Saving the world is never going to be easy. It's tough. You have to suffer through a lot if you want to see proper change taking place on this unfeeling and unfair planet. I suffered through about an hour and 20 minutes of trying to do the right thing but I will never do it again. Children In Need should be shot.
Look, I understand that the cause is good but it also highlights the problem too clearly and yet somehow ignores it at the same time. Maybe there wouldn't be these problems of neglect, abuse and underfunded children's hospices (in a time when we have to financially aid incompetent bankers and moat loving politicians) if more was made of that there dignity thing. I dunno, maybe if we just thought a bit more about how we would wish to be perceived then maybe we'd think more about other people, eh? I mean, if we didn't think about other people and how they are cared for then we'd look like pricks. Obviously, this hasn't occurred to the incompetent bankers and moat loving politicians and as a result we, the ordinary people, have to put our hands in our pockets and help. It is because of this that Children In Need MUST exist. And it is because of this that John Barrowman MUST die.
We are all used to newsreaders learning a dance routine or Lesley Joseph wearing a slit dress while singing Hey Big Spender to a young, disinterested homosexual but over the last few years we have been thrown the excrement of John Barrowman as a way of persuading us to help the disadvantaged. Children who live in squalor and fear. Children who live in despair. Children who have no telly. The jammy bastards.
John Barrowman just appears like the alcoholic that doesn't know he has a problem while we watch with incredible pity and thinking he needs our help more than the kids do. Except he's not reliant on booze to get him through his every waking moment. He is simply addicted to himself. Thank fuck that Children In Need had a 5 minute Doctor Who clip and Terry Wogan, brilliantly grumping his way through everything. Every time Blonde 12 or Woman From Strictly spoke he just rolled his eyes and begged for a sniper. It is hard not to love him. THAT is what charity work should be. You do it because you feel you have to not because you're going to enjoy it. Sir Terry should definitely be knighted. Again.
But Barrowman is a different thing altogether. It's not about charity work, it's about embarrassing yourself, your family, everyone you know and everyone else. I'm sure there are community projects that are receiving money from Children In Need right now and feeling dirty about it. They will try to put the money to good use but will they ever rid their minds of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16_iGQIiNdw
Before Children In Need I had the good fortune to be compering the Covent Garden Comedy Club which is in Heaven, the very nightclub that the smelly religious man on the train said that gays would never get into. I'm sure there were a few in though and it was a great night. Lots of fun. After the gig I met Ian who works at the gig. He is a very nice man who made me laugh a lot. Not sure he meant to but he did. Allow me to quote him: "Out of the two jobs I've ever had, McDonalds and here, this is my favourite".
By the way, I DID donate to CIN but it wasn't because I watched John Barrowman do his dance thingy. It really wasn't, OK? I donated because I didn't see Peter Kay. Now that's worth investing in.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Saturday, 21 November 2009
Friday, 20 November 2009
Dogs of War.
The drunks of Lewisham just get classier. Although I haven't seen Nick the Homeless Man ever since he threw a can at my head and then asked me to join him and his friends for a drink, the park near my house is still full of interesting characters. You know. Arseholes. That sort of thing.
I walked Jerk this morning and passed a group of gentlemen who were sheltering from the rain by standing under a tree while drinking heavily and winding up their fucking horrible looking Staffordshire Bull Terrier (By the way, if you have a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, get it neutered. There are way too many of them and they always end up being raised by fuckers. The same rule applies if you have children). The jolly bunch wanted nothing more than to exchange some gay banter with me. One of them welcomed me to their inner circle with "Fucking hell, do you fucking race your whippet, mate? I'm not be fucking funny or anything".
I don't think swearing is ever called for but surely the phrase "I'm not being funny" is even more pointless. I don't think that anyone who has tattooed himself a billion times, drinks aggressively at 10am and shouts at dogs is the kind of cheeky josher that will end up on Dave anytime soon. Apart from Mock The Week. He was terrifying. I knew he wasn't being fucking funny or anything.
Stupidly, I pointed out that Jerk isn't a whippet. That may seem like an important point to make in a conversation such as this but I can't help but think that I would have been happier simply walking away and not saying a word. Then the gents all talked about times they spent at Catford and Walthamstow's dog tracks...sorry, Catford fucking and Walthamstow's fucking dog tracks with what I assumed was some authority. They were convinced they had seen Jerk race a few years ago. She hadn't. Jerk is too lazy to lead a double-life and besides she's too small to race against greyhounds.
She's not too small, the booze buffs argued. They've all seen much smaller greyhounds race at the track. The haven't, of course, but they said they have. I realised that I was in hell and decided I'd bid them all a farewell. They wished me a fucking good fucking day but wanted their fucking dog to fucking say fucking hello to fucking Jerk (which, I was informed, "is a fucking stupid name for a whippet"). This is where things always get awkward.
Jerk is very much the dog equivalent to me. She is beautiful, fit, healthy and hates all of her own species. The Staffy sniffed Jerk's bum for a while. Jerk gave it 10 seconds then gave her warning growl. That warning growl is simply like us saying "Stand back, please. You're too close". The staffy did not heed the warning so Jerk barked aggressively. Which made the cunty dog bark aggressively. Which made the cunty drunks shout aggressively.
They thought winding their own dog up further would make it want to attack Jerk and what could be more fun than two dogs fighting to the death? What they didn't reckon on was, although Jerk is lovely to look out and outwardly very sweet, there is a fucking blood-thirsty killing machine within that really doesn't need an excuse to come out. The men shouted and screamed at their dog to "fucking get it" and eventually Jerk just lashed out and bit it's stupid stump of a tail. The coward ran.
