And that’s that. Another Edinburgh Fringe over. Goodbye to the 24 hour drinking, the 20 year old comedians who have been lucky and ungracious, the fucking jugglers, the pigging bagpipes, the lack of food, the flyerers who have as much interest in the show they’re promoting as I do, the theatre groups who find no shame in rehearsing in public, Joe Power, the tiny sweaty rooms where the comedian on stage can clearly see you hate him, the lying, the lack of any publicity for Gutted, Alan fucking Cumming singing IN PUBLIC, the doing the same fucking thing every day over and over and over again, the constantly seeing posters of Craig Hill, the people who say “I don’t know why you’re not more successful” and me remembering that I’m not more successful, the Vocalzone, the children who review comedy for a sheet of paper that is handed out in goth pubs, the fear that I’ve fucked up yet another show, the people who ask me for a more successful actor’s autograph, the having to prove that you have the right to drink in the pathetically named Star Bar, the lack of wi-fi, the lack of phone signal, the waking up at 2 in the afternoon with a thick tongue and a shamed mind, the you-should-have-been-there stories of comedians who should know better doing one-off shows up Arthur’s Seat at 4am, Arthur’s Seat, comedians, 4am. It’s all fucking over.
But so is the most enjoyable Edinburgh Fringe I’ve ever had. I just loved it this year and all those horrible things just couldn’t spoil it. For every Edinburgh NO, and there were plenty, there was a massive YES! I doubt anything as incredible as being rescued by Hunter from Gladiators will ever happen to me again. And the joy I had in my heart when Joe Power, the psychic that talks to the dead, asked his audience “Does anyone here know a Dave?” was overwhelming. Every show I did I enjoyed. Even the one stand-up gig where I died was enjoyable because the audience were totally cool about it. The one Gutted where everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong (as opposed to the others where just lots of things went wrong) was good because the people I was with are great. We all went down in flames together and we totally learned from it.
Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire is a great show and I’m very proud of it. I’m grateful to Robin Ince for letting me hang on to his apron strings (although I did provide the apron in the show). The shows were full every day without any posters or flyers or publicity. That may have something to do with Robin’s fame rather than mine. We’ll never really know. I do know that we’ll do more Pointless Anger shows and if we get anything near the fun and appreciative audiences we’ve had so far, it’ll be great. No doubt I’ll do something to fuck it up. In fact, I’m generally so happy these days that that means I’ve fucked it up already. God, I’m a cunt.
Gutted was just so much fun that I actually feel that it can’t be over. It would be cruel to us all not to do that again. So what if there were sound difficulties nearly every night? So what if I kept falling off the moving stage in the early shows? So what if I can’t actually sing or act? It’s a fucking laugh. Isn’t that enough? The “final” Gutted last night was pretty much what I expected. The fucking about was pushed so much that the lead character of Sorrow was pissing herself laughing at her boyfriend choking to death. Yes, you could look at it as self-indulgent twattery but only because that’s what it was. I liked it. I loved the show and Danielle Ward and Martin White should be very happy with what they’ve written. I know lots of people who are because I’ve heard “Mrs. Station, have you seen my biscuits?” being quoted by complete strangers for over a week. I think I’m going to miss hanging out with the cast a lot. I don’t hate any of them. IMAGINE THAT! Thanks very much to Danielle and Martin, I’m really grateful and it was a blast.
Packing up my things today and preparing to leave I had to pause and reflect about how sad I felt that it was all over. Still, at least I don’t have to carry a 7ft squirting vagina back to London. I find great solace in that.
But I’m on the crowded train full of Fringe performers going back to London now and my anger is all starting to return. Cunts sitting in groups either singing or crying and hugging one another, luggage fucking everywhere but the luggage hold I put my case into was empty and there are people asleep in front of the toilet door. I’ve just paid £1.80 for a coke that they thoughtfully boiled for me. Plus, I didn’t have a reservation so I’ve had to spend more money upgrading to first class so that I can get a seat as standard class is full. WHY DID YOU FUCKING SELL ME A TICKET IF THERE ARE NO SEATS?
And now Muki has spilled coffee all over her lap so I must go and help her. It won’t be easy. I am laughing quite hard.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Monday, 30 August 2010
Gutted, It's Over.
And that’s that. Another Edinburgh Fringe over. Goodbye to the 24 hour drinking, the 20 year old comedians who have been lucky and ungracious, the fucking jugglers, the pigging bagpipes, the lack of food, the flyerers who have as much interest in the show they’re promoting as I do, the theatre groups who find no shame in rehearsing in public, Joe Power, the tiny sweaty rooms where the comedian on stage can clearly see you hate him, the lying, the lack of any publicity for Gutted, Alan fucking Cumming singing IN PUBLIC, the doing the same fucking thing every day over and over and over again, the constantly seeing posters of Craig Hill, the people who say “I don’t know why you’re not more successful” and me remembering that I’m not more successful, the Vocalzone, the children who review comedy for a sheet of paper that is handed out in goth pubs, the fear that I’ve fucked up yet another show, the people who ask me for a more successful actor’s autograph, the having to prove that you have the right to drink in the pathetically named Star Bar, the lack of wi-fi, the lack of phone signal, the waking up at 2 in the afternoon with a thick tongue and a shamed mind, the you-should-have-been-there stories of comedians who should know better doing one-off shows up Arthur’s Seat at 4am, Arthur’s Seat, comedians, 4am. It’s all fucking over.
But so is the most enjoyable Edinburgh Fringe I’ve ever had. I just loved it this year and all those horrible things just couldn’t spoil it. For every Edinburgh NO, and there were plenty, there was a massive YES! I doubt anything as incredible as being rescued by Hunter from Gladiators will ever happen to me again. And the joy I had in my heart when Joe Power, the psychic that talks to the dead, asked his audience “Does anyone here know a Dave?” was overwhelming. Every show I did I enjoyed. Even the one stand-up gig where I died was enjoyable because the audience were totally cool about it. The one Gutted where everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong (as opposed to the others where just lots of things went wrong) was good because the people I was with are great. We all went down in flames together and we totally learned from it.
Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire is a great show and I’m very proud of it. I’m grateful to Robin Ince for letting me hang on to his apron strings (although I did provide the apron in the show). The shows were full every day without any posters or flyers or publicity. That may have something to do with Robin’s fame rather than mine. We’ll never really know. I do know that we’ll do more Pointless Anger shows and if we get anything near the fun and appreciative audiences we’ve had so far, it’ll be great. No doubt I’ll do something to fuck it up. In fact, I’m generally so happy these days that that means I’ve fucked it up already. God, I’m a cunt.
Gutted was just so much fun that I actually feel that it can’t be over. It would be cruel to us all not to do that again. So what if there were sound difficulties nearly every night? So what if I kept falling off the moving stage in the early shows? So what if I can’t actually sing or act? It’s a fucking laugh. Isn’t that enough? The “final” Gutted last night was pretty much what I expected. The fucking about was pushed so much that the lead character of Sorrow was pissing herself laughing at her boyfriend choking to death. Yes, you could look at it as self-indulgent twattery but only because that’s what it was. I liked it. I loved the show and Danielle Ward and Martin White should be very happy with what they’ve written. I know lots of people who are because I’ve heard “Mrs. Station, have you seen my biscuits?” being quoted by complete strangers for over a week. I think I’m going to miss hanging out with the cast a lot. I don’t hate any of them. IMAGINE THAT! Thanks very much to Danielle and Martin, I’m really grateful and it was a blast.
Packing up my things today and preparing to leave I had to pause and reflect about how sad I felt that it was all over. Still, at least I don’t have to carry a 7ft squirting vagina back to London. I find great solace in that.
But I’m on the crowded train full of Fringe performers going back to London now and my anger is all starting to return. Cunts sitting in groups either singing or crying and hugging one another, luggage fucking everywhere but the luggage hold I put my case into was empty and there are people asleep in front of the toilet door. I’ve just paid £1.80 for a coke that they thoughtfully boiled for me. Plus, I didn’t have a reservation so I’ve had to spend more money upgrading to first class so that I can get a seat as standard class is full. WHY DID YOU FUCKING SELL ME A TICKET IF THERE ARE NO SEATS?
