Hard to Miss

When Pretty Woman was released in 1990, not everyone was taken in by its post-modern take on the Cinderella story. Arguing that the film couldn't have been more fantastical if Julia Roberts had faced off against a flaming Balrog, critics accused movie producers of portraying the world's oldest profession in an irresponsibly positive light.

They had a point. Vivian may have been treated to a shopping spree on Rodeo Drive, but for most streetwalkers, real life is decidedly less romanticised. And it's fraught with danger.

As well as STDs, dubious clients and unscrupulous pimps, prostitutes have a whole bunch of other risks to contend with. Thongs can cause terrible chaffing, stilettos lead to all manner of calf and ankle complaints, and then there's the hairspray asphyxiation. As careers go, it's more fraught with peril than mining in Chile.

Over in Spain, another occupational hazard has been identified for those hard-working ladies of the night - rural traffic. Apparently, hookers plying their trade outside of the Lleida city limits are hard to spot and have been told to don the appropriate safety apparel.

The women have a simple choice (no, not in-the-front or round-the-back) - wear a high-visibility yellow vest or face a €40 fine. Local police claim that they're not unfairly targeting the girls, but the policy was necessary because they actually pose a danger to drivers.  If nothing else, it's going to make curb-crawling a hell of a lot easier. 

Still, you have to feel for the women who are now expected to ensnare sexually frustrated yokels whilst wrapped in nylon outerwear seldom seen outside of a building site. Any man who finds the luminous yellow vest sexually appealing probably isn't looking for a comely young lass to spend the evening with. 

Then again, what do I know? The Telegraph reports that a recent survey found that one in four men has paid for sex, so in theory the women could dress themselves in binbags and still not see a dip in trade. And if they decided to add a few bedazzlements to pretty up their work-wear, they'd be even easier to spot on a moonlit country road. Everybody wins. 

Nul points

I'd like to say that the Eurovision Song Contest is the TV highlight of the year, and that it's all anyone's been talking about for the last eight weeks. But that would be a lie.

As the nation points its apathetic indifference at the gogglebox, we wait to see what sonic joys the Norwegians have in store for us tonight. The bookies' favourite is apparently Azerbaijan, but I'm not sure whether that's because of the song or the fact that a mis-spelled betting slip will be null and void if the punter wins. They'll be quids in.

According to Graham Norton's voiceover, 120 million people are watching right now, although they're probably also scouring pots, tidying the sock drawer and painting the architraves. Anything to distract them from the tuneless screaming, surreal choreography and awkward presenter links.

Alexander Rybak has just reprised his song from last year, complete with fiddle and a troop of chaotic dancers. He looked like a happy little goblin up there, but the song was memorably forgettable. We've got 25 songs to get through, so bite down hard on something and brace yourself for a spectacular of feverish cheese-dream proportions.

Let's kick off with Azerbaijan and their song Drip Drop. The singer looks like Dannii Minogue (original version with her first nose). The vocals are strong but flat, and there are some pretty blue outfits to distract from the random ballet dancer who's just appeared looking like an Italian waiter. Someone just turned on the wind machines - hang on to your false eye-lashes love.

Spain are up next, with a singer who looks like Sideshow Bob in a cheap suit. If you fell asleep on a carousel in a cheap fairground, this might be the music you'd hear as you slipped into REM state. The dancers are dressed like hideous dolls - I'm just waiting for Chucky to arrive and kill them all. A second singer has just arrived - maybe his bus was running late. Punctuality is very important when you're representing your country.

Here comes our host nation, Norway. Hope they haven't put too much effort in, given how much it's cost them to stage this one. Didrik Solli-Tangen is singing about sunsets behind mountains - epic. He's rather handsome in a Hollyoaks sort of way, but the song sounds like something Josh Groban would cough up after a night on the beers. He looks a little pleased with himself, even though his voice is wobbling like Beth Ditto on a treadmill. Key change and lighting effects, but no goosebumps. Maybe I'm dead from the neck down.