"Well", said the main dickhead. "That didn't fucking come to much".
As I walked away I heard him telling the dog off. Not for being aggressive but for not attacking. What a horrible bastard.
We walked right round the park. That normally takes an hour and the rain was still pouring down so I certainly didn't expect to see the drunks still under the tree when I came back but there they were. Luckily I was on the other side of the park and could only see them from a distance but they made their presence known. "Fuck off, poodle", I heard.
I looked over to see a man walking his poodle very briskly past them.
These depressing shits can't ruin my good mood though. I'm still happy with the LQC shows this week and yesterday I received an invitation from Stackridge to see them play in Bath. Don't think I can go but I will do everything I can to try and make it happen. Stackridge RULE!
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
I walked Jerk this morning and passed a group of gentlemen who were sheltering from the rain by standing under a tree while drinking heavily and winding up their fucking horrible looking Staffordshire Bull Terrier (By the way, if you have a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, get it neutered. There are way too many of them and they always end up being raised by fuckers. The same rule applies if you have children). The jolly bunch wanted nothing more than to exchange some gay banter with me. One of them welcomed me to their inner circle with "Fucking hell, do you fucking race your whippet, mate? I'm not be fucking funny or anything".
I don't think swearing is ever called for but surely the phrase "I'm not being funny" is even more pointless. I don't think that anyone who has tattooed himself a billion times, drinks aggressively at 10am and shouts at dogs is the kind of cheeky josher that will end up on Dave anytime soon. Apart from Mock The Week. He was terrifying. I knew he wasn't being fucking funny or anything.
Stupidly, I pointed out that Jerk isn't a whippet. That may seem like an important point to make in a conversation such as this but I can't help but think that I would have been happier simply walking away and not saying a word. Then the gents all talked about times they spent at Catford and Walthamstow's dog tracks...sorry, Catford fucking and Walthamstow's fucking dog tracks with what I assumed was some authority. They were convinced they had seen Jerk race a few years ago. She hadn't. Jerk is too lazy to lead a double-life and besides she's too small to race against greyhounds.
She's not too small, the booze buffs argued. They've all seen much smaller greyhounds race at the track. The haven't, of course, but they said they have. I realised that I was in hell and decided I'd bid them all a farewell. They wished me a fucking good fucking day but wanted their fucking dog to fucking say fucking hello to fucking Jerk (which, I was informed, "is a fucking stupid name for a whippet"). This is where things always get awkward.
Jerk is very much the dog equivalent to me. She is beautiful, fit, healthy and hates all of her own species. The Staffy sniffed Jerk's bum for a while. Jerk gave it 10 seconds then gave her warning growl. That warning growl is simply like us saying "Stand back, please. You're too close". The staffy did not heed the warning so Jerk barked aggressively. Which made the cunty dog bark aggressively. Which made the cunty drunks shout aggressively.
They thought winding their own dog up further would make it want to attack Jerk and what could be more fun than two dogs fighting to the death? What they didn't reckon on was, although Jerk is lovely to look out and outwardly very sweet, there is a fucking blood-thirsty killing machine within that really doesn't need an excuse to come out. The men shouted and screamed at their dog to "fucking get it" and eventually Jerk just lashed out and bit it's stupid stump of a tail. The coward ran.
"Well", said the main dickhead. "That didn't fucking come to much".
As I walked away I heard him telling the dog off. Not for being aggressive but for not attacking. What a horrible bastard.
We walked right round the park. That normally takes an hour and the rain was still pouring down so I certainly didn't expect to see the drunks still under the tree when I came back but there they were. Luckily I was on the other side of the park and could only see them from a distance but they made their presence known. "Fuck off, poodle", I heard.
I looked over to see a man walking his poodle very briskly past them.
These depressing shits can't ruin my good mood though. I'm still happy with the LQC shows this week and yesterday I received an invitation from Stackridge to see them play in Bath. Don't think I can go but I will do everything I can to try and make it happen. Stackridge RULE!
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Los Quattros Cvnts!
What a lot of fun the last couple of days have been. Los Quattros Cvnts made their debut at The Phoenix on Tuesday and Wednesday and I'm pretty content to consider it a flawed victory. On both nights we were lucky enough to attract really lovely, supportive audiences (although some of them found Paul's drool disgusting) who made it a much less stressful time for all four of us. Thanks for that. Every sketch got laughs (not every joke, obviously), it was enjoyably all over the place and our guests were superb. Very big thanks to Andrew Collins and Jason Manford and a little bit more thanks to Rich Fulcher who did the show on his birthday when he could have easily gone out and done something better. Except he couldn't have because it was brilliant. Hopefully we should be back from January to start our monthly residency.
More thanks goes to everyone who came to watch. We had a very respectable audience on Tuesday and it was a few from Sold Out last night. Particular cheers to a few Precious Little podophiles and others who made it to both nights. I particularly liked how big a laugh the punchiline "Robin Ince" got on the second night. He would be so happy to know that, although we were taking the piss out of him, so many people recognise him as an angry, Godless household name.
I meant to write about this in my last blog. I have a problem with sport fans. I may have mentioned that a few million times before but I think it demands repeating. Apparently telling a sport fan that you don't like sport isn't enough. They will continue to spout sport tedium at you despite your claim that you have no interest, the look of boredom on your face and your mumbles of "shutupshutupshutupshutup". On Sunday night, in between a LQC rehearsal and shouting at Doctor Who, we decided to go to the pub. Jeremy lives in an area of London where shit pubs are the order of the day. There's two of them. One is really shit while the other is merely shit. Although it's further away we decided to make the effort to go to the shit one. We got our seats and I went to the bar to get the drinks. The barman took my order and asked if I'd watched the match. I told him, very politely and in a friendly way, that I'm not a sport fan. "Really?", he said. "It was close though, wasn't it?"