And now Muki has spilled coffee all over her lap so I must go and help her. It won’t be easy. I am laughing quite hard.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
But so is the most enjoyable Edinburgh Fringe I’ve ever had. I just loved it this year and all those horrible things just couldn’t spoil it. For every Edinburgh NO, and there were plenty, there was a massive YES! I doubt anything as incredible as being rescued by Hunter from Gladiators will ever happen to me again. And the joy I had in my heart when Joe Power, the psychic that talks to the dead, asked his audience “Does anyone here know a Dave?” was overwhelming. Every show I did I enjoyed. Even the one stand-up gig where I died was enjoyable because the audience were totally cool about it. The one Gutted where everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong (as opposed to the others where just lots of things went wrong) was good because the people I was with are great. We all went down in flames together and we totally learned from it.
Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire is a great show and I’m very proud of it. I’m grateful to Robin Ince for letting me hang on to his apron strings (although I did provide the apron in the show). The shows were full every day without any posters or flyers or publicity. That may have something to do with Robin’s fame rather than mine. We’ll never really know. I do know that we’ll do more Pointless Anger shows and if we get anything near the fun and appreciative audiences we’ve had so far, it’ll be great. No doubt I’ll do something to fuck it up. In fact, I’m generally so happy these days that that means I’ve fucked it up already. God, I’m a cunt.
Gutted was just so much fun that I actually feel that it can’t be over. It would be cruel to us all not to do that again. So what if there were sound difficulties nearly every night? So what if I kept falling off the moving stage in the early shows? So what if I can’t actually sing or act? It’s a fucking laugh. Isn’t that enough? The “final” Gutted last night was pretty much what I expected. The fucking about was pushed so much that the lead character of Sorrow was pissing herself laughing at her boyfriend choking to death. Yes, you could look at it as self-indulgent twattery but only because that’s what it was. I liked it. I loved the show and Danielle Ward and Martin White should be very happy with what they’ve written. I know lots of people who are because I’ve heard “Mrs. Station, have you seen my biscuits?” being quoted by complete strangers for over a week. I think I’m going to miss hanging out with the cast a lot. I don’t hate any of them. IMAGINE THAT! Thanks very much to Danielle and Martin, I’m really grateful and it was a blast.
Packing up my things today and preparing to leave I had to pause and reflect about how sad I felt that it was all over. Still, at least I don’t have to carry a 7ft squirting vagina back to London. I find great solace in that.
But I’m on the crowded train full of Fringe performers going back to London now and my anger is all starting to return. Cunts sitting in groups either singing or crying and hugging one another, luggage fucking everywhere but the luggage hold I put my case into was empty and there are people asleep in front of the toilet door. I’ve just paid £1.80 for a coke that they thoughtfully boiled for me. Plus, I didn’t have a reservation so I’ve had to spend more money upgrading to first class so that I can get a seat as standard class is full. WHY DID YOU FUCKING SELL ME A TICKET IF THERE ARE NO SEATS?
And now Muki has spilled coffee all over her lap so I must go and help her. It won’t be easy. I am laughing quite hard.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Do You Have Bonnie Tyler's Phone Number?
This is amazing! I mean, it's just so utterly incredible that it should only ever happen in a comic book.
Last night, Colin and Kat Hoult, Muki and I were drinking in a bar that is charmingly called Fingers. It was incredibly hot, crowded and loud but it was the nearest place that we could get booze that late so we suffered through. Soon we were joined by a horrible drunk arsehole.
The horrible drunk arsehole introduced himself to us by putting his arms around Kat and saying "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" To be honest, I didn't like him. I assumed he must have been a friend of Kat's though because complete strangers don't do that sort of thing. Ever. No matter what. But when Colin asked him to leave her alone I realised he was what he is. A horrible drunk arsehole. He gave Colin a dirty look then smiled and winked at me as if to say "What's his problem? I'm only trying to feel up his wife". Then he did another no-no. He put his arm around me. I don't like that at all. It's too aggressive a thing to do. He may have thought he was being friendly in his stupid drunk arsehole head but he was being far from it. I told him to fuck off. He went away.
I thought that would be the last we would see of him. He stumbled over to talk to what I assumed was his friend. You know, a friend that you talk really aggressively to while pointing right at their face. Colin and I were happily talking about the beauty of Carnival of Monsters and as far as we were concerned the horrible drunk arsehole was history. Occasionally, I looked over and saw him still being aggressive to his friend but I didn't care. Carnival of Monsters is a lot more important than any drunk horrible arsehole. Then his friend suddenly tired of being pointed at in the face and punched arsehole in the mouth. Arsehole retaliated by headbutting his friend. Weirdly, although he headbutted him twice and we saw him make full contact, it just looked like it didn't hurt. It was like arsehole's head was really lovely and soft. It was still horrible to watch and, as she was very near the fight, Colin and I manfully stood in front of Kat to protect her. Sadly, although Colin and I are very brave we are also very beautiful and we didn't want to get punched by either of these drunks. We were at the very edge of trouble. Our beautiful faces could get damaged and we would never be able to not get work on BBC3 ever again. Who will save us from this brutality?
Hunter from Gladiators, that's who! As unbelievable as it sounds the real, actual Hunter from Gladiators appeared from nowhere and rescued Colin and I by throwing one of the drunks out and threatening the others. He asked us all if we were OK but all I could think of was how much I loved this almighty god in front of me. Am I alright, Hunter? Of course I'm alright. I have you.
He then bought us a round of Jagerbombs.
Go on then. You tell me a better fucking story than that.
When on Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hastag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Last night, Colin and Kat Hoult, Muki and I were drinking in a bar that is charmingly called Fingers. It was incredibly hot, crowded and loud but it was the nearest place that we could get booze that late so we suffered through. Soon we were joined by a horrible drunk arsehole.
The horrible drunk arsehole introduced himself to us by putting his arms around Kat and saying "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" To be honest, I didn't like him. I assumed he must have been a friend of Kat's though because complete strangers don't do that sort of thing. Ever. No matter what. But when Colin asked him to leave her alone I realised he was what he is. A horrible drunk arsehole. He gave Colin a dirty look then smiled and winked at me as if to say "What's his problem? I'm only trying to feel up his wife". Then he did another no-no. He put his arm around me. I don't like that at all. It's too aggressive a thing to do. He may have thought he was being friendly in his stupid drunk arsehole head but he was being far from it. I told him to fuck off. He went away.
I thought that would be the last we would see of him. He stumbled over to talk to what I assumed was his friend. You know, a friend that you talk really aggressively to while pointing right at their face. Colin and I were happily talking about the beauty of Carnival of Monsters and as far as we were concerned the horrible drunk arsehole was history. Occasionally, I looked over and saw him still being aggressive to his friend but I didn't care. Carnival of Monsters is a lot more important than any drunk horrible arsehole. Then his friend suddenly tired of being pointed at in the face and punched arsehole in the mouth. Arsehole retaliated by headbutting his friend. Weirdly, although he headbutted him twice and we saw him make full contact, it just looked like it didn't hurt. It was like arsehole's head was really lovely and soft. It was still horrible to watch and, as she was very near the fight, Colin and I manfully stood in front of Kat to protect her. Sadly, although Colin and I are very brave we are also very beautiful and we didn't want to get punched by either of these drunks. We were at the very edge of trouble. Our beautiful faces could get damaged and we would never be able to not get work on BBC3 ever again. Who will save us from this brutality?
Hunter from Gladiators, that's who! As unbelievable as it sounds the real, actual Hunter from Gladiators appeared from nowhere and rescued Colin and I by throwing one of the drunks out and threatening the others. He asked us all if we were OK but all I could think of was how much I loved this almighty god in front of me. Am I alright, Hunter? Of course I'm alright. I have you.
He then bought us a round of Jagerbombs.
Go on then. You tell me a better fucking story than that.
When on Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hastag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Dead Nice.
My last blog was rushed and I left an important point out. When I left the Joe Power show, after being asked to leave by the man who speaks to the dead, Danielle Ward left with me. Partly because he is a liar, mainly because he's so incredibly dull. Either way, she left with me. Like a real friend. Unlike the other shits I went with. Who would have thought that the cast of a musical could be so cowardly? Not only did Danielle leave but she told Joe that "this is bullshit". Although I don't agree with swearing, I agree with the sentiment. What a hopeless man Joe Power is.
