“I’m excited about our entry this year precisely because it’s so clichéd,” a friend tells me. “We’re finally playing Eurovision at its own game. It fits more into the mold so might end up higher than in previous years. We’ve got one that Europe might like."

To my surprise this friend is genuinely saddened at the prospect of missing Eurovision when she stays at mine this weekend, a closet enthusiast, and has since asked whether we can watch it together. While I appreciate her friendship an enormous amount, in all honesty the idea of indulging in such a staged musical showcase scares me. I definitely wouldn’t go so far as to say that it makes me want to be sick, I’m sure it’s a pleasant programme to watch, rather, it simply doesn’t sit right inside.

The idea weighs heavy as rock, not a natural rock but a forged and fashioned rock disconcerting in its detail and dimensions that are far too false. The majority of the songs plunge into a plethora of clichés for direction as generic pop pieces and the UK entry this year is no exception: “when you fall I’ll be your parachute” and “I’ll be the answer you’ve been looking for”. I appreciate the pleasingly uplifting tune, particularly inspiring for the morning shower, but why can’t the creative song-writing approach be more artsy?

There is surely more excitement in playing with expectations, creating chaos within the constraints to test and twist its limits. I grant you that the stage performances themselves and dances are often very surprising: those who tuned into the semi-final in Stockholm will have seen the bizarre ‘robot river-dance’ for instance. But if the boundaries of traditional song-writing itself were to be broken, questioning creative laws, there would be less sub-subservience as we witness exciting new insights on the other side.

This could begin on a linguistic level with fewer clichés, more ingenuity and imagination, perhaps sparking reflection, but then unfold on a structural plane with unspoken restrictions lifted from its lines, length of song or silence, its standard number and sequential order, basically a brutal nudge against its mathematical square nature. Whilst I would personally enjoy an extended poetic-melodic narrative structure that simply does away with the constraints of choruses, allowing the song to take charge of itself through merit of its musing, I know that of course this will never happen. The concept of a chorus is a sharp hook that clings into the imagination to inspire people to vote, ensuring that the melody is engraved into the memory whilst the person is put on hold on the phone-line casting a vote.

Alternatively this nudge could be against its thematic nature, exploring the symbolic labyrinth so deep down it gets lost. Though I suppose this point of view is particular, since, when settling down to write a song, my personal preference is to adopt unexpected perspectives such as a shard of ice lodged in the crack of a mountainside wishing it were as free as the sea, lamenting that the sky spat it out. This is clearly too obscure for the general public and confirms why I’m not the person qualified to write the Eurovision songs: they must appeal to the masses. Perhaps I see such creativity as a power struggle, ultimately against the artist, and falling back on clichés disrupts this struggle since it’s too easy a comfort.

However, in its 60th anniversary the Eurovision Song Contest, 2015 proved essential viewing for almost 200 million people around the globe, a sharp increase of two million compared with 2014. These impressive ratings serve as solid proof that public service broadcasters are delivering a television programme that people across this earth are eager to watch, professing the power to unite viewers of all ages and across the globe. In fact, the most impressive change often takes place inside the home: it’s a force that brings the whole family back together.

In my friend’s excitement of us ending up higher up the ranking boards, she tells me how in her household, each member of her family places a bet on a country who they believe will receive the most votes and the winner is rewarded with sweets. In the student house this may be replaced by a requirement to drink every time your ears are subjected to the sharp-knife edge cut of a cliché followed by symbolic consumption of cheesy nibbles. Though speaking in more serious tones, this anonymous Eurovision enthusiast says that she enjoys supporting our country and its values most of all, a patriot, as there is a secure feeling when flags are fluttered proudly in unison. Even if cliché, it clearly works and is enjoyed by many, so probably should continue so.

@JadeCuttle