Duped

So, M's been out all afternoon, along the road at a so-called "afternoon tea" to celebrate some friend's mother's "80th birthday". Half past eight she appears as I'm in the middle of watching Miss Meadows kill some deserving villain and says, "do you fancy a pint at the Bruce?" Naturally, I agree: a pint of chilled foamy beer would be just the ticket on a warm evening. And off we go. And what do we find at the Bruce? A party? A surprise? No, the bloody Eurovision Song Contest. She says she didn't know.