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"The thing is that means we still have another to go through before qualify", he bored.
"Right", I coma'd.
"France....blah blah blah....very strong first half...blah blah blah...we should have won...blah blah blah...they came from nowhere in the second half...blah blah blah....Know what I mean?"
"No".
"If we'd have had the original squad...blah blah blah...the game was ours...blah blah blah...my cousin was there...blah blah blah...couldn't touch the ball"
He had only poured one pint so far. This was taking ages and he couldn't shut up. I looked at my phone about five times. I folded my arms and sighed. I looked away. I repeated "I don't watch it" over and over again yet NOTHING could stop this boring wanker from killing me with words I don't know.
At one point, He asked me if I knew who should have played in the team and I could kick myself for not saying "Ray Reardon" just to see what he would say. He finally poured the last pint and when he handed me the change he cheerily said "Still, the next one should be interesting if they sort themselves out". Because I hadn't been listening I allowed myself to imagine that he was talking about Sex And The City: The Movie and that nearly cheered me up. But only nearly.
I sat down with Dan, Paul and Jeremy and screamed about how frustrating the last five minutes had been. They looked at me like I was a pathetic mess. I was asked if I ever have an uneventful day where I don't want to kill. That really made me laugh. For a second.
It is a treat working with these fine gentlemen and I look forward to starting up again in January. The feedback for the shows has been great (despite people leaving during Paul's drool bit). Twitter was full of LQC fun when I looked this morning. I was particularly happy that Peter Serafinowicz had responded positively to being mentioned in our Twitter Play sketch last night. Someone had gone on Twitter and tweeted about it while it was happening. We heard about his reply during the interval. That's how quick this big fast modern world works these-a-days. So, thanks for that Twitter people. I'm even happy to say that I have annoyed someone on Twitter. Someone felt that they needed to write "enough with the C-word. Jesus, some of us got over that at 15". His name is Rumpio. Yeah, that's how mature he is. His Twitter welcome message is "I wear my sunglasses at night, so i can, so i can watch you weave then breathe your story lines". I mean, why wouldn't I take his advice? The cunt.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
More thanks goes to everyone who came to watch. We had a very respectable audience on Tuesday and it was a few from Sold Out last night. Particular cheers to a few Precious Little podophiles and others who made it to both nights. I particularly liked how big a laugh the punchiline "Robin Ince" got on the second night. He would be so happy to know that, although we were taking the piss out of him, so many people recognise him as an angry, Godless household name.
I meant to write about this in my last blog. I have a problem with sport fans. I may have mentioned that a few million times before but I think it demands repeating. Apparently telling a sport fan that you don't like sport isn't enough. They will continue to spout sport tedium at you despite your claim that you have no interest, the look of boredom on your face and your mumbles of "shutupshutupshutupshutup". On Sunday night, in between a LQC rehearsal and shouting at Doctor Who, we decided to go to the pub. Jeremy lives in an area of London where shit pubs are the order of the day. There's two of them. One is really shit while the other is merely shit. Although it's further away we decided to make the effort to go to the shit one. We got our seats and I went to the bar to get the drinks. The barman took my order and asked if I'd watched the match. I told him, very politely and in a friendly way, that I'm not a sport fan. "Really?", he said. "It was close though, wasn't it?"
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"The thing is that means we still have another to go through before qualify", he bored.
"Right", I coma'd.
"France....blah blah blah....very strong first half...blah blah blah...we should have won...blah blah blah...they came from nowhere in the second half...blah blah blah....Know what I mean?"
"No".
"If we'd have had the original squad...blah blah blah...the game was ours...blah blah blah...my cousin was there...blah blah blah...couldn't touch the ball"
He had only poured one pint so far. This was taking ages and he couldn't shut up. I looked at my phone about five times. I folded my arms and sighed. I looked away. I repeated "I don't watch it" over and over again yet NOTHING could stop this boring wanker from killing me with words I don't know.
At one point, He asked me if I knew who should have played in the team and I could kick myself for not saying "Ray Reardon" just to see what he would say. He finally poured the last pint and when he handed me the change he cheerily said "Still, the next one should be interesting if they sort themselves out". Because I hadn't been listening I allowed myself to imagine that he was talking about Sex And The City: The Movie and that nearly cheered me up. But only nearly.
I sat down with Dan, Paul and Jeremy and screamed about how frustrating the last five minutes had been. They looked at me like I was a pathetic mess. I was asked if I ever have an uneventful day where I don't want to kill. That really made me laugh. For a second.
It is a treat working with these fine gentlemen and I look forward to starting up again in January. The feedback for the shows has been great (despite people leaving during Paul's drool bit). Twitter was full of LQC fun when I looked this morning. I was particularly happy that Peter Serafinowicz had responded positively to being mentioned in our Twitter Play sketch last night. Someone had gone on Twitter and tweeted about it while it was happening. We heard about his reply during the interval. That's how quick this big fast modern world works these-a-days. So, thanks for that Twitter people. I'm even happy to say that I have annoyed someone on Twitter. Someone felt that they needed to write "enough with the C-word. Jesus, some of us got over that at 15". His name is Rumpio. Yeah, that's how mature he is. His Twitter welcome message is "I wear my sunglasses at night, so i can, so i can watch you weave then breathe your story lines". I mean, why wouldn't I take his advice? The cunt.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Monday, 16 November 2009
Blind, Stupid and Pointless.
