Wearing a suit that had been through a transporter accident, Lisa del Bo gave us a stylish but up-beat TV theme, with a flavour of the days of Luxembourg. The chorus would later be recycled by Sweden.

In 2017, Belgium gave us a seemingly terrified 17-year-old, stationary at centre-stage, intoning an icy lo-fi electro-ballad about a danger zone. The song doesn't do an awful lot, and the performance matches it every step of the way, but the hook will stay lodged in your brain for the rest of the month.

Belgium's 1979 entry was clearly pitched at that year's host market: it's essentially an Israeli entry, but sung by a Ginger Rogers lookalike rather than by the usual white-costumed chorus-line. There's a pop-disco feel, strongly reminiscent of Ottawan. The song was sung in Dutch.

Belgium's entry in 1980 was of particular note. Telex eschewed the orchestra with this synth-pop number, complete with redundant hardware on a trellis-table for effect, and a self-referential quote of Charpentier's "Te Deum" at the end. They also employed props (confetti and a camera) to modest effect. But the song was a bit too relaxed and low-key to engage. Eurovision needs a bit more umph than Telex offered: they could've done with something a little less "Europe Endless" and a little more "Trans-Europe Express".

Belgium, fed up of their cutting edge constantly being blunted by an uncaring Europe, returned to their chanson heritage in 1984, albeit with a sinister and slightly electropop undertone; Jacques Zegers tightly surrounded by female backing singers all staring at us a little too intently.

Liliane Saint-Pierre, wearing what can only be described as 'an outfit', flanked by two men (one looking suspiciously like Rochdale Cowboy Mike Harding) carrying fake electric guitars fashioned as some sort of futuristic space weaponry. During the epic chorus, and never failing to bring a smile, these guitars are raised aggressively into the air (well as aggressive as a man with a perm, glasses and a moustache can muster). With a brazen key-change and no shortage of the magical ingredient "umph" this could be an entry in any year between then and now, and would probably benefit from a more powerful arrangement these days.

In the early '80s, Belgium showed itself to be the nation most in touch with new musical trends, and this year was no exception. Pas de Deux were, essentially, a mildly new romantic female duo, and their song "Rendez-vous" is a rhythmic and somewhat industrial number with hints of that African-influenced corner of the new wave explored by the likes of Bow Wow Wow and late Slits. It's very repetitive (the lyrics are, pretty much, just "Rendez-vous / Maar de maat is vol en m'n kop is toe" ("Rendezvous / But that's the limit and I shut up")) and in the real world would be a fairly simple synth job, but here it is awash with lush strings and brass. Whether that works in its favour or not is something we disagreed on a little. But it was, at least, different.

In 2015, Belgium were back to their early '80s form (Pas de Deux would be proud): Loïc Nottet is like the rebellious third Jedward triplet... the one who grew up in a Eurovision kibbutz then somehow got into Kraftwerk and Carsten Nicolai. Loïc and co found a groove and some Playback-style moves, and gave them the finesse of a classic Israel routine. Belgium in 2015, then, were typically Belgium, and Belgium at their best.

Belgium were one of only two countries allowed to sing in a foreign language (i.e. English) under the new rules imposed in 1977, having selected their song before the rule change. As with the other such nation, Germany, Belgium took to the dance floor with a Motown-influenced sound. Both entries had a very professional, commercially viable feel, and were performed by well choreographed vocal groups. The German entry, coming first, kind of eclipsed the Belgian which seemed almost surplus to requirements as a result. Indeed it takes a week or two for "A Million in One, Two, Three" by Dream Express (1970's Dutch entrants Hearts of Soul, plus one) to properly bed into the brain, by which point you will have either become convinced of its quality or you will have trepanned yourself into casualty. We went with the former option, and as such our bedroom walls aren't covered in blood.