But he's not alone. I too am neatly placed in the hopeless category. Since my last blog, sceptic organisations have emailed or Twittered to ask me to talk at their shows or write something for their website. Erm...I got thrown out of a show. That's basically the whole story. Really not too sure that I can stretch it any further. I'm against what Joe does. I think he's an embarrassing liar doing a completely legal con on very vulnerable people but to me that's so obvious that it's not that worth going on about too much (even though I really fucking have been). That said, when are the various sceptic organisations of Britain going to ask me to do a talk again? Maybe it's trick? Maybe they don't believe that I asked that 15 year old for his shoe on New Year's Eve? Maybe I'm being set up by these bastards? That's what they did to Joe. There he was innocently stealing money from people who felt a loss so deeply they are prepared to believe anything and they did this to him: http://www.merseysideskeptics.org.uk/category/psychics/joe-power/
Think I should accept these kind invitations? Let me know. Very nice to have Richard Wiseman tweet about it too. I should get thrown out of more shows. No, seriously. I really should.
So on my day off from Gutted I got drunk and went home early. In bed by 1.30 is incredible by Edinburgh standards. Of course, I didn't go to sleep until nearer 5 because I had to watch a LOT of Joe Power of YouTube. Yeah, who's having the last laugh now? No. It's still me. If you haven't seen the Joe Power documentary made by Derren Brown then I urge you to watch it right now. A lot of fun.
But what did I do on my day off? It's Edinburgh at festival time so did I see a show? A play? A magician? A stand-up hour that completely ignores the subject it claims to be about? Nope. I went to see a young person's pop music band from the hit parade. Jim Bob and I went to see Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip.
No. I haven't heard of them either but, boy, they were great. Plus it was fantastic to see a rapper big up and give a shout out massive style-ee to Gutted. Well, what he actually said was "There's this musical, riiiiiiight, whiff Danielle Ward and Martin White and Jim Bob and it's called something beginning with G". To be fair, it's more publicity than the Assembly Rooms have given us so I'll take it.
More shows to plug: Tony Law at The Stand at 12.30 plus Dan Antopolski at The Pleasance Dome at 8. Both very inventive and funny shows. Tony constantly improvises himself in and out of holes for an hour while Dan just sets up his stand-up-doesn't-have-to-be-obvious-and-shit stall brilliantly. Plus he actually gives a shit about the audience. Very, very impressive.
Fuck. I meant to write about the Edinburgh Award. I'll do that next time. I am tired and a bit hungover. Help me.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
But he's not alone. I too am neatly placed in the hopeless category. Since my last blog, sceptic organisations have emailed or Twittered to ask me to talk at their shows or write something for their website. Erm...I got thrown out of a show. That's basically the whole story. Really not too sure that I can stretch it any further. I'm against what Joe does. I think he's an embarrassing liar doing a completely legal con on very vulnerable people but to me that's so obvious that it's not that worth going on about too much (even though I really fucking have been). That said, when are the various sceptic organisations of Britain going to ask me to do a talk again? Maybe it's trick? Maybe they don't believe that I asked that 15 year old for his shoe on New Year's Eve? Maybe I'm being set up by these bastards? That's what they did to Joe. There he was innocently stealing money from people who felt a loss so deeply they are prepared to believe anything and they did this to him: http://www.merseysideskeptics.org.uk/category/psychics/joe-power/
Think I should accept these kind invitations? Let me know. Very nice to have Richard Wiseman tweet about it too. I should get thrown out of more shows. No, seriously. I really should.
So on my day off from Gutted I got drunk and went home early. In bed by 1.30 is incredible by Edinburgh standards. Of course, I didn't go to sleep until nearer 5 because I had to watch a LOT of Joe Power of YouTube. Yeah, who's having the last laugh now? No. It's still me. If you haven't seen the Joe Power documentary made by Derren Brown then I urge you to watch it right now. A lot of fun.
But what did I do on my day off? It's Edinburgh at festival time so did I see a show? A play? A magician? A stand-up hour that completely ignores the subject it claims to be about? Nope. I went to see a young person's pop music band from the hit parade. Jim Bob and I went to see Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip.
No. I haven't heard of them either but, boy, they were great. Plus it was fantastic to see a rapper big up and give a shout out massive style-ee to Gutted. Well, what he actually said was "There's this musical, riiiiiiight, whiff Danielle Ward and Martin White and Jim Bob and it's called something beginning with G". To be fair, it's more publicity than the Assembly Rooms have given us so I'll take it.
More shows to plug: Tony Law at The Stand at 12.30 plus Dan Antopolski at The Pleasance Dome at 8. Both very inventive and funny shows. Tony constantly improvises himself in and out of holes for an hour while Dan just sets up his stand-up-doesn't-have-to-be-obvious-and-shit stall brilliantly. Plus he actually gives a shit about the audience. Very, very impressive.
Fuck. I meant to write about the Edinburgh Award. I'll do that next time. I am tired and a bit hungover. Help me.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Power Cut.
Yesterday, I was thrown out of a show. Is there anything more embarrassing or belittling to a performer than to be asked to leave a show they're watching? Joe Power can talk to the dead but, as it turns out, finds it very difficult to chat to the living.
If you don't know who Joe Power is then you have done very well indeed. Keep up the good work. Stop reading this now and go and watch Doctor Who. You deserve it. Joe Power is a thug who tells lies to not very bright and very vulnerable people. He claims that he can contact your deceased loved ones and can pass on what they say to you. I don't really need to go into detail about how totally fucking ridiculous that is. Even when people say "I had a feeling you'd like this jam" they are completely wrong. You might think you had a feeling that I would like this jam and coincidentally you're right. That's how much of a sceptic I am. People claiming to talk to the dead are hardly likely to impress me.
And why would it? As David Reed pointed out, talking to the dead is easy. Anyone can do it. It's when they talk back that it's impressive.
But that has never ever happened ever to anyone ever. So, yes, I went to see Joe Power to laugh at the stupid fucking idiot but when I saw the lack of audience he was attracting I felt sorry for him. Despite him being a very well paid liar and him doing time for GBH, I felt sorry for him. I mean, he truly musn't have a friend in the world because surely a real friend would stop you doing the Edinburgh Fringe if you do what he does. This isn't the place for that sort of thing. That feeling of actually caring for Joe Power didn't last too long.
His walk-in music was just a long, long, LONG recording of a heartbeat. You know, the very thing that your deceased loved ones don't have. Nice touch, Joe. Then the lights go down and a voiceover man tell us that we are about to go on a journey to the spiritworld, a journey to the unknown, a journey to the world of the dead. We didn't go anywhere. We were just bored. Joe walked on to the stage wearing a glittery t-shirt and silver shoes and that's all the showmanship we got. Instead of wowing us with his connections to our very souls he bored the arse off of everyone with his fucking tedious, racist life story. Joe was originally sceptical about the supernatural. He didn't believe in any of it until he met a psychic called Chang who told Joe "Harrow! You rikey fly lice! OK, Joe, ten dollah!". Something as racist as that anyway. He stopped himself from dragging his eyelids to slits with his fingers and sticking his teeth out but the racist "Chinky" voice was there in all it's glory. It was about then that my own psychic powers correctly predicted that Joe Power is a terrible prick.
After 15 long minutes Joe finally got down to showing us his gift. He explained that while talking to us he will be looking at his big tarot cards that are never wrong. If he says something and you say he's wrong then you are a liar. Very clever stuff. But he was correct pretty much immediately. It sounds hard to believe but someone in the room DID know someone called Dave. What are the chances of that? Joe is AMAZING! Turns out that Dave isn't dead but in fact alive. That's OK because it's not Dave that has contacted Joe. It's someone with a message for Dave. Erm...right. OK. Joe looked into the spiritworld again and unbelievably just somehow knew that this woman in her late 60's had dead parents. It was incredible. How could he know this? He's a fucking GOD. He asked the lovely old dear "Are your parents dead?" She said yes. "Your mother and your father are dead. Am I right?". Again she said yes. "Your parents are dead?" The woman didn't say anything the third time because she had already answered twice. That's when Joe tactfully said "Hello. Answer me. I am alive". Well, good for you, Joe. This woman's parents are dead but you're alive. What great comfort that must be to her, you thieving fucking cunt.
It was this woman's father who had a message for Dave. Typical dad's. Even when contactable from beyond the grave, they never really want to talk to you. The message was this: "Tell Dave to be careful with vehicles". I burst out laughing.
How could I not laugh? A man has spoken from beyond the grave and all he fucking has to say is basically "look after yourself". The stupid dead cunt. That's it? No "there really is a God" or "there is eternal happiness when you die"? He just popped into a different spiritual plane to say "be lucky". The rude get.
Joe clearly said that there would be people in the audience who have only come for a bit of a giggle but that's OK. But as he is a liar it turns out that he told a lie. It really isn't OK to laugh at him. That was when he got a bit cross, pointed at Chris George who was sitting beside me and said "Right. You laughed at that. Let's talk to you".
