Douze points, definitely

I SPENT LAST WEEK PHONING MY friends and saying, "Guess where I'm going this weekend?" The best answer was, "Cannes." I wish. No, it was the Eurovision Song Contest – in Serbia!

I couldn't believe after years of having Eurovision parties with my little candlelit shrine to Terry Wogan atop my TV (in a diamante frame, thank you very much) I was actually going to go.

It is quite surreal. It had never occurred to me to go before. Then Craig Christie, the writer of Eurobeat – the Eurovision parody show I'm in – asked me to join him when a friend dropped out (Craig Christie is the campest straight man I know – he has a wife and four kids and yet he has written a show like Eurobeat!). Of course, I leapt at the chance.

When I get in the taxi, the driver says, "Where you gauin'?" Already excited, I say, "The Eurovision Song Contest." He says, "Do you mind if I just drop you at the airport? I'm supposed tae finish at six."

We take flight BA888, which I think sounds like the title of a Eurovision entry.

On the first evening in Serbia we're invited for cocktails in the piano bar at the Continental Hotel, where we met John and Lee, two guys who have been going to Eurovision for the past three years. In Helsinki, they tell us, there was a Eurovision train from the airport, and they played Eurovision songs on the platform while you waited.

The next day we share our favourite Eurovision songs over lunch, one iPod earphone each, talking through every key change and crescendo-building verse – it's a head turner. Back at the hotel we meet some people from Bosnian TV. We tell them about Eurobeat. They think we're winding them up.

Before the show I change into a white suit I've bought especially. I've convinced myself I look like someone from The Killers, but in truth I'm closer to Kid Creole.

As we walk in the sunshine to the venue, we spy a group of Brits drinking, and admire the flags draped over their outfits and the letters UK in red and blue lipstick on their cheeks. It suddenly occurs to me that all these nations are here to support their country, not the song they like, which I think is all wrong. Will I have to pretend to like the UK entry?

One cold Corona later, we reach the stadium, where huge crowds have gathered. TV crews are capturing the best outfits and interviewing the most enthusiastic. Britain is featured heavily and is certainly the most amusingly dressed. A short, round girl, dressed as a Union Jack-style Pearly Queen, attracts attention.

We meet some people who recently saw Eurobeat in Stoke-on-Trent and loved it, and said it served as the perfect warm-up to Eurovision. Some Australians have brought their flag along, just to create confusion. I love it.

In the arena, the first thing that hits you is the magnitude – 20,000 people are waving flags and jumping up and down. We spot some classic banners – "Greece, Cyprus is with you" and "1968 – Justice for Cliff". One country's flag is so big that 20 people are doing their own Mexican wave with it.

The cheer is deafening as the hosts take the stage. She's as beautiful as Eurovision demands and he's a lesson in bone structure. They compliment each other on how they look and assassinate wit with wonderfully overly rehearsed jokes. I'm in heaven.

Our first open-mouthed moment is when the stage lights up. It's marvellously over the top. I love it! The first song from Romania passes us by like a bus you weren't willing to run for, and we decide they're saving the best till last. Nevertheless, the reaction is huge. Then the UK come on and confirm our suspicions that they're saving the best till last. Iceland is our first real contender. He has charm in buckets and a smile that could melt glaciers and she appears from nowhere (a surefire Eurovision point-scorer). Now we're excited!

Even the European Union isn't this successful. I mean, they can try all they like but these people really want to be together! Countries like Moldova and Azerbaijan are the poorest in Europe, yet here they sparkle and shine with the best.

The changeovers are like magic. We're blown away by Ukraine. We see every Eurovision device in the book and even some new ones that – shock horror – we had never thought of! Glass-fronted wooden boxes with beautifully fit men in black, anyone? And a girl so sexy she almost had me on the turn? Wow! Everyone is screaming. It's funny when you watch it live, because the favourites are so much more apparent than on TV.

Then Georgia, struggling to keep our attention, suddenly do surely the best reveal in Eurovision history. A huge, white satin sheet passes over their heads and they go from wearing black to white in six seconds, right before our eyes!

Then the voting begins, and the worm turns. It quickly becomes clear that the best song is not going to win and that the voting – as we expected – is very political. Russia taking the title drags us down to the point where we fancy Horlicks and an early night.

In future, I suggest they perform every song and don't say what country it is. They need to put the song back into Song Competition – that's my Eurovision.

• Craig Hill is in Eurobeat – Almost Eurovision at the Edinburgh Festival Theatre, 2-7 June.