make me a whore with the chemist.' Surely no chance apart from Greek points.
Not so much a key change as a song change. 'If we start breeding together we can bring the rain down.' Backing singers' outfits 10/10. Several songs tonight have not so much ended as expired breathily.
'Me and my Guitar.' Solo singer. Should have brought the band. Pleasant change though. Popular in the arena.
'Ovo je Balkan.' Imagine Jerry Dammers waking up in Belgrade with a hangover and a keyboard.
'Butterflies.' What language is this in? Oh, English. Boyzonegoal. Backing singers grew wings. Really. 'No girl under eight will fail to ask for an outfit like that for Christmas.' (Graham Norton)
'It's For You.' I'm waiting for everyone to grow wings now. Can't help it. B(all)ad. Key change.
'Opa!' Panathinaikos Shed End. Last minute equaliser. Lyre, lyre, drums on fire.
'That Sounds Good to Me.' To who? Backing vocals off key. Very, very poor.
'Shine.' You just knew the techno was going to cut in. It didn't. Lass can sing though. Massive pair of er, lungs.
'We Could Be the Same.' Power pop, Euro-goth-rock hip-hop shock. Awesome. Stripping robot.
'It's All About You.' Perfectly acceptable café Europop. No chance. Fiddler on the hoof.
Missing pie riddle solved. She shopped at Iceland. We wrecked the economy and diverted your planes. Left no time for song writing.
'Sweet People.' Frail lass. Wraith-like. Good work. No one cared.
'Allez olla olé.' Europop of the required standard 'cept it's the French. Dum di dum di di dum, dum di dum di di dum, dum di dum di di dum dum. Possible the worst dance routine in the history of dance routines.
Graham Norton; 'There is a drinking game where you take a shot for every mullet or violin.' Participants probably died during Moldova.
Two see-through Siamese pianos. Ah woah oh oh oh oh. Ah woah oh oh oh oh. The tightest leather catsuit I've ever seen. And I'm old and a persistent ogler of such.
'Lost and Forgotten.' Hope it is. Miss de Burgh. Petals fell from the roof. Singer brought along a sketch of his cell-mate to sing to. Jumpers.
'Apricot Stone.' Hair and boob extensions. The apricot on stage sprouted at the key change. Possibly singing in Geordie.
'Satellite.' Nice rhythm. Bit different. Could do well. Liked it. (It won.)
Há Dias Assim. Sorry. I switched off at chord two.
'Milim.' Missed the last few highs. Everyone loved it. The favourite. No idea why.
'In a Moment Like This.' Every step you take; every move you make, I'll be sampling you. Looked like Stewart Copeland duetting with Myleene Klass. Twelfth key change in about thirteen songs.
Until next year then.