Brilliant! I got away with it. I laughed at something very funny but someone else got the blame. All I had to do now is sit back and quietly watch Chris get thwarted by the wrath of Joe Power.
Damn. I felt guilty. After asking Chris 17 times if it was him who had laughed I reluctantly confessed. Looking back. I'm glad I did.
"There's something wrong with one of your testicles", said Joe.
HE'S RIGHT! Joe was absolutely right. I have a weird circle on my right testicle. How could Joe know that? He has the gift. Anyone who has ever seen me naked is too embarrassed or mentally scarred to talk about it so it only makes sense that a ghost must have seen me in the bath and told Joe about my "different" ball.
"I don't want to see your testicles. I'm not gay".
AAAAHHHHH! Joe got me! He fucking got me. He said that there was something wrong with one of my testicles and he was right and I thought a ghost had seen me in the bath and told him about my "different" ball but actually he just said it as a joke. HA HA! Brilliant one, Joe. Man, is my face red. I thought you had contacted the dead to discuss my health but actually you were just pointing out to everyone that I'm a flithy fucking disgusting queer. HIGH-larious!
Joe quickly put his correct prediction to one side and threw out another one. "You've been in two relationships? Yeah?" I assumed he meant two long term relationships and he was right. I went out with someone for four years and now I'm married. That's two. Joe was right. Great, we're back. "You got binbagged by one of them, didn't you?" Such a charming phrase. And wrong. My first long term relationship was ended by me in a style that would make a great opera. Joe pointed out to me and everyone that I was lying. I wasn't. "The cards have told me". I pointed out to Joe that, although his cards are always right, this one time they are mistaken. "I was there", I told him. Again I was told I was wrong. It was starting to get embarrassing. "Are you in entertainment? A performer or comedian?" asked Joe. During August? In Edinburgh? What are the chances? He was right. Brilliant. Joe's back again again. "In two years time, there's going to be something to do with you and television". I looked really happy and said "Hooray! I'm going to make it!" It got a bit of a laugh and the mood lifted. Well, everyone's mood except Joe's. He thought I was taking the piss out of him when all I was doing was recognising it was all a bit embarrassing and trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't say you'd be any good" said Joe and I got embarrassed. He obviously things I'm out to get him when all I simply wanted to do was laugh at the stupid prick. I tried a bit of self-deprecating humour. "Maybe in two years I'll buy a TV?", I said. He hated that. Time for me to shut up. Then he asked if I or anyone that I know is planning a trip abroad soon? I mean as broad as that question is I just couldn't think of anyone I know planning any travelling except the Journey back to London at the end of the month. This lead him to ask this: "I'm thinking something abroad or in theatre or here". I couldn't really respond to that because I didn't know what it meant. It's just a collection of things. He then asked me to leave. I apologised and left embarrassed and shamed.
Being thrown out of Joe Power's show. What could be worse? Being thrown in to Tom Binns' show perhaps?
In a way, it's a shame because I missed Joe correctly telling Helen George about her life simply by using his supernatural powers to read the texts on her phone and then asking James Hingley, who I was sitting with, if he knew any comedians. But, I had to leave anyway because I was going to see Stewart Lee. It was a great show but I still wanted him to ask me to leave. I have a taste for it now.
Don't go to see Joe Power. The biggest crime is that it is tediously dull and he is a genuinely horrible, nasty human being. Don't worry. I got in free so none of my money went to the evil prick. Afterwards I was told that I was the only person he asked to leave during this run which made me proud and disappointed at the same time.
I have more to say about Joe but I'll save that for tomorrow. Bye for now.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
If you don't know who Joe Power is then you have done very well indeed. Keep up the good work. Stop reading this now and go and watch Doctor Who. You deserve it. Joe Power is a thug who tells lies to not very bright and very vulnerable people. He claims that he can contact your deceased loved ones and can pass on what they say to you. I don't really need to go into detail about how totally fucking ridiculous that is. Even when people say "I had a feeling you'd like this jam" they are completely wrong. You might think you had a feeling that I would like this jam and coincidentally you're right. That's how much of a sceptic I am. People claiming to talk to the dead are hardly likely to impress me.
And why would it? As David Reed pointed out, talking to the dead is easy. Anyone can do it. It's when they talk back that it's impressive.
But that has never ever happened ever to anyone ever. So, yes, I went to see Joe Power to laugh at the stupid fucking idiot but when I saw the lack of audience he was attracting I felt sorry for him. Despite him being a very well paid liar and him doing time for GBH, I felt sorry for him. I mean, he truly musn't have a friend in the world because surely a real friend would stop you doing the Edinburgh Fringe if you do what he does. This isn't the place for that sort of thing. That feeling of actually caring for Joe Power didn't last too long.
His walk-in music was just a long, long, LONG recording of a heartbeat. You know, the very thing that your deceased loved ones don't have. Nice touch, Joe. Then the lights go down and a voiceover man tell us that we are about to go on a journey to the spiritworld, a journey to the unknown, a journey to the world of the dead. We didn't go anywhere. We were just bored. Joe walked on to the stage wearing a glittery t-shirt and silver shoes and that's all the showmanship we got. Instead of wowing us with his connections to our very souls he bored the arse off of everyone with his fucking tedious, racist life story. Joe was originally sceptical about the supernatural. He didn't believe in any of it until he met a psychic called Chang who told Joe "Harrow! You rikey fly lice! OK, Joe, ten dollah!". Something as racist as that anyway. He stopped himself from dragging his eyelids to slits with his fingers and sticking his teeth out but the racist "Chinky" voice was there in all it's glory. It was about then that my own psychic powers correctly predicted that Joe Power is a terrible prick.
After 15 long minutes Joe finally got down to showing us his gift. He explained that while talking to us he will be looking at his big tarot cards that are never wrong. If he says something and you say he's wrong then you are a liar. Very clever stuff. But he was correct pretty much immediately. It sounds hard to believe but someone in the room DID know someone called Dave. What are the chances of that? Joe is AMAZING! Turns out that Dave isn't dead but in fact alive. That's OK because it's not Dave that has contacted Joe. It's someone with a message for Dave. Erm...right. OK. Joe looked into the spiritworld again and unbelievably just somehow knew that this woman in her late 60's had dead parents. It was incredible. How could he know this? He's a fucking GOD. He asked the lovely old dear "Are your parents dead?" She said yes. "Your mother and your father are dead. Am I right?". Again she said yes. "Your parents are dead?" The woman didn't say anything the third time because she had already answered twice. That's when Joe tactfully said "Hello. Answer me. I am alive". Well, good for you, Joe. This woman's parents are dead but you're alive. What great comfort that must be to her, you thieving fucking cunt.
It was this woman's father who had a message for Dave. Typical dad's. Even when contactable from beyond the grave, they never really want to talk to you. The message was this: "Tell Dave to be careful with vehicles". I burst out laughing.
How could I not laugh? A man has spoken from beyond the grave and all he fucking has to say is basically "look after yourself". The stupid dead cunt. That's it? No "there really is a God" or "there is eternal happiness when you die"? He just popped into a different spiritual plane to say "be lucky". The rude get.
Joe clearly said that there would be people in the audience who have only come for a bit of a giggle but that's OK. But as he is a liar it turns out that he told a lie. It really isn't OK to laugh at him. That was when he got a bit cross, pointed at Chris George who was sitting beside me and said "Right. You laughed at that. Let's talk to you".
Brilliant! I got away with it. I laughed at something very funny but someone else got the blame. All I had to do now is sit back and quietly watch Chris get thwarted by the wrath of Joe Power.
Damn. I felt guilty. After asking Chris 17 times if it was him who had laughed I reluctantly confessed. Looking back. I'm glad I did.
"There's something wrong with one of your testicles", said Joe.
HE'S RIGHT! Joe was absolutely right. I have a weird circle on my right testicle. How could Joe know that? He has the gift. Anyone who has ever seen me naked is too embarrassed or mentally scarred to talk about it so it only makes sense that a ghost must have seen me in the bath and told Joe about my "different" ball.
"I don't want to see your testicles. I'm not gay".
AAAAHHHHH! Joe got me! He fucking got me. He said that there was something wrong with one of my testicles and he was right and I thought a ghost had seen me in the bath and told him about my "different" ball but actually he just said it as a joke. HA HA! Brilliant one, Joe. Man, is my face red. I thought you had contacted the dead to discuss my health but actually you were just pointing out to everyone that I'm a flithy fucking disgusting queer. HIGH-larious!