I thought I was actually going to be able to beat the Girl in a wheelchair story yesterday as I stood at Kings Cross train station watching a blind woman loudly dumping her boyfriend. It was a pretty unusual sight. She stood there with a very deadpan looking dog beside her shouting "You're fucking useless, you are. If I ask you to do something you just can't do it. If I want something done then I have to do it myself. I've had enough. I want you out. Out!" at her very sad looking boyfriend.
I was in a hurry otherwise I would have watched it for a bit longer or at least written "Just walk away" on a piece of paper and passed it to him.
No time for that though, I was on my way to Hitchin to record Precious Little podcast 9 or 10. I'm not sure what number it is as I'm not sure that I count last week's pathetic Skype attempt as an actual podcast. I really enjoyed 9 or 10 though. In fact, I was brought to uncontrollable laughter because of a listener's letter telling us about his band. Laughter that lasted a long time but the listener had the last laugh for sure. James read out the letter and I asked him what the name of the guy's band was. It was a rock band. If you're in a rock band you need a cool name. I mean, there's nothing really cooler than being in a rock band so it stands to reason that the band name should reflect that.
The band was called Stackridge.
I still don't really know why I found that quite as funny as I did but I completely lost it for about a minute. I think it might be the worst name for a band that I have ever heard. That in itself is quite an achievement.
But then James and I looked up stackridge.net and it turns out that the band have been going since the 70's and have a huge following. They are famous and, like the £2 coin, I have never heard of them. Not only that, they're good.
Well, that shut me up. I'm now the proud owner of two Stackridge albums. I went on iTunes and bought Stackridge (1971) and A Victory For Common Sense (2009) and am thoroughly enjoying both albums. Thanks very much to Fatty Fudge for bringing them to my attention and apologies for laughing at how stupid your band's name is.
After the podcast (which features the phrase Bum Pussy quite heavily), I was off to Streatham for Los Quattros Cvnts rehearsals. Not sure quite what we rehearsed but it all seems to be pretty together now. Or as together as it'll ever be. I'm really looking forward to these two shows and urge you to come along. They'll be fun. Obviously, rehearsals took a break for Doctor Who. My God that started badly. "Gadget Gadget"? Fuck off. Not that I'm complaining because the second half really made up for it. Very little family entertainment shows end in suicide. Well done.
A weird thing happened to me on Saturday night. I was booked at the Monkey Business Comedy Club at O'Reilly's in Kentish Town. I went along slightly dreading it because I used to drink in O'Reilly's about 10 years ago and it was a violent hole of a place. When I got there I saw no trace of a comedy club. There is no comedy club here anymore. Brilliant.
I contacted my agent who told me the gig was at Red, a bar further up Kentish Town Road. I walked to the gig and when I got there it looked....well....closed. It was closed. The comedy club only opens on a Thursday night. Brilliant.
Called my agent again and was told that the REAL address of the gig I'm doing is at The Steele, another bar I used to drink in, in Belzise Park. I jumped in a cab and sped my way to the gig. It WAS the right venue. BUT....the promoter had booked about six acts too many. I took a look around and said to him "Do you really need me?"
"Not really", he said.
So I fucked off. Pointless story and a complete waste of time. Still now you know how I felt on Saturday night. Not that it was a complete waste of time really, I saw Nick Helm who is rapidly becoming one of my favourite acts to watch and I met Steve Weiner who is a very nice man, a great act and, although not on a par with Stackridge, has a funny name. I then went off to an 80's charity night where I got in for free and drank free booze all night. I think I might have been the charity. Muki was doing an excellent job as DJ and like all nights where Muki invites me out I got completely pissed too quickly and ruined it for her. That is the last time I am EVER going to do that. How I've got away with it so many times is beyond me. I decided at about midnight that it was time to go home, even though Muki didn't want to, ordered a cab and fell asleep in it all the way home. Classy. Sorry, Muki. I'm a fucking idiot.
Anyway, if you like fucking idiots why not come along to Los Quattros Cvnts tomorrow and Wednesday night? Tomorrow we have Jason Manford and Andrew Collins as guests while on Wednesday we have Rich Fulcher. The shows start at 8pm at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, just off Oxford Street and admission is just £6. It will be the event of the year.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
I was in a hurry otherwise I would have watched it for a bit longer or at least written "Just walk away" on a piece of paper and passed it to him.
No time for that though, I was on my way to Hitchin to record Precious Little podcast 9 or 10. I'm not sure what number it is as I'm not sure that I count last week's pathetic Skype attempt as an actual podcast. I really enjoyed 9 or 10 though. In fact, I was brought to uncontrollable laughter because of a listener's letter telling us about his band. Laughter that lasted a long time but the listener had the last laugh for sure. James read out the letter and I asked him what the name of the guy's band was. It was a rock band. If you're in a rock band you need a cool name. I mean, there's nothing really cooler than being in a rock band so it stands to reason that the band name should reflect that.
The band was called Stackridge.
I still don't really know why I found that quite as funny as I did but I completely lost it for about a minute. I think it might be the worst name for a band that I have ever heard. That in itself is quite an achievement.
But then James and I looked up stackridge.net and it turns out that the band have been going since the 70's and have a huge following. They are famous and, like the £2 coin, I have never heard of them. Not only that, they're good.
Well, that shut me up. I'm now the proud owner of two Stackridge albums. I went on iTunes and bought Stackridge (1971) and A Victory For Common Sense (2009) and am thoroughly enjoying both albums. Thanks very much to Fatty Fudge for bringing them to my attention and apologies for laughing at how stupid your band's name is.
