A Quick Catch Up.

I haven't had a chance to blog this week and I've missed it, to be honest. But instead of writing all grumpily I've just been out enjoying myself. First things first, a very big thank you to all the people who made the effort to come down to the Precious Little Party on Sunday. James and I are very grateful and it was a lot of fun. Special thanks to Martin and Andy from The Gentleman's Review who were our special guests, Mushybees for excellent stand-up comedy to start everything off and to Andy McHaffie who provided a great live version of the Fuck-A-Thing jingle. We've been asked if we'll ever do another live podcast and the answer is almost certainly no. It was fun, special and unique. It will, at the very most, only be two of those three things if we do it again. But, you never know. You can hear it at www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk

More thanks go to Drunk Sarah who, although she was in America filling herself with booze and cocks, sent everyone in the room a lovely "I am a pair of bastards" badge. That will mean nothing to you if you've never heard that one particular podcast. Oh, well. And lastly, huge and humble thanks go to the podophiles who had a whipround to give us beer money. It was very unexpected and I was totally overwhelmed when it was handed to me. Just to let you know, the money went to Rosie who helped set up the room and keep tabs on the door (fankoo!) and Mushybees who, apart from being funny, drove the equipment to the show. James spent the rest on hair products and Kula Shaker bootlegs. The cunt.

The rest of the week has been spent working on shows. Robin Ince and I had a lot of fun shouting at everyone and everything at Old Rope on Monday while trying out new material for Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire. We seem to have a lot of new material but when we get on stage we start complaining about other things and forget about what we've written. Very professional. But it's been the musical that's kept me busiest. I've gone from terrified to I FUCKING CAN'T WAIT TO DO THIS. This week everyone said that my dancing is equally as good as my singing so the show might not be a complete failure after all. Thank God they have me is what I keep saying all the time quite loudly. And the others love me for it. After every rehearsal it's straight to the pub. The darlings never invite me though as they want me to be at my best for all the shows, I imagine. And I always know when I've done something good because the others just stop what they're doing and Chris, the director, throws his script to the ground and leaves the room. I don't think he likes crying in front of everyone. But he does like shouting in the courtyard, I know that. And what a great director he is. It was his idea that I stopped doing "The Vicar" in a Nigerian accent and remove my face make-up. It has made some of the cast less angry, for sure.

I got up early yesterday for another day of agonising warm-up stretches, vocal exercises and fucking about but luckily I checked my email just before I left. I wasn't needed yesterday. I had the day off. That meant I could catch up on blogs and other writing and start writing more for my solo preview this Tuesday. OR...

I could lie on the sofa watching telly.

Christ, it was fucking brilliant. When my body heard that I didn't have to go to rehearsals it just shut down. I lay on the sofa and decayed. It felt great. Just watching telly and going through YouTube and doing...well...nothing. It was really lovely. It was like me and the sofa had fallen in love with each other all over again.

The thing with doing nothing is that after a while your mind wanders. My mind should never wander. It should stick clearly to the map I've given it: awake, eat, complain, eat, drink, drink, drink, drink, argue, bed. But my mind did wander and when it wandered I got sad. Where have my eyebrows gone?

I was sent a couple of photos of Robin and I and I noticed that I no longer have eyebrows. I'm sure I used to have eyebrows. They were just above my eyes for ages and now they've gone. Girls used to say nice things about my eyebrows. Yes, that's right. Due to a complete lack of anything else to compliment, girls used to say they really, really liked my eyebrows. "Ooh", they would say. "You have nice eyebrows. Anyway, bye!" So the fact that they have gone is more than just a little bit upsetting for me. My Dad lost his hair when he was quite young and as a child I used to laugh at him for being bald and old and stupid but now look. I can't even keep hair on my face so the hair on my head is bound to follow. There was a time when beautiful, scantly clad, blonde maidens would come running and giggling towards me and beg me to let them wash my eyebrows with lavender and water from a well. Some of the water would splash on to them and their thin, white clothes would stick to their wet skin, revealing their breasts. Well, that's never going to fucking happen again, is it? DON'T take your eyebrows for granted. I did. I just assumed they'd always be there and I never gave them the attention or credit they deserved. What will leave me next? My sight? My hearing? My head?

My head might as well go because without those eyebrows I am nothing. And I'm not wearing a head-merkin.

www.merkinworld.com
www.michaellegge.info



I was beautiful once. And Terrifying.



And now they're gone.