Let us pause, dear reader, to contemplate the latest indignity inflicted upon the concept of civilisation by the relentless march of globalism. Canada, that vast and polite wilderness, is to join the Eurovision Song Contest in 2027. UK broadcasters, naturally, are delighted.
They would be. For Eurovision, once a quaint Cold War curiosity, has become a bloated, self-parodying circus. And now it adds a nation whose cultural exports consist largely of maple syrup, mounties, and the unbearable lightness of Justin Bieber.
The contest's expansion is a symptom of a deeper malaise: the triumph of kitsch over culture, of participation over excellence. In the Victorian era, we had the Crystal Palace. Today we have glitter cannons and a Swedish man in a bird costume.
Canada's inclusion is not a cause for celebration; it is a sign that we have abandoned all pretence of standards. The Fall of Rome was gradual, but at least it had gladiators. Eurovision offers only the spectacle of nations competing to see who can be the most inoffensively bizarre.
One fears for the future of British broadcasting when its officials applaud the dilution of even this sham competition. Perhaps we should erect a memorial to good taste, for it has surely perished.
