Finding Nemo, day two: Eurovision

There was a snorer.

I didn't know there was a snorer until about four this morning, when they somehow managed to sleep through waking me up with a noise that could have set off a car alarm. I tried really hard to sleep through it, or to block it out, but it was no use. I think I managed to get another hour of sleep before I got up at seven, but it's all a bit vague until the caffeine kicked in.

I was therefore not the best conversationalist at breakfast, although I could put that down to being rendered near-speechless by a cup of coffee, a (shit) croissant, and a cream cheese bagel costing 19€. The croissant alone was stupid money and I should have known better, but I thought I'd been clever in going for the simplest, cheapest breakfast option. They must have seen me coming, as I was upsold avocado – presumably kept in some kind of vault – to pimp my bagel.

It was nine o'clock, I was sleep-deprived, and I was not really capable of making sensible decisions. It was the first cash-hemorrhage of many.

The reason breakfast was taken in Basel itself so early is because I had been teamed up with an experienced Eurovision-goer who had bravely agreed to accompany someone else's man-child and puppet to the venue lest they get lost en route. Our tickets were for the afternoon preview show, or dress rehearsal, which is the final run-through before the show is broadcast live later in the day, and it started at 1:30 pm. Doors opened at 11am and my new handler Kim, having already been to the semi-finals during the week, was determined to get in there as soon as the doors were open, secure her spot, and then not move again until it was time for us to leave.

On top of the transport provided by the Bahncard, the ticket to the event also provides for free travel on public transport to and from the venue, but there was nobody checking tickets. In fact, the trams were surprisingly quiet at that time of the morning but when we arrived the queue was already starting to grow.

There were some outfits in the queue that were probably a good idea at the time but which looked as if they'd probably lead to horrific heat rash and chafing before the day was out. I'm thinking tight EU-blue rubber hot pants, among others. Kim was wearing something fabulous and sparkly which coordinated well. I wasn't sure whether I was over-dressed or not; I was wearing a white linen shirt and some of my breakfast.

The organisers published a comprehensive list of prohibited items which it seemed plenty of people had not read before turning up. Specifically, there was a strict no-bags policy as witnessed by the security barriers outside St. Jakobshalle being covered in people's bags. Perhaps they hoped they'd be able to recover them later, and that the wall was some kind of transient organic but-is-it-art installation, there only to keep their possessions safe. There was also a strict no-whistles policy, for some miscreants had managed to smuggle some into some of the earlier preview shows for the purposes of protest.

We were given airport-style plastic bags into which we emptied our pockets for inspection as we went through the scanners. I'd come with as little as possible, but two things alarmed my security agent: the presence of a packet of Fisherman's Friends ("but what are they, exactly?") and a finger puppet in bubble-wrap ("but what is it, exactly?").

My place was in the standing area – or dance floor, in my mind – at the front of the stage and, on the advice of other seasoned goers, I immediately located and headed for a barrier so I had something lean against. Even by 11.30, people had snagged the barriers nearest the stage, so I went to the back where I found a raised section to stand on in front of the track used for the camera that does the horizontal panning shots. The metal railings were perfect for all sorts of back-stretching movements and for leaning against, and having put distance between myself and the stage, I was confident I wouldn't have to spend three hours looking up and doing my neck in.

It was a long wait until the start, and for the first hour most of us sat down and waited, listening to Eurovision of yore over the sound system. We couldn't picnic because it was forbidden to take food or drink into the arena, so instead of sitting around doing nothing I made friends with some French-speaking Swiss ladies to my left, ashamed that even they were defeated and incapable of rustling up a fondue from nothing, and a girl from London to my right. Shortly before things kicked off we were all joined by a journalist from the Polish delegation who solicited our help in filming some segments to go back to TVP.

In my state of mostly running on some remaining memories of caffeine, I briefly felt concern that I might not make it through the whole spectacle. With about 45 minutes to go I decided I would venture to the toilet because it was preferable to the alternative, and then decided I didn't need a bottle of water for 7€ (!!) as if I was in danger of fainting, there were squadrons of not altogether unattractive medical experts who would certainly find some way of bringing me back from the brink.

There was a lot of excitement as the floor manager came on and talked us through what was expected of us and pointed to the exits to be used in the event of an emergency. While this was going on, most people seemed more interested in the bigger-than-me countdown timer on the massive screen behind the stage, and the closer it got to 00:00 the more everyone got hyped.

At the end of the countdown, the arena went deafeningly wild. Even for Charpentier. The light show was momentarily blinding and completely disorienting as the whole stage and wall behind and around it turned into a massive show of its own which blurred the separation between physical and visual, like one of those 360-degree cinemas we went and fought valiantly not to fall over in as children. It was dizzyingly unclear, exactly, which way was up.

My concerns at not having the stamina for the performance quickly evaporated as the first wave of bass came crashing through my stomach, and it was at this moment that I was quite pleased I'd not had much to eat at breakfast.