After the podcast (which features the phrase Bum Pussy quite heavily), I was off to Streatham for Los Quattros Cvnts rehearsals. Not sure quite what we rehearsed but it all seems to be pretty together now. Or as together as it'll ever be. I'm really looking forward to these two shows and urge you to come along. They'll be fun. Obviously, rehearsals took a break for Doctor Who. My God that started badly. "Gadget Gadget"? Fuck off. Not that I'm complaining because the second half really made up for it. Very little family entertainment shows end in suicide. Well done.
A weird thing happened to me on Saturday night. I was booked at the Monkey Business Comedy Club at O'Reilly's in Kentish Town. I went along slightly dreading it because I used to drink in O'Reilly's about 10 years ago and it was a violent hole of a place. When I got there I saw no trace of a comedy club. There is no comedy club here anymore. Brilliant.
I contacted my agent who told me the gig was at Red, a bar further up Kentish Town Road. I walked to the gig and when I got there it looked....well....closed. It was closed. The comedy club only opens on a Thursday night. Brilliant.
Called my agent again and was told that the REAL address of the gig I'm doing is at The Steele, another bar I used to drink in, in Belzise Park. I jumped in a cab and sped my way to the gig. It WAS the right venue. BUT....the promoter had booked about six acts too many. I took a look around and said to him "Do you really need me?"
"Not really", he said.
So I fucked off. Pointless story and a complete waste of time. Still now you know how I felt on Saturday night. Not that it was a complete waste of time really, I saw Nick Helm who is rapidly becoming one of my favourite acts to watch and I met Steve Weiner who is a very nice man, a great act and, although not on a par with Stackridge, has a funny name. I then went off to an 80's charity night where I got in for free and drank free booze all night. I think I might have been the charity. Muki was doing an excellent job as DJ and like all nights where Muki invites me out I got completely pissed too quickly and ruined it for her. That is the last time I am EVER going to do that. How I've got away with it so many times is beyond me. I decided at about midnight that it was time to go home, even though Muki didn't want to, ordered a cab and fell asleep in it all the way home. Classy. Sorry, Muki. I'm a fucking idiot.
Anyway, if you like fucking idiots why not come along to Los Quattros Cvnts tomorrow and Wednesday night? Tomorrow we have Jason Manford and Andrew Collins as guests while on Wednesday we have Rich Fulcher. The shows start at 8pm at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, just off Oxford Street and admission is just £6. It will be the event of the year.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Saturday, 14 November 2009
Wheely Awful.
I don't want to keep going on about this but I'm just so touched by the gesture that I'm not quite over it yet. My (tiny) illness is pretty much all gone now and I can't help but put it down to the nice things people do for you when you're ill. I mentioned Nobby in the last blog but I'm going to thank him again. It was just so nice to hear that audience shout "Get well soon" and it has given me a huge buzz ever since. Not only that it has shown me that there is more to Nobby that starting fights with people who have Leukaemia. He has such a tough geezer image but he's actually a very caring and thoughtful man. It was a lovely thing to do and I'm deeply touched.
Now the bad stuff....
I would never start a fight with a woman who has leukaemia, unlike some people, but apparently I can start fights with the disabled and the elderly. Great.
You be the judge, OK? YOU BE THE JUDGE. Have I done anything wrong? You tell me (better yet, keep it to yourself). I was happily on my way to the Los Quattros Cvnts rehearsal and waiting on the platform at Ladywell station was, for once, a pleasure. I knew that I was on my way to have fun working with the funniest people I know so standing on this grey, rainy platform was just a tiny blip on what would be an otherwise lovely day. The train pulled up and the doors opened and my shit day screamed Hello at me.
A girl, somewhere in her late teens, was sat in her wheelchair right at the door. She was sideways to the door. Not facing it or with her back to it so people could walk past her easily but sideways on. It was embarrassing as I basically had to step over her. Not my happiest moment and I'm pretty sure she didn't get anything out of it either.
Because of this really awkward moment, I hadn't noticed that she was listening to very loud music on her Mp3 player. No earphones, just letting it blast so that we can all enjoy her shitty, shitty taste in noise. I sat quite near her and looked around to see if anyone else looked like they were upset by the music. They didn't seem to be but then they never do. People are too scared to simply ask someone to turn their music off but I am not. Well, normally I'm not. This time I was. I'd never asked a girl in a wheelchair to turn her music off before and I realised that as soon as I would do it everyone in the world would hate me. She could be a Gulf hero, for fuck's sake. Someone who has fought for our freedom to upset everyone on a train. If she doesn't play Cheryl Cole loudly on the Hayes line to Charing Cross then the terrorists have won, etc. I really thought about it for a while. I mean, so what if she's in a wheelchair. She's a human being who is obviously in full control of her mentality (Cheryl Cole not withstanding), I should be able to ask her for some courtesy in the same way that I would to anyone else.
I checked with people on Twitter just in case.
Turns out that people on Twitter are fucking idiots because they all suggested that I just ask her to switch her music off, the fucking 140 character cunts. I turned to the young lady and said "Excuse me, would you mind switching your music off, please? It's a bit distracting. Thank you".
She screwed up her face and said "No". I was fucked really, wasn't I?
"It's just that this is a public place and I don't want to listen to your music so can you please turn it off?", I reasoned behind fury.
"I'm not switching it off".
"I'm pretty sure no-one on the train wants to hear your music. It's very inconsiderate".
That's when a man, who could beat me up, stood up and put his face very close to mine and said "Leave her alone".
I was confused more than worried. Who the fuck could defend someone playing loud music on a train? Wheelchair or no wheelchair? Who the fuck is this gut? Her care assistant?
"I'm just asking her to switch her music off. I'm not being rude", I said.
"Just leave her alone", he replied. "I'm her care assistant".
