Friday, 9 October 2009

Michael Legge is a Prick.

I am a prick. No, don't argue, I am. It's just how God didn't make me. Who knows, maybe you're a prick too? If so, welcome! I've been thinking a fair bit lately about how I'm probably not the nicest person in the world but this week it dawned on me that I am definitely a complete and utter prick.

An acquaintance of mine and fellow Lewisham resident were having a chat the other day. He is ill. Quite seriously but he will get better. That's the good news. The bad news is that he opened up about his condition to me without the understanding that I am a prick. Not convinced? Allow me to continue.

He has to go to hospital for a series of operations over the next few months. "I go in next month", he told me. "I have to lie in bed for 12 weeks, have three operations, one on my spine, I'll be on medication for over a year plus rehab for at least nine months. They'll have to check on me every couple of days for over a year to check on the pain and, of course, to make sure that I'm getting better and there is no chance of it recurring. They said during the first month that I'll be drifting in and out of conciousness a lot and there is a chance that I may never be able to go without medication ever".

Terrible. But I am a prick and all I heard was "I have to lie in bed for 12 weeks". I was actually jealous of him. It's exactly how I felt about the blind woman being allowed to bring her dog to the theatre the other night. I would LOVE to lie in bed for 12 weeks. I'd have to be fed and someone would have to collect my faeces and Joanne Whalley would give me a bed bath. I thought about this and my only conclusion was that I am the lowest of the low. Then I found a kindred spirit...

My friend Nobby never lets me down. He's one of the nicest men you could ever meet. He is firm but fair. If he thinks that you're a cunt then, chances are, you probably are a cunt. He's calls me cunt a lot. But last night I realised he's as bad as me, which in a sick way made me like him more.

Nobby was telling me a lovely story about how he complimented someone on their appearance. That's nice, isn't it? He met a woman at a wedding and was struck by her keen fashion sense. "That's a really nice head scarf", he said to her.

"Are you taking the piss?", she replied.

"No. I like it. You don't see many people wearing head scarves like that".

"Well, I have to wear one because I lost most of my hair through chemotherapy".

Nobby thought about this before replying.

"Fuck off", he said.

"It's true. I've got leukaemia".

"Behave, love".

"I really have".

"Fuck off, you tart".

The lady explained further and Nobby told me that that's when the penny dropped. "She really did have leukaemia". Now, you would think it couldn't get worse but it did. Not that I heard the rest of the story because I was still laughing at what he said next: "But I wasn't going to back down".

I'm glad I'm not alone. Sort of.

By the way, some quick plugs: Precious Little podcast has a new feature so please listen to the latest mini-podcast now for details of how you can get involved. I'm performing at London Comedy Improv this wednesday night (and the bill is excellent) at The Phoenix just off Oxford Street. Also, at the same venue, on the 17th & 18th November Los Quattros cunts (The Trap & me) will be trying out our new show with guests both nights. Our guests are booked now. Our guests are VERY good so put those dates in your diary now. NOW.

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