A Eurovision of life after Brexit . . .

BELIEVE it or not, there’s one big question no one has asked about Brexit.

It wasn’t mentioned during the referendum campaign, which is strange, as the answer might have swayed the votes of many people, including me.

The question is – will leaving the EU mean we also leave the Eurovision Song Contest?

If the answer “Yes” had been offered last June, I’d have been tempted to don my doublet and hose, an Errol Flynn moustache, wave my cutlass aloft and, with one sea-booted foot on the fo’c’sle rail, cry: “Come, brave Brexiteers, for England, Harry and St George, let’s sally forth to singe the King of Spain’s beard”.

Or whatever it is Boris Johnson mutters in his sleep.

However, I suspect the answer was “No” as Australia and Israel – both, I believe, non-EU countries – take part in Eurovision, for reasons best known to themselves.

And that’s a shame because there would be many benefits for Britain in no longer having to take part in this tawdry festival of camp amateurism.

In the first place I wouldn’t run the risk of accidentally seeing

It’s a tawdry festival of camp amateurism

some of it on TV and, as Brexit seems to have been voted for purely on the grounds of individual self-interest, that must surely be reason enough.

Second, it would deny all the countries which want to poke Britain in the eye (pretty much most of them as far as I can see, and certain to increase over the next couple of years) the opportunity to humiliate us by making us come last.

Third, it is just an awful thing and not having anything to do with it would make us all feel cleaner and more pure.

And here’s another thing. If Scotland becomes independent, presumably we’ll have to enter our own song. But with Kenneth McKellar and the Alexander Brothers no longer with us, who can we send to get “nae points”?

We’ll have to scour the pubs and clubs to find some novelty act who failed to make it on Britain’s Got Talent but still believe they are destined to be stars.

Oh, and will we then get Scotland’s Got Talent?

By the great Terry Wogan’s ghost, what a can of tone-deaf, glittery worms we’ve opened.