I was right. He was still very close to me when I tried reasoning directly with her again. He wasn't having it.
"Can you leave her alone now?", he said, very firmly.
I thought long and hard about my reply before stupidly saying "No, I can't". That got me nowhere. We talked in circles for a while and I just gave up and sat back in my seat. The girl in the wheelchair gave me a smile that sarcastically suggested she had won.
She had not won. Not yet anyway.
I took the earphones out of my iPod and played it loudly for all to hear. I even held it in my hand in the girl in the wheelchair's direction so she could get the full benefit. That's when other people in the carriage decided to hate me.
Some people shouted at me to turn my iPod off. "Annoying, isn't it?", I said to the girl in the wheelchair. A man told me that I was embarrassing myself (true but by now I was beyond caring) and others were giving me advice from "Wise up" to "Grow up". Advice I've heard a billion times and it still hasn't sunk in. I argued back that I thought the girl in the wheelchair should also turn her music off and was met with various leave-her-alone's. The totally pathetic part was that while she was listening to loud music I was listening to a podcast on a tinny speaker that you could barely hear but it was enough to upset these people on the train. It was the Collings & Herrin Podcast, to be precise and while I was being shouted at it was a tiny victory to heard Andrew Collins plug the Los Quattros Cvnts gig at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, they'll all come along to the shows next week.
I sheepishly, and pathetically, switched my iPod off and looked out the window, defeated. This whole thing lasted no more than two minutes but it was enough to upset me for the rest of the day even though it was basically my fault. I didn't start it or finish it. I just did the upsetting middle bit. As I got off the train, the girl in the wheelchair gave me another sarcastic smile as I climbed over her. Fucker. Why couldn't she benevolent and just like Ironside instead of evil and annoying like Davros?
I left the train station hating all ramps.
The bad stuff was far from over though. I got off the tube at Brixton and before getting the bus to Streatham I thought I'd pop into WH Smith. I grabbed a magazine and got in the queue. I knew I was in the queue because I know what a queue looks like. It was a line of people and I joined it at the end. Some other people then started queuing behind me. I was in the queue. I had been in the queue for a minute now, I reckon.
That's when a very old woman appeared.
"You took my place. Move over", she charmed.
"Excuse me?", I said.
"I was in here. You took my place"
This would normally never be a problem but she was rude. I'd already lost to a cripple, I'm fucked if the nearly-dead are going to beat me.
"Do you mean, 'Excuse me, please, but would you mind letting me in in front of you? I had been in the queue before but stepped away to get something. Sorry for the inconvenience.'?"
"This is my place".
I ignored her. That was stupid because she then started pushing me. Brilliant. I was going to have to fight an old woman. Dignity? Never heard of it....
"Look, this is my place. It isn't a very long queue. If you'd been nice about it I'd have let you in but you were rude. I'm sorry but I'm not letting you in."
A man in front turned and said "I've been in the queue 5 minutes. She wasn't there before". This was good news but I really didn't need another community of rage today. She got angry.
"I am 92. You should have some respect. You will be 92 one day", she grumped. "You should know better".
Well, considering I'm 41, queuing up to buy Doctor Who Magazine and have just started a fight with a crippled child I think it's fair to never ever consider what I should know. She walked to the back of the queue and continually said the word Bastard. Yeah, I'm a pillar of the community.
I finally got to Jeremy's house and we recorded a special Los Quattros Cvnts Sodcast to be put up as part of The Trap's Sodcast (thetrap.co.uk or iTunes) and later as a one-off Precious Little Podcast (preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk or iTunes) as well as working on the sketches. I'm really looking forward to these shows. They're going to be great. Just in case you've forgotten they're at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, London on the 17th & 18th at 8pm. It costs just £6 to get in and it's a bargain because not only are we on but on the 17th we have Andrew Collins and Jason Manford and on the 18th we have Rich Fulcher. Don't miss these shows. You'd be a fool. And get there early because we want you to get in.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Now the bad stuff....
I would never start a fight with a woman who has leukaemia, unlike some people, but apparently I can start fights with the disabled and the elderly. Great.
You be the judge, OK? YOU BE THE JUDGE. Have I done anything wrong? You tell me (better yet, keep it to yourself). I was happily on my way to the Los Quattros Cvnts rehearsal and waiting on the platform at Ladywell station was, for once, a pleasure. I knew that I was on my way to have fun working with the funniest people I know so standing on this grey, rainy platform was just a tiny blip on what would be an otherwise lovely day. The train pulled up and the doors opened and my shit day screamed Hello at me.
A girl, somewhere in her late teens, was sat in her wheelchair right at the door. She was sideways to the door. Not facing it or with her back to it so people could walk past her easily but sideways on. It was embarrassing as I basically had to step over her. Not my happiest moment and I'm pretty sure she didn't get anything out of it either.
Because of this really awkward moment, I hadn't noticed that she was listening to very loud music on her Mp3 player. No earphones, just letting it blast so that we can all enjoy her shitty, shitty taste in noise. I sat quite near her and looked around to see if anyone else looked like they were upset by the music. They didn't seem to be but then they never do. People are too scared to simply ask someone to turn their music off but I am not. Well, normally I'm not. This time I was. I'd never asked a girl in a wheelchair to turn her music off before and I realised that as soon as I would do it everyone in the world would hate me. She could be a Gulf hero, for fuck's sake. Someone who has fought for our freedom to upset everyone on a train. If she doesn't play Cheryl Cole loudly on the Hayes line to Charing Cross then the terrorists have won, etc. I really thought about it for a while. I mean, so what if she's in a wheelchair. She's a human being who is obviously in full control of her mentality (Cheryl Cole not withstanding), I should be able to ask her for some courtesy in the same way that I would to anyone else.
