Patsy Crawford scribbling away

Somewhere in the corner of six Ukrainian rooms lie the remnants of stage show outfits.

Discarded spangles, shreds of tie-dyed fabric, whirls of coloured satin so blinding you lose balance, feathers, leathers, spandex, faux fur, ruching, stiffened organza, you name it, parts of it have adorned the all-dancing, all-singing bodies of the fabulously named Kalush Orchestra.

In case it’s slipped your mind, Kalush Orchestra won this year’s Eurovision.

Their song, Stefania, was pretty good but it finished way behind the outfits.

The boys took to the stage in a range of clothing that looked as though it had been run up by their mums on the Singer treadle.

Who cared? Kalush could have bounced into the room in their y-fronts and sung Three Blind Mice and they’d have won.

As the daughter pointed out, hardly anyone even pretends it’s about the song anymore.

It’s all about the outfits and the showbiz.

I think she’s on the money.

Bet if we were asked to hum any winning song in the past ten years, we’d be stumped.

But we remember the frocks, the dancing and the corny ensembles.

To mention an honourable few, I give you a Devo-inspired duo in what looked like aluminium foil, a moustached man in a long glittery ball gown, a group in witches hats riding around on unicycles, a man dressed as a tiered caked, our very own Sheldon Riley all Hollywood vamp in a vast multi-layered cloaked arrangement that came in at 38 kilos and had sewn into it 90,000 pearls, crystals and feathers.

Going further back, who can forget (or indeed forgive) Abba.

Agnetha! Those flare-kneed, electric blue satin pants! Those platform soled boots!

No matter how much we tee-hee and roll out eyes whenever Eurovision is mentioned the grand final is irresistible. Nothing is too tacky. No performance too absurd. No costume too frilly. No hairstyle too bouffant.

It all meshes seamlessly into one big camped-up party helmed by Liberace and Boy George.

Then there’s the patriotic dimension to introduce that note of seriousness.

Every contest there’s a few countries that go rampantly nationalistic although given that sometimes the group is dressed in rainbow-coloured pirate outfits or puffy-sleeved kaftans this tends to take away from the gravitas of the performance.

But not Kalush Orchestra, thank you very much.

The boys wore their patriotism with pride and panache.

When last I heard they had headed home to Ukraine where at the Polish border they rendered Stefania to an adoring throng which cheered lustily and pelted them with blue and yellow flowers.

They then planned to throw off the Euro-outfit, don the Zelensky khaki and take on the Russians.

Australia could take a leaf out of their book.

Instead of trotting out performers in beaded masks and long trains and women wobbling around in mid-air on poles, we could kit out a bunch of Aussies in regular guy ensembles.

I’m thinking Bad Dad Orchestra: open necked shirts, blundstone boots, sensible trousers, funky version of anything from the Slim Dusty songbook.

Brilliant.