NEIL PWANTS must be the name of the wheezing old geriatric who organises the British entry into the Eurovision Song Contest. Neil Pwants scours the Post Office queues for another older person to drag their depressing warbling across the television screens of the rest of the world.
When he finds one, he hotfoots it down to the local older persons sheltered accommodation to select the best of Wednesday’s singalong.
Why can we not have a more adventurous producer? Why can’t we sack the wrinkly who sits in that chair at present?
Why can’t we go back ten or 20 years when the British entry was a force to be reckoned with?
Edwin McLay, Ferryhill.
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