Joe quickly put his correct prediction to one side and threw out another one. "You've been in two relationships? Yeah?" I assumed he meant two long term relationships and he was right. I went out with someone for four years and now I'm married. That's two. Joe was right. Great, we're back. "You got binbagged by one of them, didn't you?" Such a charming phrase. And wrong. My first long term relationship was ended by me in a style that would make a great opera. Joe pointed out to me and everyone that I was lying. I wasn't. "The cards have told me". I pointed out to Joe that, although his cards are always right, this one time they are mistaken. "I was there", I told him. Again I was told I was wrong. It was starting to get embarrassing. "Are you in entertainment? A performer or comedian?" asked Joe. During August? In Edinburgh? What are the chances? He was right. Brilliant. Joe's back again again. "In two years time, there's going to be something to do with you and television". I looked really happy and said "Hooray! I'm going to make it!" It got a bit of a laugh and the mood lifted. Well, everyone's mood except Joe's. He thought I was taking the piss out of him when all I was doing was recognising it was all a bit embarrassing and trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't say you'd be any good" said Joe and I got embarrassed. He obviously things I'm out to get him when all I simply wanted to do was laugh at the stupid prick. I tried a bit of self-deprecating humour. "Maybe in two years I'll buy a TV?", I said. He hated that. Time for me to shut up. Then he asked if I or anyone that I know is planning a trip abroad soon? I mean as broad as that question is I just couldn't think of anyone I know planning any travelling except the Journey back to London at the end of the month. This lead him to ask this: "I'm thinking something abroad or in theatre or here". I couldn't really respond to that because I didn't know what it meant. It's just a collection of things. He then asked me to leave. I apologised and left embarrassed and shamed.
Being thrown out of Joe Power's show. What could be worse? Being thrown in to Tom Binns' show perhaps?
In a way, it's a shame because I missed Joe correctly telling Helen George about her life simply by using his supernatural powers to read the texts on her phone and then asking James Hingley, who I was sitting with, if he knew any comedians. But, I had to leave anyway because I was going to see Stewart Lee. It was a great show but I still wanted him to ask me to leave. I have a taste for it now.
Don't go to see Joe Power. The biggest crime is that it is tediously dull and he is a genuinely horrible, nasty human being. Don't worry. I got in free so none of my money went to the evil prick. Afterwards I was told that I was the only person he asked to leave during this run which made me proud and disappointed at the same time.
I have more to say about Joe but I'll save that for tomorrow. Bye for now.
On Twitter please use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Sunday, 22 August 2010
I'm Bringing Whimsy Back.
In the absence of nothing annoying me I have allowed my mind to wander.
The show is going well but I really miss Pointless Anger with Robin and, of course, I can still clearly see that absolutely everyone up here is a total arsehole. Especially one of them. So I’ve decided to sort out next year’s Edinburgh Fringe and I think I’ve come up with a really good idea for a one-off show. Margaret Cabourn-Smith, Dan Tetsell and Ben Walker have also become excited by the prospect and developed my idea. It’s going to be great. I really want someone of Phil McIntyre’s stature to be promoting it (if you know him, can you pass this blog on to him, yeah? Cheers) and I see it in a good 350 seater room such as Pleasance One. Anyway, the show is called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off and will start at 7pm until two seconds after 7pm. The safety announcement before the show will be 15 times longer than the show itself but it will be one of those shows that you’ll be bragging about if you were actually there. I’ve already done some previews (ask Alan from Karaoke Circus) and the merchandise stall will be amazing. Who wouldn’t want a Michael Legge Told Me To Fuck Off T-shirt? And don’t forget to buy the soundtrack. Why not have Michael Legge tell you to fuck off in your own home? But this might be all a bit too mainstream for you and that’s why my good friends have developed the idea further. I’m thinking of another gig, tiny venue, just for the cool people. You know, like you. It’s called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off – Late. God, it will be hip. Imagine me telling you to fuck off while one of The Pajama Men are at the back of the room. Awesome. Then there’s Michael Legge Tells Your Kids To Fuck Off. That's at 11am. Again a great merchandise opportunity. Wouldn’t you want your baby to be seen in a babygrow that says Uncle Michael Told Me To Fuck Off? I’m telling you. This HAS to happen. And nowhere else on Earth is stupid enough to let it happen but Edinburgh. It’s money in the bank.
I’ve written three blogs over the last three days and deleted them all because they’re either too nice or too pointless. I’ve been fighting other people’s battles in my head and it just makes me sound like a twat. So, I’ll be brief: Ever since Gary Delaney started dishing out those No Whimsy badges Edinburgh has turned evil. Comics are headbutting people and writing disgusting, sexist, moronic open letters to reviewers. Whatever happened to just calling someone a cunt? I understand why people might get upset with reviews (I spent the best part of an evening calling Steve Bennett a cock back in 2004) but why write a letter proving them right when you can point out the irony of being called a misogynist by someone who books a lot of misogynists? I really like her but it’s at least a debatable argument. I reckon she’d even respect you for it. It shows you’ve actually thought of something. But instead you wrote “anal shotgun suicide”. Oh, dear.
So, with all that horror in mind, let me bring nice back. Nice is nice, isn’t it? I like nice. Edinburgh is perhaps the most beautiful city in Britain and it’s architecture, culture and late night bars make it a joy to spend time in. There are also some entertainment based shows going on up here at the moment and I really must recommend some to you. Richard Herring’s Christ On A Bike at the Assembly Rooms is a brilliant hour of stand up even though he is a stupid cunt and the least talented out of all his double acts. I can’t imagine there is a better stand up show up here this year. It’s both very funny and very impressive. Oh, and thanks to the cunt who recorded me laughing at Richard and put it on the internet. Sorry that I laughed at a comedy show. That must have really put you off. Caroline Mabey’s Eat Your Friends at The Caves is just odd. I love it, it’s really, really funny but it is also just plain odd. You should see it. I hadn’t seen the Penny Dreadfuls until yesterday and they were predictably great and sold out their huge room. They’re funny men. Slick and scrappy at the same time. In fact, don’t go to see them. Fuck them. The bunch of cunts.
The show that I definitely insist you see is An Hour of Telly Live. I knew it would be good and they don’t disappoint at all. Margaret and Zoe are my favourite ever act. I laugh more at them than I do any other comedians. When I see them on stage my heart, if I actually have one, just fills up. There is war in this world. There is war, there is famine, there is Idiots of Ants. But as long as we have Margaret and Zoe we should be OK. It’s worth going to just for Margaret’s description of Zoe’s teeth alone but there’s also another 59 minutes and 58 seconds of brilliance in there too. They’re at The Banshee Labyrinth at 2.20.
Now, let’s get on with our lives and let’s be nice. OK? Yeah? Yeah.
On Twitter use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
The show is going well but I really miss Pointless Anger with Robin and, of course, I can still clearly see that absolutely everyone up here is a total arsehole. Especially one of them. So I’ve decided to sort out next year’s Edinburgh Fringe and I think I’ve come up with a really good idea for a one-off show. Margaret Cabourn-Smith, Dan Tetsell and Ben Walker have also become excited by the prospect and developed my idea. It’s going to be great. I really want someone of Phil McIntyre’s stature to be promoting it (if you know him, can you pass this blog on to him, yeah? Cheers) and I see it in a good 350 seater room such as Pleasance One. Anyway, the show is called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off and will start at 7pm until two seconds after 7pm. The safety announcement before the show will be 15 times longer than the show itself but it will be one of those shows that you’ll be bragging about if you were actually there. I’ve already done some previews (ask Alan from Karaoke Circus) and the merchandise stall will be amazing. Who wouldn’t want a Michael Legge Told Me To Fuck Off T-shirt? And don’t forget to buy the soundtrack. Why not have Michael Legge tell you to fuck off in your own home? But this might be all a bit too mainstream for you and that’s why my good friends have developed the idea further. I’m thinking of another gig, tiny venue, just for the cool people. You know, like you. It’s called Michael Legge Tells You To Fuck Off – Late. God, it will be hip. Imagine me telling you to fuck off while one of The Pajama Men are at the back of the room. Awesome. Then there’s Michael Legge Tells Your Kids To Fuck Off. That's at 11am. Again a great merchandise opportunity. Wouldn’t you want your baby to be seen in a babygrow that says Uncle Michael Told Me To Fuck Off? I’m telling you. This HAS to happen. And nowhere else on Earth is stupid enough to let it happen but Edinburgh. It’s money in the bank.