As is tradition, last year's winner opened the show to thunderous applause and squealing from the sea of sequins and sparkles in front of them, and I mentally crossed "seeing Nemo live" off my bucket list. Once that was over – far too soon for my liking, although we got a second performance at the end – our compères for the evening held our hands through the evening and kept us entertained between acts.

While this happened, a dozen or so stage-hands had 35 seconds to meticulously and precisely clear the stage of the previous act and set it up for the next one. Meanwhile, our attentions were diverted to the screen behind the stage which showed the infamous postcards, although these were occasionally obscured by the lights and cameras as they zipped into their new positions.

The Eurovision Song Contest, first broadcast from Switzerland in 1954, has become the flagship event of the European Broadcasting Union. As a collaboration of public service media across the European Broadcasting Area, the EBU unites broadcasters to deliver large-scale happening like Eurovision, while also working behind the scenes on news, sport, and other cultural events. It's been responsible for bringing the Coronation of Elizabeth II, the Olympic games, and – lest we remember them – Jeux Sans Frontières to the screens of people around the world, without them even knowing.

The contest itself was based on the Italian Sanremo Music Festival, and has been held annually since 1956 (except for 2020 due to the apocalypse), making it the longest-running international music competition on television. It's come a long way since 1954.

The next few hours were a tour de force of stage management and technical wizardry and much squealing. The stage was set behind a square LED arch which lit up to dramatic effect. Above the stage were rows of lights that could move independently and at speed to create all kinds of dizzying effects and then the wall behind the stage and around the edges of the arena to the seating areas were massive screens that could be used to display video or imagery.

We couldn't see it from floor, but the stage itself was also one gigantic screen capable of displaying video that made sense when viewed by one of the cameras directly above it. Either side of the stage were boom cameras which could swing out over the stage or the audience, and above us cameras that looked as if they'd been at home in some kind of dystopian sci-fi world whooshed about on wires.

It's a long time since I've been out to bounce like a loon to deafening music, so that was pretty much my sole intention. I was a little perplexed by the sea of mobile phones; my fellow revellers all remained mostly static, trying not to wobble their phones on which they were recording video, perhaps in case the EBU proved itself incapable of doing its job of recording the whole evening, or somehow forgot to make it available on the Interwebs for the whole world to see.

Denmark was my favourite, and I was gutted that I'd left my glow sticks in the hostel. I bounced around like a loon.

As we were in different sections of the floor – Kim was to the right of the stage, within stroking distance of Armenia – we agreed that we would leave, either when spent or when the fake-voting started, and meet at the tram stop so we could get a seat. It seemed that most of Basel had had similar ideas and as we left, it was clear that a half-hour later would have seen us emerge into total carnage, blinking at the light as we did so.

I rang Kim to find out where she was. "I'm waiting at the tram stop," she said. "For the tram," she added, helpfully. I hung up so I could Cha Cha Cha unsafely across the tracks to the tram stop. It hadn't occurred to me that there might, at any one moment, be more than one tram running in Basel. She rang again.

"I'm on the tram!" I panted smugly. I am a seasoned traveller.

"But which one?"

There was beeping as the doors closed, and the exchange became slightly more urgent. Then, an exasperated youth whose eye-roll confirmed I should not be allowed out unsupervised tapped me on the shoulder. "She's behind you," he sighed – from glitter to panto, could this afternoon get any more camp? – and we both realised we'd been standing, squished, back-to-back for the whole debacle. In our defence, the tram was quite sardiney and in my defence she's smaller than me and I hadn't been looking down.

This is the modern age. Kim recounted a story of back-packing across North Africa before the advent of the mobile phone, and making arrangements. "For this week, we shall wait for each other outside the American Express office every day for half an hour from 9am." It worked.

Our original plans for the evening were to retire to our respective corners for disco-naps before heading out rejuvenated in the evening to watch the live show from the village, but we'd both done quite a lot of bouncing by this point and decided that the safest and most sensible thing to do would be to start drinking. This continued throughout the evening, and we met up with the others for more in an Irish pub where the screens and crowd switched seamlessly from football to glittery wonder – and more bouncing – until it was all over.

A huge cheer went up when the final points, and one last beer, came in.

I walked through the sequins and shed feathers to Basel Bad Bahnhof where I took the S-Bahn back to Lörrach. It was unsurprisingly busy, but as it was past midnight I was able to use my Interrail pass again and so sat in first class, all by myself.

It's clearly a show made for the TV audience at home rather than the people in the arena, but I nonetheless got to attend a three-hour concert with live (vocal) performances from 26 artists and spectacular choreography (of everything, not just the dancers) for around 100€. Add a tenner for the official Eurovision souvenir fridgespangle (I got two by mistake, because they stick to each other and the man behind the till hadn't noticed) and some wrist bands which I'll never take off ever again.

There is a giant disco ball in Basel Bad Bahnhof. I hope it's permanent. It's fabulous.