Pretty sure I was past tipsy when I came up with this. It's very short and stupid. :D
Mitchell fumbled for his keys as he approached the front door of the pink converted pub. He hissed a curse when the key stuck in the lock, palms feeling clammy.
It was stupid, this whole thing was stupid. Why should he feel nervous? He hadn't done anything for Christ's sake.
Saturday nights were for hitting the pubs, having a laugh – not watching this annual cack on the TV.
The nurses on nightshift had provided the heads up. He tried his best to ignore their glares as he finished his shift. Even his normally charming smile did not falter them.
He was tired after a long day and here he stood on the threshold of a potential battlefield. He planted his biggest innocent smile he could muster and opened the door, preparing for his housemates reactions.
Annie and George sat icily on the couch, turning to face him in unison. His smile faltered under their scrutiny.
"Eight points? Really?" said Annie, giving Mitchell her best scolding.
"And to think we gave you twelve", added George, sniffing in dissatisfaction.
Mitchell stood still, blinked, muttered 'fuck sake' and retreated to the kitchen for a beer, vowing to himself that he would not let his friends watch that show again.
God, he hated the Eurovision Contest.
Ultimately, he hated Jedward.