I’ve written three blogs over the last three days and deleted them all because they’re either too nice or too pointless. I’ve been fighting other people’s battles in my head and it just makes me sound like a twat. So, I’ll be brief: Ever since Gary Delaney started dishing out those No Whimsy badges Edinburgh has turned evil. Comics are headbutting people and writing disgusting, sexist, moronic open letters to reviewers. Whatever happened to just calling someone a cunt? I understand why people might get upset with reviews (I spent the best part of an evening calling Steve Bennett a cock back in 2004) but why write a letter proving them right when you can point out the irony of being called a misogynist by someone who books a lot of misogynists? I really like her but it’s at least a debatable argument. I reckon she’d even respect you for it. It shows you’ve actually thought of something. But instead you wrote “anal shotgun suicide”. Oh, dear.
So, with all that horror in mind, let me bring nice back. Nice is nice, isn’t it? I like nice. Edinburgh is perhaps the most beautiful city in Britain and it’s architecture, culture and late night bars make it a joy to spend time in. There are also some entertainment based shows going on up here at the moment and I really must recommend some to you. Richard Herring’s Christ On A Bike at the Assembly Rooms is a brilliant hour of stand up even though he is a stupid cunt and the least talented out of all his double acts. I can’t imagine there is a better stand up show up here this year. It’s both very funny and very impressive. Oh, and thanks to the cunt who recorded me laughing at Richard and put it on the internet. Sorry that I laughed at a comedy show. That must have really put you off. Caroline Mabey’s Eat Your Friends at The Caves is just odd. I love it, it’s really, really funny but it is also just plain odd. You should see it. I hadn’t seen the Penny Dreadfuls until yesterday and they were predictably great and sold out their huge room. They’re funny men. Slick and scrappy at the same time. In fact, don’t go to see them. Fuck them. The bunch of cunts.
The show that I definitely insist you see is An Hour of Telly Live. I knew it would be good and they don’t disappoint at all. Margaret and Zoe are my favourite ever act. I laugh more at them than I do any other comedians. When I see them on stage my heart, if I actually have one, just fills up. There is war in this world. There is war, there is famine, there is Idiots of Ants. But as long as we have Margaret and Zoe we should be OK. It’s worth going to just for Margaret’s description of Zoe’s teeth alone but there’s also another 59 minutes and 58 seconds of brilliance in there too. They’re at The Banshee Labyrinth at 2.20.
Now, let’s get on with our lives and let’s be nice. OK? Yeah? Yeah.
On Twitter use the #GuttedMusical hashtag
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Wednesday, 18 August 2010
Jammy Shit.
Are you Michael McIntyre? No, you aren’t, so you are NOT the fucking STAR of Michael McIntyre Comedy Roadshow. Do you know who is? Michael McIntyre. That’s all. No-one else. He is so much the star of Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow that he’s even managed to sneak his name into the title of the show somewhere, so they say. Why you haven’t stopped your agent from putting “Star of the Michael McIntyre Comedy Roadshow” on your poster and making you look like an egotistical, fame addicted tool is absolutely no-one’s guess. You aren’t Paul Merton or Ian Hislop either. You’re just you. Shame you don’t think that’s enough.
Right. That’s that bit done. Now, let’s talk about Chris Addison. I’m having a really nice Edinburgh. It’s stressless, relaxing, enjoyable. All the things that I don’t relate to. As a result, I have nothing to blog about. People around me are all lovely and the shows are going well. Nothing about that is interesting. I had a bit of trouble finding vegan food at the beginning of the festival but now I’m in a new flat practically next door to Henderson’s, Edinburgh’s oldest vegetarian/vegan restaurant. Everything is going my stupid fucking way. I even tried to pick a fight with some poor cunt called Alan by heckling him at Karaoke Circus but everyone is so fucking lovely there that they just tolerated me. Cunts. But Chris Addison. Chris fucking Addison gets it all handed to him on a plate. He’s a fucking bastard. I’ve always thought that about him and so have you. I saw him on Monday night, hours after he had torn ligaments and was hobbling on crutches. Did he cancel his gigs and then go home and bitch about it on Chortle like a real man? NO. The big flowery twat shrugged it all off, did the gig crutch-free and fucking smiled about it afterwards. He told me how it all happened while smiling and not making a big deal of it. The arrogance of the cock. And there I was, looking at his crutches, seeing him hobble and I seethed with jealousy. Those crutches should be mine, not his. I should be the one on pain killers and doctor’s orders. Imagine my blogs describing in detail of how I have to spend days in bed in pain and agony popping pills and constantly reading everyone else’s good reviews. I would tell yarns of my struggle to put pants on and go on and on and on about my solitude while all around me everyone is having a great festival and then make some hilarious joke about at least now I can’t physically make it to see Dark Side Of The Poon. But that cunt has ruined it. I’m never going to have torn ligaments now. I mean what are the chances of that happening to two young, talented and famous comedians? Instead I have to tell you a fucking stupid story about Alistair McGowan shitting on my shit.
Alistair McGowan has done a shit on my shit. I always had a feeling that one day mine and Alistair’s faeces would touch and I was right. I did done a poo at the Pleasance (no, not like everyone else. I mean in the toilet) and, when I had completed my poo and ticked my To Do List, I flushed. The toilet did nothing. I flushed again. Once more the toilet remained enigmatic and refused to get rid of my waste. I flushed several more times and still nothing. You know what? I kept my side of the bargain and flushed, the toilet blanked me so it’s the toilet’s problem. I don’t have time to spend all night in a cubicle flushing (I do) so I left. When I opened the door Alistair McGowan was there ready to go in. I can only assume he has shat on my shit. What a terrible impression, LOL! Now you know how we feel, Alistair!! LOL!
Fuck off. If I’d torn my ligaments instead of that prick I would never have written that.
If on Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Right. That’s that bit done. Now, let’s talk about Chris Addison. I’m having a really nice Edinburgh. It’s stressless, relaxing, enjoyable. All the things that I don’t relate to. As a result, I have nothing to blog about. People around me are all lovely and the shows are going well. Nothing about that is interesting. I had a bit of trouble finding vegan food at the beginning of the festival but now I’m in a new flat practically next door to Henderson’s, Edinburgh’s oldest vegetarian/vegan restaurant. Everything is going my stupid fucking way. I even tried to pick a fight with some poor cunt called Alan by heckling him at Karaoke Circus but everyone is so fucking lovely there that they just tolerated me. Cunts. But Chris Addison. Chris fucking Addison gets it all handed to him on a plate. He’s a fucking bastard. I’ve always thought that about him and so have you. I saw him on Monday night, hours after he had torn ligaments and was hobbling on crutches. Did he cancel his gigs and then go home and bitch about it on Chortle like a real man? NO. The big flowery twat shrugged it all off, did the gig crutch-free and fucking smiled about it afterwards. He told me how it all happened while smiling and not making a big deal of it. The arrogance of the cock. And there I was, looking at his crutches, seeing him hobble and I seethed with jealousy. Those crutches should be mine, not his. I should be the one on pain killers and doctor’s orders. Imagine my blogs describing in detail of how I have to spend days in bed in pain and agony popping pills and constantly reading everyone else’s good reviews. I would tell yarns of my struggle to put pants on and go on and on and on about my solitude while all around me everyone is having a great festival and then make some hilarious joke about at least now I can’t physically make it to see Dark Side Of The Poon. But that cunt has ruined it. I’m never going to have torn ligaments now. I mean what are the chances of that happening to two young, talented and famous comedians? Instead I have to tell you a fucking stupid story about Alistair McGowan shitting on my shit.
Alistair McGowan has done a shit on my shit. I always had a feeling that one day mine and Alistair’s faeces would touch and I was right. I did done a poo at the Pleasance (no, not like everyone else. I mean in the toilet) and, when I had completed my poo and ticked my To Do List, I flushed. The toilet did nothing. I flushed again. Once more the toilet remained enigmatic and refused to get rid of my waste. I flushed several more times and still nothing. You know what? I kept my side of the bargain and flushed, the toilet blanked me so it’s the toilet’s problem. I don’t have time to spend all night in a cubicle flushing (I do) so I left. When I opened the door Alistair McGowan was there ready to go in. I can only assume he has shat on my shit. What a terrible impression, LOL! Now you know how we feel, Alistair!! LOL!
