So the Eurovision winner Dara has announced a twice-quitting plan, and the British press is already polishing its collective halo. We are meant to cheer: a British triumph, they say, a vindication of UK songwriting. But let us pause before we uncork the champagne.
This victory is not a sign of cultural health. It is a symptom of intellectual decadence, a page torn from the late Roman playbook where spectacle replaced substance. Dara, like so many modern icons, embodies the cult of the quitter.
First she quits her successful solo career, then she quits the competition itself. And we are supposed to admire this? This is not a noble exit.
This is a tantrum disguised as artistic integrity. The Victorians, who understood duty and perseverance, would have blushed. We live in an age of performative fragility, where the loudest statement is often a dramatic withdrawal.
The Eurovision victory is hollow if it celebrates the very thing that undermines national character: the refusal to see things through. What is next, a Nobel laureate quitting the award ceremony because it conflicts with their wellness retreat? The UK songwriting industry can pat itself on the back, but until we stop valorising the quitters, we will remain a nation of half-finished symphonies and abandoned stages.
