Friday, 2 October 2009

Pistols at Dawn.

My penis and I are no longer speaking. We've had disagreements before, of course. Sometimes I want to do a spot of cleaning but it insists I have a look at or I'll try to get my taxes done but it wants to ogle for an hour or I want to go to the pictures to watch a lovely black & white foreign film about injustice and solitude but it wants to watch Inglourious Basterds with all the other dicks. I mean, we get on but we're not perfectly matched.

But this time my penis has gone too far (shut up). My penis quite fancies Dawn Porter. I mean, for fuck's sake. She's fucking dreadful. Everything she does or says is so utterly banal and pointless that it makes me slightly shrug with furious apathy. Does anyone else even know that this patronising, giggling frock even exists?

Let me tell you about Dawn Porter. She's a posh little fuck-nut who's living a permanent gap-year by wasting time pretending to be interested in people who aren't her. She calls herself a documentary film maker, you know, in the same way that the bloke with the video camera at your wedding is a film director. Her "documentaries" are beyond contempt and reveal real-life shockers such as underneath our clothes is naked flesh and if a woman finds another woman attractive then that's fine really but it's not for her. She is the girl in Pulp's Common People come to life except her thirst for knowledge seems to be utterly quenched by nothing and whatever the slaggy one from Sex And The City drinks. I can't believe I did it but I sat through two of her God awful fuck-you's to my eyes over the last two days. One was about men paying for Mail Order Brides and would you bleedin' Adam and completely believe it? Some of the men who do this are a bit odd! Blimey! There was one bit in the documentary that focused on the safety of women who get involved in this but this was pretty much ditched when Dawn got bored and it was nearly lunch. The second was about becoming a Geisha. Dawn decided to discover the incredible trauma that must go with being completely subservient to men your entire life and her astonishing revelation was that kneeling for a while hurts your knees a bit. She spent the whole week learning the ways of the Geisha (or Dawn's version of it anyway) and finally had to pass a test to see if she was good enough. Before the test Dawn was getting upset, nervous and was wiping away tears made from the most expensive imported crocodile water. "I've never been so nervous in my life", said Dawn, who has been given everything she's ever wanted. "I just don't want to fail".

Why? What will happen if you fail, Dawn? Might you NOT become a Geisha and have to slum it back to your crappy, spoilt, do whatever the fuck you want TV job? Christ Almighty, if you called your Dad he could stop it all.

Anyway, she failed. The test involved her pouring tea. To be fair, she'd seen it done a million times but it's not until you actually do it yourself that you see that there's a knack. Spout towards cup, Dawn discovered.

So why do I think she's quite cute, then? I don't know. I suspect it might be the fact that I'm a bit of an arsehole. Maybe Dawn can make a documentary about that? She must know that she's awful but I bet she'd like to make a film about why some people might want to at least shag her if not actual speak to her or recognise her as human. I'm looking forward to seeing her latest Sky TV docs which are called My Breasts Could Kill Me. Dawn could be living with months, even years, of painful chemotherapy as well as facing a life threatening disease, something that actually happens to so many women every day, but only if she has breast cancer which she hasn't so that's alright then, we can go to the Groucho now and get some Manhattans and another series! Chin chin!

I'm all fed up. I had a gig last night in St Albans and I was told to get there half an hour before the venue even opened. It is my utter pet-hate. I turned up, the venue was closed, I walked back to the train station and my agent had to convince me to go back to the gig and wait. The guy introducing me wanted to introduce me as "the compere" and not "Michael Legge", I got told off for not setting up a joke competition that I had no idea existed and, as a result of spending 15 minutes trying to find out what really was the difference between Katie Price and a shoe, I had no time to do any stuff I wanted to do. A big fucking waste of time. Nice crowd though. Very nice.

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