Fuck off. If I’d torn my ligaments instead of that prick I would never have written that.
If on Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Swallow.
I'm eating, everyone. You can all relax because I have had food. David Bann's restaurant has gone from an Edinburgh treat to an Edinburgh essential for me this year. It's a great vegetarian restaurant and now that Suzie's Wholefood has gone it's pretty much my only choice for vegan food. Why didn't you fucking cunts go to Suzie's more often? You stupid, stupid cunts. I ended up having two lunches at David Bann's yesterday and I had a great meal at Mother of India too. Hopefully my poo will be returning to solid soon. What? I'm just saying.
All good with the shows and the whole trip is still stress-free. I'm so sorry. I'm not saying that nothing is getting on my nerves. There are some things getting on my nerves. It's just that for an hour a day screaming with Robin Ince it sort of all gets out of my system. Still only three Pointless Angers left and I should be back to normal. That'll be nice. Maybe I'll punch a mime or make an Avalon flyerer cry. I haven't made anyone cry this year so far. Shame.
The things that are getting on my nerves are:
The Assembly Rooms bar. I'm there nearly every night and I don't know why. It's a fucking bollock of a place. They Play Lily Allen's first album on a loop and when I asked a member of staff if they could possibly change the CD after listening to it three fucking times I was told that it was impossible. Of course, it's impossible. It's Edinburgh. NO! The Assembly Rooms bar has two CD's one for day and one for night. Lily Allen is the night CD. That was the reason that they couldn't play the other CD. Because it was dark outside. Yeah. Why not?
The Assembly Rooms Bar again: God, there are some right cunts in that fucking bar. On Friday night a man in a bowler hat practised a dance routine with a white faced woman in fishnets. They thought a bar, in front of other people, was the best spot for them to rehearse. The fucking egotistical pricks. If we wanted to see a cunt and a cunt we would have bought a ticket but, like absolutely everyone else, we didn't. Then Alan Cumming started harmonising songs with his friends at the bar. IN PUBLIC. You are such a penis, Nightcrawler. I'm glad I didn't pay £25 when I could find out that he's an embarrassing bellend for free. The only good thing I overheard in that bar was when I saw three people trying to comfort a crying actress who kept saying "He's a bastard. The cue is supposed to be BARK but he just says WOOF on purpose. He knows it throws me". That made me happy.
Nearly all bars in Edinburgh: Why do barstaff now have earpieces, mics and walkie-talkies? Is that how they're financing their way through MI5 school? By getting a bar job?
Cups that have the covers of Penguin books on them: Just fuck off.
Only three more Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire with Robin Ince left. Gutted: A Revenger's Musical is on until the end of the month. Last night's was fun. I pushed Margaret. I might do that again.
If on Twitter please use either the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
http://www.guttedthemusical.com
http://www.michaellegge.info
All good with the shows and the whole trip is still stress-free. I'm so sorry. I'm not saying that nothing is getting on my nerves. There are some things getting on my nerves. It's just that for an hour a day screaming with Robin Ince it sort of all gets out of my system. Still only three Pointless Angers left and I should be back to normal. That'll be nice. Maybe I'll punch a mime or make an Avalon flyerer cry. I haven't made anyone cry this year so far. Shame.
The things that are getting on my nerves are:
The Assembly Rooms bar. I'm there nearly every night and I don't know why. It's a fucking bollock of a place. They Play Lily Allen's first album on a loop and when I asked a member of staff if they could possibly change the CD after listening to it three fucking times I was told that it was impossible. Of course, it's impossible. It's Edinburgh. NO! The Assembly Rooms bar has two CD's one for day and one for night. Lily Allen is the night CD. That was the reason that they couldn't play the other CD. Because it was dark outside. Yeah. Why not?
The Assembly Rooms Bar again: God, there are some right cunts in that fucking bar. On Friday night a man in a bowler hat practised a dance routine with a white faced woman in fishnets. They thought a bar, in front of other people, was the best spot for them to rehearse. The fucking egotistical pricks. If we wanted to see a cunt and a cunt we would have bought a ticket but, like absolutely everyone else, we didn't. Then Alan Cumming started harmonising songs with his friends at the bar. IN PUBLIC. You are such a penis, Nightcrawler. I'm glad I didn't pay £25 when I could find out that he's an embarrassing bellend for free. The only good thing I overheard in that bar was when I saw three people trying to comfort a crying actress who kept saying "He's a bastard. The cue is supposed to be BARK but he just says WOOF on purpose. He knows it throws me". That made me happy.
Nearly all bars in Edinburgh: Why do barstaff now have earpieces, mics and walkie-talkies? Is that how they're financing their way through MI5 school? By getting a bar job?
Cups that have the covers of Penguin books on them: Just fuck off.
Only three more Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire with Robin Ince left. Gutted: A Revenger's Musical is on until the end of the month. Last night's was fun. I pushed Margaret. I might do that again.
If on Twitter please use either the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
http://www.guttedthemusical.com
http://www.michaellegge.info
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Worst In Audience.
It's taken me a week to upset a fellow performer. Well, it's taken me a week to upset a fellow performer and realise it. I might have done it loads of times but was too busy talking about how great I am to have noticed. Normally it takes me a few minutes to annoy the fuck out of people but I'm having a nice time so it's taken me a week. At least she's famous, though, eh?
I went to see Jennifer Coolidge, the American actress who starred in Best In Show, do her first one woman show in the UK. That is the last time that I'm falling for that shit. Every time a famous visiting American is screaming FIRST TIME IN THE UK, I'm ignoring it. If they're any good, they'll be back. But they're rarely good, are they, Silverman? So I sat through an hour of bum nothing from someone who really should have much more interesting things to say. She starts by telling us that she has some stories about her career that she'd like to share with us and immediately doesn't do that. FOR A FUCKING HOUR. "You remember me from Brokeback Mountain?" No. "I was the bartender who called those guys cock lovers". Christ, alfuckingmighty. FOR AN HOUR. The thing is, despite her not being in any way funny at all at any point and being a lot to process visually, she's still a bit likeable. Not likeable like a friend, likeable like a coma patient who has just woke up and doesn't remember how to talk, walk or think but finds other people smiling at her comforting. Everyone in the room was smiling at her. Well, when they weren't whooping every time she mentioned one of the films she really had been in. "I was in a little movie called American Pie". WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Fucking hell. Personally, I'd keep that sort of confession to psychiatrists only. I didn't smile or whoop ever but, as she was a tiny bit likeable, I didn't feel like scowling or grumping either. Finally, she wrapped the show up by saying "Thank you. You've all be great," then finished by getting angry and pointing to me. "Especially you", she said. Oh, dear.
Muki was sitting at the other side of the room from me, as was Steve Bennett. Muki said that she thought Coolidge had pointed to the man next to me because he was really laughing hard. That didn't make sense because she said "Especially you" in a fury. Maybe she hates laughter and I was actually her favourite person in the room? Doubtful. Muki tried to comfort me by saying "Well, I don't think she meant you". Hmmm...maybe Coolodge is a big Angela's Ashes fan? I asked Steve what he thought but he said he didn't see her do it. He'll still review it though, obviously.
So I can't really recommend that show but I've just seen Colin Hoult's Enemy of the World today and it is superb. You'd be an idiot to miss that show. So inventive all the way through. I can't wait for someone from telly to take it away and ruin it. Really very funny and with one utterly tragic moment that just made me feel sad and hate people. Again. It's important that you see it because it's the sort of sketch comedy that will make you stop hating sketch comedy or start hating all the other sketch comedies. If you have a ticket for Idiots of Ants but not this you have made an error.
Interesting side effect of being vegan: don't eat much, shit all the time. weird.
On Twitter please use either the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
I went to see Jennifer Coolidge, the American actress who starred in Best In Show, do her first one woman show in the UK. That is the last time that I'm falling for that shit. Every time a famous visiting American is screaming FIRST TIME IN THE UK, I'm ignoring it. If they're any good, they'll be back. But they're rarely good, are they, Silverman? So I sat through an hour of bum nothing from someone who really should have much more interesting things to say. She starts by telling us that she has some stories about her career that she'd like to share with us and immediately doesn't do that. FOR A FUCKING HOUR. "You remember me from Brokeback Mountain?" No. "I was the bartender who called those guys cock lovers". Christ, alfuckingmighty. FOR AN HOUR. The thing is, despite her not being in any way funny at all at any point and being a lot to process visually, she's still a bit likeable. Not likeable like a friend, likeable like a coma patient who has just woke up and doesn't remember how to talk, walk or think but finds other people smiling at her comforting. Everyone in the room was smiling at her. Well, when they weren't whooping every time she mentioned one of the films she really had been in. "I was in a little movie called American Pie". WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Fucking hell. Personally, I'd keep that sort of confession to psychiatrists only. I didn't smile or whoop ever but, as she was a tiny bit likeable, I didn't feel like scowling or grumping either. Finally, she wrapped the show up by saying "Thank you. You've all be great," then finished by getting angry and pointing to me. "Especially you", she said. Oh, dear.