I checked with people on Twitter just in case.
Turns out that people on Twitter are fucking idiots because they all suggested that I just ask her to switch her music off, the fucking 140 character cunts. I turned to the young lady and said "Excuse me, would you mind switching your music off, please? It's a bit distracting. Thank you".
She screwed up her face and said "No". I was fucked really, wasn't I?
"It's just that this is a public place and I don't want to listen to your music so can you please turn it off?", I reasoned behind fury.
"I'm not switching it off".
"I'm pretty sure no-one on the train wants to hear your music. It's very inconsiderate".
That's when a man, who could beat me up, stood up and put his face very close to mine and said "Leave her alone".
I was confused more than worried. Who the fuck could defend someone playing loud music on a train? Wheelchair or no wheelchair? Who the fuck is this gut? Her care assistant?
"I'm just asking her to switch her music off. I'm not being rude", I said.
"Just leave her alone", he replied. "I'm her care assistant".
I was right. He was still very close to me when I tried reasoning directly with her again. He wasn't having it.
"Can you leave her alone now?", he said, very firmly.
I thought long and hard about my reply before stupidly saying "No, I can't". That got me nowhere. We talked in circles for a while and I just gave up and sat back in my seat. The girl in the wheelchair gave me a smile that sarcastically suggested she had won.
She had not won. Not yet anyway.
I took the earphones out of my iPod and played it loudly for all to hear. I even held it in my hand in the girl in the wheelchair's direction so she could get the full benefit. That's when other people in the carriage decided to hate me.
Some people shouted at me to turn my iPod off. "Annoying, isn't it?", I said to the girl in the wheelchair. A man told me that I was embarrassing myself (true but by now I was beyond caring) and others were giving me advice from "Wise up" to "Grow up". Advice I've heard a billion times and it still hasn't sunk in. I argued back that I thought the girl in the wheelchair should also turn her music off and was met with various leave-her-alone's. The totally pathetic part was that while she was listening to loud music I was listening to a podcast on a tinny speaker that you could barely hear but it was enough to upset these people on the train. It was the Collings & Herrin Podcast, to be precise and while I was being shouted at it was a tiny victory to heard Andrew Collins plug the Los Quattros Cvnts gig at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, they'll all come along to the shows next week.
I sheepishly, and pathetically, switched my iPod off and looked out the window, defeated. This whole thing lasted no more than two minutes but it was enough to upset me for the rest of the day even though it was basically my fault. I didn't start it or finish it. I just did the upsetting middle bit. As I got off the train, the girl in the wheelchair gave me another sarcastic smile as I climbed over her. Fucker. Why couldn't she benevolent and just like Ironside instead of evil and annoying like Davros?
I left the train station hating all ramps.
The bad stuff was far from over though. I got off the tube at Brixton and before getting the bus to Streatham I thought I'd pop into WH Smith. I grabbed a magazine and got in the queue. I knew I was in the queue because I know what a queue looks like. It was a line of people and I joined it at the end. Some other people then started queuing behind me. I was in the queue. I had been in the queue for a minute now, I reckon.
That's when a very old woman appeared.
"You took my place. Move over", she charmed.
"Excuse me?", I said.
"I was in here. You took my place"
This would normally never be a problem but she was rude. I'd already lost to a cripple, I'm fucked if the nearly-dead are going to beat me.
"Do you mean, 'Excuse me, please, but would you mind letting me in in front of you? I had been in the queue before but stepped away to get something. Sorry for the inconvenience.'?"
"This is my place".
I ignored her. That was stupid because she then started pushing me. Brilliant. I was going to have to fight an old woman. Dignity? Never heard of it....
"Look, this is my place. It isn't a very long queue. If you'd been nice about it I'd have let you in but you were rude. I'm sorry but I'm not letting you in."
A man in front turned and said "I've been in the queue 5 minutes. She wasn't there before". This was good news but I really didn't need another community of rage today. She got angry.
"I am 92. You should have some respect. You will be 92 one day", she grumped. "You should know better".
Well, considering I'm 41, queuing up to buy Doctor Who Magazine and have just started a fight with a crippled child I think it's fair to never ever consider what I should know. She walked to the back of the queue and continually said the word Bastard. Yeah, I'm a pillar of the community.
I finally got to Jeremy's house and we recorded a special Los Quattros Cvnts Sodcast to be put up as part of The Trap's Sodcast (thetrap.co.uk or iTunes) and later as a one-off Precious Little Podcast (preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk or iTunes) as well as working on the sketches. I'm really looking forward to these shows. They're going to be great. Just in case you've forgotten they're at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, London on the 17th & 18th at 8pm. It costs just £6 to get in and it's a bargain because not only are we on but on the 17th we have Andrew Collins and Jason Manford and on the 18th we have Rich Fulcher. Don't miss these shows. You'd be a fool. And get there early because we want you to get in.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Friday, 13 November 2009
Save Michael.
I'm feeling a lot better now. And that's bad. As much as I don't like being ill, what goes along with being ill is fantastic. Pity rocks!
Once again I had to cancel a gig yesterday. It's the third in a row this week. That part I don't like. Along with the snot and sweat and basically shuffling around in a pathetic way isn't much fun either but it is nice to look on Twitter and find messages from people wishing me good health. That's very nice. And on Facebook. And texts too. All wishing me a speedy recovery from what is, basically, nothing. I even got a text from a friend of mine who is still recovering from a car accident. SHE texted ME to see if I was OK. Even worse, that was two days ago and I haven't even replied to thank her for her concern. God, I'm a tool. The thing is, I love the attention when I'm ill but I'm very aware that I don't deserve it. I'm like Ferris Bueller and his sister all rolled into one. When Nobby phoned me last night and got the audience at the gig I just pulled to shout "Get Well Soon" I felt like a big faker. Albeit a big, smug, happy faker.
