So, as the curtain comes down and they start sweeping up the confetti, Australia's SBS now has a second-place ribbon for Dami Im add to its Eurovision trophy shelf. Already there: last year's fifth-place ribbon for Guy Sebastian. That's no small accomplishment in just two years and in a field of more than 40 countries. 


 But as our Eurovision competitors - including the UK, who came a dismal second last once all the points were allocated - contemplate whether we even belong in the competition, we must also grapple with what it means for us. After all, how long can a country that is not in Europe survive in Eurovision?

 There can be no question the Eurovision Song Contest is one of the slickest television packages in the world. Its production values (sequin and bad song jokes aside) are almost unrivalled in broadcasting.

 But as Australia transitions from keen observer to prominent competitor, and now flies within a single place of taking on the mantle of host broadcaster that comes with actually winning, we have to come to terms with the fact that  our "novelty" will eventually wear off.

 Equally, the broadcast itself is at a crossroads, seemingly caught between the modern music trailblazers who are gently nudging it towards legitimacy and those sequin-loving loyalists who are struggling with the idea that Eurovision is becoming less about kitsch, camp and silly song names, and more about mainstream music.

 You need to look no further than Australia's two wild cards, and new US and Chinese broadcast deals, to get a clear sense of Eurovision's own ambition. Whether we are invited back for a third time remains to be seen. What is certain is that in the not too distant future, both the US and China will make an appearance.

 Eurovision is controlled by an organising body known as the European Broadcasting Union. Though the EBU had a broader brief when it first began, over time its single most powerful asset has become the singing competition that began 61 years ago in Switzerland as a sort of Song for Peace with charmingly analog production values.

 For the longest time, as credible music in Europe sought expression elsewhere at the likes of Sweden's Melodifestivalen and Italy's San Remo, Eurovision was left looking mostly like your favourite alcoholic aunt: glittery, noisy, full of stories about how fabulous things used to be and, once a year, a memorably drunk embarrassment who brought the house down in an explosion of feathers and indelicate footwork.

 But in a television era where talent shows now rank among the most valuable assets of production companies and broadcasters, the EBU has something big on its hands. This is The X Factor on steroids, confirmed by the fact that many of its winners, including M&aring;ns Zelmerl&ouml;w, emerged from the talent quest genre.

 Eurovision's longevity and arcane traditions enhance, not diminish, its value. You need look no further than the failure of World Idol, the global spin-off to the Idol franchise, to understand that a multi-country audience is a more complex creature than the individual parts that make up its whole - and that building something like Eurovision takes more than simply assembling a stage and asking singers to sing.

 For Australia's part, we have to find the right way forward. There is no doubt SBS's investment in Eurovision has paid off for them in spades. The value of the telecast within Australia has been enhanced dramatically thanks to the national spotlight being turned, even for a moment, on the aspirations of Guy Sebastian and now Dami Im. Both did stellar turns.

 So does Australia return to Eurovision a third time, chasing a perfect score in the biggest music competition in the world? Or do we retreat gracefully into the Eurovision history books and focus our energies on the Eurovision franchise's Asian spin-off, which SBS is steering and will, no doubt be a platform from which we can launch a regional winner into the bigger Eurovision competition?

 The answer to both questions is plainly yes. But as with most things to connected to the eccentric legend of Eurovision, where bouncing grannies, bearded ladies, wind machines and the biggest light rig in TV history collide to brilliant effect, trying to predict the outcome is a fool's errand.