Next Saturday is the Eurovision Song Contest, then the following day is Wilson's birthday.
His seventh birthday.
The birthday by which he'd promised his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, he would be a millionaire.
He is manifestly NOT yet a millionaire and agrees with me that his chances of becoming one within the next five days are vanishingly small.
So, he is distracting himself by drawing up a hugely complex chart on which to score the Eurovision contestants.
As for his birthday, he told me that he doesn't want to talk about it.
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