The good thing is that I've had more time to spend on Los Quattros Cvnts and shouting at the television. Mainly, shouting at the television. The show is coming along nicely and I'm very happy to say that we are only using two things from our Real Daniel O'Donnell Show days. One because it sets up another new sketch plus another that is BY FAR our least popular sketch ever. When we performed it over a year ago at RDOD it got nothing. Not a single laugh. That was all the inspiration we needed to do it again.
There is some bad news and some good news about the first Los Quattros Cvnts show on the 17th. Richard Herring can't make it as he's on Never Mind The Buzzcocks now, which I think is a fair enough excuse (I wouldn't have stood for it if it was Mock The Week) and so we had to find a replacement. But who could replace him? Someone that Richard would see as his equal, someone he respects, someone he admires even. Easy. His wife. So, Andrew Collins will now be joining us that night, I'm very happy to say. But that's not all! We also have more stand-up comedy from the fantastic......well, we're not allowed to say who yet. It's a secret.
These gigs are going to be a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to a day of writing and rehearsing today. To be honest, I'm just looking forward to leaving the house. Join us at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, London on the 17th and 18th at 8pm. Tickets are available ONLY on the door so get there early. More details to come.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Once again I had to cancel a gig yesterday. It's the third in a row this week. That part I don't like. Along with the snot and sweat and basically shuffling around in a pathetic way isn't much fun either but it is nice to look on Twitter and find messages from people wishing me good health. That's very nice. And on Facebook. And texts too. All wishing me a speedy recovery from what is, basically, nothing. I even got a text from a friend of mine who is still recovering from a car accident. SHE texted ME to see if I was OK. Even worse, that was two days ago and I haven't even replied to thank her for her concern. God, I'm a tool. The thing is, I love the attention when I'm ill but I'm very aware that I don't deserve it. I'm like Ferris Bueller and his sister all rolled into one. When Nobby phoned me last night and got the audience at the gig I just pulled to shout "Get Well Soon" I felt like a big faker. Albeit a big, smug, happy faker.
The good thing is that I've had more time to spend on Los Quattros Cvnts and shouting at the television. Mainly, shouting at the television. The show is coming along nicely and I'm very happy to say that we are only using two things from our Real Daniel O'Donnell Show days. One because it sets up another new sketch plus another that is BY FAR our least popular sketch ever. When we performed it over a year ago at RDOD it got nothing. Not a single laugh. That was all the inspiration we needed to do it again.
There is some bad news and some good news about the first Los Quattros Cvnts show on the 17th. Richard Herring can't make it as he's on Never Mind The Buzzcocks now, which I think is a fair enough excuse (I wouldn't have stood for it if it was Mock The Week) and so we had to find a replacement. But who could replace him? Someone that Richard would see as his equal, someone he respects, someone he admires even. Easy. His wife. So, Andrew Collins will now be joining us that night, I'm very happy to say. But that's not all! We also have more stand-up comedy from the fantastic......well, we're not allowed to say who yet. It's a secret.
These gigs are going to be a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to a day of writing and rehearsing today. To be honest, I'm just looking forward to leaving the house. Join us at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, London on the 17th and 18th at 8pm. Tickets are available ONLY on the door so get there early. More details to come.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Sick Note.
It's crap being ill. No energy to do anything and everything is annoying or hard to do. I've been trying my best to pretend there's nothing wrong but the amount of ooze dripping out my nose or hacking up in my throat makes a good argument.
Work is starting to go smoothly (sort of) on Los Quattros Cvnts. We're 6 days away from the show and we have about half the sketches done plus another billion ideas, most of which revolve around kicking a talking cake to death. That's entertainment in my book. Still got lots of work to do and that'll probably take up all my time until Tuesday. Make sure you come along. It's at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, London and you can buy tickets on the door (no booking, I'm afraid) on the 17th & 18th of this month. Shows start at 8 but make sure you get there early. We want you to get in OK. Now all we have to do is write it, rehearse it, realise we don't like it, completely re-write it, shit ourselves because it's the day of the show, completely re-write it again and then, finally, completely re-write it. It's going to be hard work the next few days but at least I've got my health.
Oh.
To be honest, I should be working on the show right now but instead I appear to be sitting in my pants, writing a blog and watching/singing along to the film Chicago. Right. Let's go to work.
Oh, before that.....look at how beautiful this is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwahIQz0o-M&feature=player_embedded
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Work is starting to go smoothly (sort of) on Los Quattros Cvnts. We're 6 days away from the show and we have about half the sketches done plus another billion ideas, most of which revolve around kicking a talking cake to death. That's entertainment in my book. Still got lots of work to do and that'll probably take up all my time until Tuesday. Make sure you come along. It's at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, London and you can buy tickets on the door (no booking, I'm afraid) on the 17th & 18th of this month. Shows start at 8 but make sure you get there early. We want you to get in OK. Now all we have to do is write it, rehearse it, realise we don't like it, completely re-write it, shit ourselves because it's the day of the show, completely re-write it again and then, finally, completely re-write it. It's going to be hard work the next few days but at least I've got my health.
Oh.
To be honest, I should be working on the show right now but instead I appear to be sitting in my pants, writing a blog and watching/singing along to the film Chicago. Right. Let's go to work.
Oh, before that.....look at how beautiful this is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwahIQz0o-M&feature=player_embedded
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
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