Another year, another flop. The UK has self-destructed at Eurovision all over again.
Look Mum No Computer, aka musician Sam Battle, got one solitary point, ending up in last place.
It's the third time we've been at the bottom of the table since 2020. We've made the top 10 once since 2010. This is the fourth consecutive year I've written a post-mortem on our failure.
Believe me, I don't want to be here – but here we are.
In the run-up to the contest, there was little hope that Sam's shouty synth-pop banger Eins, Zwei, Drei, would fare well.
But the musician gave it his all, stomping around the stage in a bright pink boiler suit while singing about quitting his office job so he could go to Germany and count to three (I am not making this up).
It was, as Graham Norton observed, "a big swing".
If anything, our previous Eurovision entries played it too safe, pandering to a cliché of polished electro-pop.
Sam was different. Eccentric and engaging, with the uncontainable energy of a shaken-up Coke bottle, he came up with a song that, for once, sounded uniquely British.
"I have to applaud the BBC for the ambition," says Adrian Bradley of the Euro Trip podcast, which follows the competition's ups-and-downs.
"They took a risk on something that maybe people won't like, but which some people might pick up the phone and vote for."
"I think it's a very interesting song in terms of production," agrees Satoshi, who represented Moldova at this year's contest.
"The distortion on the voice, the synths that he uses. Everything has that British imprint – but I can definitely see that it's not everyone's cup of tea."
"What we're doing is Marmite," he told BBC News before the contest. "You either love it or hate it – but I think there's a slot open for our sort of thing."
The song's hiccupy beat, and zany references to jam roly poly and custard left Europe bewildered. Juries awarded it one point. The public gave it zero.
"I think the song, honestly, is not a great song for the UK," says Filippo Baglini, a journalist for the Italian station London One Radio.
"The UK is the best at music all around the world. You have the Beatles and everything. So this is not good enough."
"I really wish the BBC would take it more seriously," agrees Thomas Tammegger, an Austrian Eurovision fan, living in Denmark.
"They look at it through a lens of it being a funny event and then you have to send novelty entries or joke entries and it never really does well.
"When they do make an effort, like with Sam Ryder, voila! It's second place and it works."
Ah yes, Sam Ryder. A drop of water in 15 years of drought. He was the runner-up in 2022, armed with the cunning plan of writing a good song – the 70s glam rock pastiche Space Man – and being good at performing it.
Well, in the words of Will Young, who turned down the chance to represent the UK in 2015, Eurovision is considered a "poisoned chalice".
No established recording artist wants to represent the UK in case it damages their career. When they do – like Olly Alexander in 2024 – they're stung by the reaction.
Alexander, who went into debt to his record label to pay for the staging, called the experience "brutal" and advised future contestants to "get a good therapist".
Since then, the BBC has relied on less-established talent. Both Look Mum No Computer and 2025 contestants Remember Monday are independent artists, without the backing of a major record label.
When I explain the situation to other Eurovision contestants in Vienna, they're shocked.
"In the UK there's a bad perception of representing your country at Eurovision?" asks a perplexed Satoshi. "Well, that's not good.
"I can understand that the UK has delivered so many powerful acts to the world that you don't have to rely on Eurovision to get awareness, but I think it's a wonderful contest to emphasise your musical potential."
Dara, who won the contest with her song Bangaranga, agrees.
Aa a pop star with 10 years of hits under her belt, she says big artists need to shed their prejudices about Eurovision.
"I don't know what's stopping them from experiencing this amazing place," she said at her post-victory press conference.
"You might be from bigger country than Bulgaria, but whatever. Don't be afraid to jump into a new reality, into risk, and to try new things. That's what makes life fun, and you will feel alive."
The UK’s scorn for Eurovision is something Finland also used to struggle with.
After Lordi's victory in 2006, the country experienced a devastating 15-year slump.
In that time, Finland never made the top 10 again. On seven occasions, they even failed to qualify from the semi-finals.
"We were pessimists for many years," says Katariina Kähkönen, a reporter at Finland's MTV Uutiset. "People were always like, 'No, it doesn't matter – the Eurovision thing. Finland will never win.'"
But since the pandemic, they've turned things around, entering classics like Käärijä's Cha Cha Cha (second place, 2023) and coming sixth this year with Linda Lampenius and Pete Parkkonen's Liekenheiten.
To find out what changed, we went straight to the man responsible – Matti Myllyaho.
He's the show producer for Finland, and also organises Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (UMK), a massive televised contest that's selected the country's entry every year since 2012.
He credits pop diva Erika Vikman with turning the tide, after appearing at UMK in 2020.
"She had this song Cicciolina, which was outrageously quirky – but it got artistic acclaim, and then it did really well commercially.
"That started a snowball effect. A lot of artists after that were like, 'Wait, this could be something for me'."
Cicciolina came second at UMK, but suddenly established rock acts like The Rasmus were willing to consider playing Eurovision.
Myllyaho also recognised the value of leaning into Finland's eccentricity, with Käärijä's rave metal anthem Cha Cha Cha becoming the breakout hit of Eurovision 2023 in Liverpool.
Then Vikman returned last year with the sexually suggestive Ich Komme – which she performed astride a giant airborne microphone, cementing her place in Eurovision history.
It only came 11th (a travesty), but Myllyaho says winning is overrated.
"When Olly Alexander received zero points from the public two years ago, he immediately came backstage and said, 'Honestly, that's kind of iconic'.
"There's virtue in owning that. Ultimately, success is about creating pop culture moments."
So what would he do if he was put in charge of the UK's entry?
"In Finland, we started to realise our strengths, and own our slight weirdness," he says.
"It's hard to speak for the UK, but I think the path I'd recommend any Eurovision project to follow would be to, like, just own your quirkiness."
Except the BBC went down the wacky route this year, only to fail again.
The problem is that, in order to succeed, you need to 10 things to align: The right song; an artist who can sing it live, who is preferably recognisable, with a relatable story to tell; impressive staging; public support; good promotion; an advantageous place in the running order; pre-show buzz; and a pinch of good old fashioned luck.
The BBC typically has the jigsaw almost complete, only to lose two of the pieces under the floorboards.
Myllyaho admits that getting the balance right is hard work.
"We're in touch with labels and artists all year round – but as more hits and stars and stories come out of Eurovision, it's a self-reinforcing loop.
"Because there's nothing quite like it. It's such a unique opportunity to put on a high-production performance in front of millions of people. You can't really get that anywhere else, can you?"
More on the Eurovision Song Contest 2026:
Having squandered the good-will created by Sam Ryder's success, the BBC delegation now has the tricky task of pushing the boulder back up the hill.
Perhaps the next couple of months could be spent courting record labels and songwriters, instead of leaning on
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