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They're no Lou Reed, but I'm starting to like Jedward

THIS die-hard music maven has been frog-marched from a concert and tossed into the street by a bouncer for invading the stage and dancing beside punk legends The Undertones -- that was as a thirty-something father-of-four.

Now it's my fellow music fans who are more likely to give me my marching orders as I fess up to something I never, EVER would have dreamed of saying in my Doc Marten days.

I have become a fan of Eurovision.

Damn that double helping of youthful exuberance, Jedward and their infernal cartwheels and sequins. They're about as far away from Lou Reed or The Ramones as an ageing dad rocker can limp, but I'll still be punching the air when they tumble onto stage in Azerbaijan tonight.

And why the hell not?

While they're not exactly the type of 20-year-old twins I might previously have pictured myself watching leap into the shower together (it's part of their performance, for the uninitiated), I can think of little better on a sunny Saturday evening with a belly full of barbecue and parked in front of a plasma screen TV with the sound up full.

Who'd have guessed back in 2009 when we peeked through clenched fingers as two lads from Lucan leapt around the X Factor stage, that someday they'd be cheered on for representing Ireland two years running at the biggest song contest in the world, in a country that sounds like the location for a Borat sketch?

Still Jedward are infinitely better than some of the dirge-like yodellers we've sent over to this competition in the past.

Remember John Waters in 2006, stroking his big hairy face on RTE as his entry, The Words That Never Wear Out was beaten to the punch by Brian Kennedy warbling Every Song Is A Cry For Love?

You don't? Me neither. I had to look it up.

Thankfully, the po-faced pageant always so ripe for parody has since become a parody of itself -- in all the right ways.

There's a genuine sense of fun about the Eurovision in 2012 that goes beyond the usual guilty pleasure and camp spectacle of the past.

It's something self knowing, celebratory even -- a shameless, if gormless, glorification of all that's daft.

And what better way to escape the otherwise almost daily dose of misery that's all life seems to hold at the moment? This ageing rocker wouldn't miss it for the world.