Eurovision punctuated our marriage. We celebrated it every year, sometimes going away for the event in our early days – Manchester, London, or Brighton. We never made it to the event itself.

Some pubs would have it on, but would turn the sound off during Terry Wogan’s commentary. That upset me: his comments were part of the fun! Then the idiots forgot to turn the songs up for the next song.

Mostly, Eurovision was a good time. I can only remember once where it turned sour.

Some of the tunes are associated with specific memories. One such memory was having my husband’s son stay with us while we watched it. He enjoyed it. That year’s winner gained something extra in our hearts for that reason. But as more and more relationships around him crumbled, even those happy memories became painful.

We even used the Eurovision theme in our wedding as we walked down the aisle.

In more recent years, I’d developed a tradition of buying food from various European countries to eat during the contest. We didn’t drink because I was afraid of what might happen if my husband got drunk – that rarely meant anything good.

Last night, I had it on in the background and read a book and messed around on my phone: it fell victim to my inability to watch TV without somebody else there.

But I found that I didn’t really want to watch it. It wasn’t the same.

I feel grief that another of our shared rituals is over.