“Do you think they’ll let us back in?”

“To Malta? Yes, of course they will.”

“I’m apprehensive.”

“Don’t be, it wasn’t your fault it was a crap song.”

“Oh, I didn’t think it was that crap. There were worse.”

“Really? I didn’t hear one. But don’t beat yourself up about it. I mean, you didn’t write the thing did you?”

“No, but…”

“You did your best with a load of old tat right?”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so and… everybody in Dusseldorf said so as well.”

“Did they? I didn’t hear them.”

“No, well they did. The guy who cleaned up the stage after our number said so to me personally.”

Really?”

“He did, he said: ‘That really was a crap song. Anyway, cheer up, at least you didn’t do as badly as Fabrizio whatsit.”

“True.”

“But then – nobody has ever done as badly as Fabrizio whatsit right?”

“Well, no, but...”

“No buts, you really did do okay... ish.”

“Ish?”

“As well as you could with the rubbish you were given. Look don’t worry, we’ll still get a decent turnout of Bormla blondes and squealing pre-pubescent girls to meet us at MIA.”

“You reckon?”

“Course we will, I’ve arranged for Mario to bus them in.”

(Depressed) “Oh great… thanks a bunch.”

“Listen. It’s the impression that counts. The punters will see all those screaming bimbos on the TVM evening news and think you did great… truly.”

“I didn’t though did I?”

“Well, maybe not as great as Ira or that warbling granny… what’s her name?”

“Mary Spiteri?”

“Is it? Well, yes, her then. But you are still young, you can have another go in a few years’ time.”

“I said I should have worn one of those ghoul masks to sing it in.”

“It’s been done.”

“I know but… then nobody would have known it was me, would they? Then I could have had another go next year with maybe a better song.”

“Oh I see what you mean. I think you’re making too much of it. Reach for the stars; who knows?

“Next week you could get a summer booking for gigs at political manifestations in Buġibba or Marsalforn. Look on the bright side.”

“That’s not easy right now.”

“And anyway, it’s not the winning… It’s the taking part right.”

“Tell that to Fabrizio.”

“Like I told you, nobody’s blaming you. Just wait till we get to MIA, the welcome you’ll get will be… anyway, just wait.”

“If I throw myself out of this plane will it inconvenience the other passengers?”

“Now you’re getting silly… and morbid. We’ve got to have a strategy here. I know: we’ll blame the judges. We’ll say they didn’t appreciate a great song...”

“A great song?”

“Well, okay, an average song… Look, it’s not the song...”

“No, it’s me.”

“It isn’t. We’ll say the judges were biased against Malta, because we’re so close to Libya… or something.”

“What about the phone-in votes, we didn’t get any of them either.”

“Now there you’re wrong, we got 15… I counted.”

“Oh what’s the use, I’m thinking of packing it all in.”

“What? Don’t you dare! We’ve signed a contract for you to appear live, at the Bengħajsa Festa Gala Night, and I am going back to sign up for another prestigious date at the Glorious ESC Failures Night in Dwejra, Gozo.

“Don’t do things like that, I’ve got a dicky heart and I can’t take that sort of shock. No, you’ll be fine. So we didn’t win Eurovision, big deal! Onwards and upwards eh? Glen? Glen! come back!”