Another Saturday, another British coronation ceremony.

This one has, no doubt, even more bling and trinkets—and definitely more crying.

And tonight there are 26 new pieces of music, as opposed to the 12 last weekend in Westminster Abbey.

However, it’s safe to say that regardless of who is later crowned champion of Eurovision – maybe a Finnish rapper in high-vis Blackadder kitsch, or Sweden’s 2012 winner making a cat-claw comeback, or five middle-aged Croats in Y -fronts—few of tonight’s tunes will be remembered much beyond next week.

Indeed, some struggle to qualify as what is commonly known as ‘music’.

‘We went from diamonds to glitter in a week,’ explains Stuart Andrew, the culture minister in charge of ‘ceremonies and major events’ – and therefore both the Coronation and Eurovision.

Both events, he argues, illustrate Britain’s potential to exercise soft power.

Mr Andrew walks the streets of Liverpool as he inspects his department’s £10m contribution to this year’s Eurovision Song Contest.

These include an exhibition of powerful war photography and the poignant sight of the city’s Nelson monument shrouded in sandbags, mimicking all the statues in Liverpool’s twin city of Odessa under threat from Russian bombs.

These are some of the many reminders that the Eurovision circus shouldn’t be here at all, but 1,500 miles to the east. Ukraine’s Kalush band, of course, won last year’s Eurovision, only for their nation to be denied the right to host this event due to war.

So, as runner-up, Britain was asked to step in. After 20 cities expressed interest, the host organisers, namely the BBC, went for Liverpool.

Despite having just months to build on this event – the 67th – and an obligation to pretend to be somewhere else, the city has embraced its role as Kiev-on-Mersey with gusto.

Ukrainians stand up as they tell me what it means to see not only their flag everywhere, but also local street signs and menus in Ukrainian, street furniture painted blue and yellow, giant inflatable nightingales (the national bird) on street corners and one one of the country’s biggest music stars, Jamala, performs with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra on a giant public stage.

It’s all beamed back to millions of grateful Ukrainians and greeted as warmly as those cruise missiles the Ministry of Defense posted this week.

All this also did something else. Whisper it, but Europe is warming to the fact that Britain is not as cold, aloof and generally rubbish as post-Brexit mythology would suggest.

‘I can honestly say that this is probably the best Eurovision I’ve ever attended,’ says Germany’s Dr Irving Wolther.

This is praise indeed. Dr Wolther (53), known as ‘Dr Eurovision’, was the first to complete a doctoral thesis on ‘Eurovision studies’.

This is his 30th competition. Indeed, the University of Hanover lecturer is one of very few people here in Liverpool who was present the last time Britain staged this thing, in 1998 in Birmingham.

He even organizes academic conferences on Eurovision. This week I heard one discussing Britain’s first ‘zero points’ entry in 2003 (the songwriter was on the panel and blamed the result on the Iraq war plus a BBC conspiracy). Deep waters.

But Dr Eurovision is excited by what he saw in Liverpool. ‘I arrived here two weeks ago and I’ve never seen a host city embrace the competition like this. We know the Scandinavians love Eurovision, but this is even more than that.’

Night after night, a huge Eurovision Village on the waterfront plays free concerts for all participants with top-class acts.

Indeed, as I watch local legends The Lightning Seeds pump out monster hits like It’s Coming Home to wild applause, I can’t help but wonder why the hell they aren’t representing the UK tonight.

Dr Wolther has grim memories of the UK’s last time as host, in 1998. ‘We were not made to feel welcome in Birmingham,’ he says. ‘The whole attitude was about mocking the event and the performers – in the press and on television.’

No one can argue that a festival that features head-banging zombie apocalypse acts with big-haired Balkan hooves slinging a dirge in front of a wind machine should be exempt from ridicule.

But what has always troubled the Eurovision diaspora has been the perception that Britain is not just laughing, but mocking. Now, however, they are being bowled out after receiving the full state visit treatment.

Because the King and Queen were here two weeks ago to open the Eurovision stage inside the M&S Bank Arena. They toured backstage and even filmed a feature for Tuesday’s opening semi-final.

During his state visit to Germany, the king met this year’s German entry, Lord of the Lost, in their chain bread packets (they found him ‘very calm’ and ‘charming’).

A further sign of British gravitas is the man producing tonight’s programme. Martin Green has a strong pedigree, having delivered the 2012 Olympic ceremonies and last year’s Commonwealth Games. ‘At least this one is indoors. I love it,’ says Mr Green.

What has also struck the legion of Eurovision obsessives – and the European broadcasters broadcasting to 160 million viewers – is the fact that Britain has seriously upped its game musically.

Last year’s entry, Sam Ryder’s Space Man, is widely regarded as a classy and professional Eurovision contender who might very well have won in another year.

Angelos Dadalias (45) is president of the International Network of Fan Clubs for Eurovision and runs the Eurofans radio station. He says the reason Britain languished in the standoff for so long was that the rest of the continent simply could not understand our attitude.

‘The UK has this amazing music industry and history. So how, with all that, could you send us the deeds we used to get?’

He thinks of offerings like Jemini, our Liverpudlian ‘nil points’ duo from 2003 (never to be heard from again, except when the female half turned up to be found guilty of benefits fraud in 2016).

‘Now, the UK is back in the game,’ says Angelos, adding that this year’s finalist, Mae Muller, has already gained a strong following in Europe with her entry, I Wrote A Song. “Our station goes crazy for it,” he says.

Some Tory MPs certainly didn’t go crazy for her after it emerged that Mae had also written some deplorable tweets before her BBC selection. As a staunch Labor supporter, she declared that Boris Johnson did not deserve sympathy or an intensive care bed as she battled Covid.

Of course, this will have no bearing on her chances tonight.

So much about Eurovision is mind boggling. Why do most nations have to endure a semi-final but the UK not? As one of the ‘Big Five’ we pay more into the pot.

Why is Australia here? Because they love it (even though it can never go there because of the time difference and the distance for fans).

And how on earth can voters pick a soft love thing one year and then give the prize to a pneumatic drill the next?

We will never know.

Age is no barrier (the two teenage entries, Greece and Romania, are already out, while Croatia’s unabashedly awful Y-front performance includes a 61-year-old).

However, some things are completely predictable, like the mutual backlash from Greece and Cyprus or the mutual loathing of Armenia and Azerbaijan (in 2009, all 43 Azerbaijanis who voted for Armenia were questioned by the police).

Foreign loyalties in the UK mean we often lean towards Poland and Lithuania (whose highly impressive 2023 entry includes a Waitrose worker from Essex).

You don’t have to win to make it big either. The most covered Eurovision song of all time is Italy’s 1958 entry, Volare, later recorded by everyone from Dean Martin to Pavarotti and still in vogue as a football anthem. It came third.