Muki was sitting at the other side of the room from me, as was Steve Bennett. Muki said that she thought Coolidge had pointed to the man next to me because he was really laughing hard. That didn't make sense because she said "Especially you" in a fury. Maybe she hates laughter and I was actually her favourite person in the room? Doubtful. Muki tried to comfort me by saying "Well, I don't think she meant you". Hmmm...maybe Coolodge is a big Angela's Ashes fan? I asked Steve what he thought but he said he didn't see her do it. He'll still review it though, obviously.
So I can't really recommend that show but I've just seen Colin Hoult's Enemy of the World today and it is superb. You'd be an idiot to miss that show. So inventive all the way through. I can't wait for someone from telly to take it away and ruin it. Really very funny and with one utterly tragic moment that just made me feel sad and hate people. Again. It's important that you see it because it's the sort of sketch comedy that will make you stop hating sketch comedy or start hating all the other sketch comedies. If you have a ticket for Idiots of Ants but not this you have made an error.
Interesting side effect of being vegan: don't eat much, shit all the time. weird.
On Twitter please use either the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Friday, 13 August 2010
The Unknown Comic.
And then the guilt set in.
You see, although it was really funny signing all those things for Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes fans, I think I crossed a line. Don't get me wrong, if people are so stupid as to not recognise the very person they insist they are really big fans of then maybe they deserve what they get. Maybe. Er...they don't do they? They just made a mistake. When Tony took his shooting script of Angela's Ashes out of it's protective wallet I should have stopped him. I should have just made up an excuse for not signing it. The script had autograph's from Robert Carlisle and Frank McCourt. And, now, me. That shooting script went from interesting movie memorabilia to worthless bit of crap in one second flat. Oh, Tony. I'm so sorry. Please feel free to punch me (really gently) in the face. Crap. I have to work really hard on my career now to make that script valuable again. Stupid Legge.
The Angela's Ashes thingy has made me reflect on something: am I in Edinburgh and do I exist? I can't answer that question with any degree of honesty. When I first arrived someone told me that I was seen at the Assembly Rooms party the night before on cocaine and shouting at women when in actual fact I was in London. I think. Then on Twitter yesterday someone said they saw me do a "blinding" set in Camden the night before when in actual fact I was in Edinburgh. I think. After Wednesday's Gutted, our director Chris huddled the cast together to plan a surprise chorus of Happy Birthday for me even though he was standing next to me with his hand on my shoulder at the time. I think. Then the Angela's Ashes thing happened and it's started to worry me that no-one actually knows who I am. I bet I'm the only person in Edinburgh that feels like that.
The incredible nature of NO in Edinburgh has not lessened one little bit this year. No matter what you want, doesn't matter where or when, in Edinburgh the answer is almost certainly NO. I've blogged about it a few times before but here we go again. Today I went to SEVEN different places and was told NO, all in the space of a couple of hours. Various cafe's nearby brag about vegan breakfasts but EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE said "Sorry. we've got no vegan breakfasts today". CUNTS! And wipe that fucking smug look off your fucking face when you say that to me. I wanted the vegan breakfast. Why are you so fucking happy that you're telling me I can't have one? CUNTS!! I went to a coffee shop, A FUCKING COFFEE SHOP, and asked for a coffee. NO! What the hell is wrong with this place? Then I witnessed a Classic NO. A woman in a cafe obviously didn't want to give her child unhealthy food despite him whining "I want a burger. I want a burger" so she clearly lied to him. "They don't do burgers", she said. Then the dick behind the counter said "We do, actually". The woman rolled her eyes and ordered a burger for her son. Two minutes later the dick came back and said "Sorry, we've run out of burgers". Brilliant. The boy goes hungry and thinks his mum's a liar. Well done, Edinburgh.
Hey, I've done something INSANE! I went to see two shows. I know. I'm such a twat but I did it and I regret nothing. Both excellent shows. I may not see another one because that's a pretty good strike rate. Gary Delaney's Purist show at the Pleasance is so much fun. Evil fun too. I'm sure you're going to see it anyway as Gary seems to be selling out every day. You'd be very wise to. Fans of Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes will love it as he gets a name check. I think. A show that I must force you to see is Tara Flynn's Big Noise simply because it's, you know, brilliant and that. Really funny just plain weird songs. Dark and twisted? Macabre and bizarre? Maybe but mainly just weird and funny. "The Fog From The Film The Fog" is just one of the funniest things you're likely to see up here. You might think that, as I'm a friend of Tara's, that I'm biased but you'd be wrong. I bought a ticket specifically to watch her die on her arse for an hour but, unlike M Night Shyamalan films, the twist was right at the beginning. She was just excellent. Obviously, in a way, I'm disappointed but I can't take anything away from her. She has written a great show that I will definitely see again. I'm actually, and I never say this, proud of her. I will never tell her this to her face. She will get notions. And it was excellent to see very happy and giddy young students singing her songs afterwards. She's done well. The room was pretty much full when I saw it so I'd book early. She's on at the Gilded Balloon at 8.15.
Calm down, fuckers. I'm sure I'll see a bad show soon and bitch about it. I'm looking forward to it, to be honest.
On Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hastags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
You see, although it was really funny signing all those things for Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes fans, I think I crossed a line. Don't get me wrong, if people are so stupid as to not recognise the very person they insist they are really big fans of then maybe they deserve what they get. Maybe. Er...they don't do they? They just made a mistake. When Tony took his shooting script of Angela's Ashes out of it's protective wallet I should have stopped him. I should have just made up an excuse for not signing it. The script had autograph's from Robert Carlisle and Frank McCourt. And, now, me. That shooting script went from interesting movie memorabilia to worthless bit of crap in one second flat. Oh, Tony. I'm so sorry. Please feel free to punch me (really gently) in the face. Crap. I have to work really hard on my career now to make that script valuable again. Stupid Legge.
The Angela's Ashes thingy has made me reflect on something: am I in Edinburgh and do I exist? I can't answer that question with any degree of honesty. When I first arrived someone told me that I was seen at the Assembly Rooms party the night before on cocaine and shouting at women when in actual fact I was in London. I think. Then on Twitter yesterday someone said they saw me do a "blinding" set in Camden the night before when in actual fact I was in Edinburgh. I think. After Wednesday's Gutted, our director Chris huddled the cast together to plan a surprise chorus of Happy Birthday for me even though he was standing next to me with his hand on my shoulder at the time. I think. Then the Angela's Ashes thing happened and it's started to worry me that no-one actually knows who I am. I bet I'm the only person in Edinburgh that feels like that.
The incredible nature of NO in Edinburgh has not lessened one little bit this year. No matter what you want, doesn't matter where or when, in Edinburgh the answer is almost certainly NO. I've blogged about it a few times before but here we go again. Today I went to SEVEN different places and was told NO, all in the space of a couple of hours. Various cafe's nearby brag about vegan breakfasts but EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE said "Sorry. we've got no vegan breakfasts today". CUNTS! And wipe that fucking smug look off your fucking face when you say that to me. I wanted the vegan breakfast. Why are you so fucking happy that you're telling me I can't have one? CUNTS!! I went to a coffee shop, A FUCKING COFFEE SHOP, and asked for a coffee. NO! What the hell is wrong with this place? Then I witnessed a Classic NO. A woman in a cafe obviously didn't want to give her child unhealthy food despite him whining "I want a burger. I want a burger" so she clearly lied to him. "They don't do burgers", she said. Then the dick behind the counter said "We do, actually". The woman rolled her eyes and ordered a burger for her son. Two minutes later the dick came back and said "Sorry, we've run out of burgers". Brilliant. The boy goes hungry and thinks his mum's a liar. Well done, Edinburgh.
Hey, I've done something INSANE! I went to see two shows. I know. I'm such a twat but I did it and I regret nothing. Both excellent shows. I may not see another one because that's a pretty good strike rate. Gary Delaney's Purist show at the Pleasance is so much fun. Evil fun too. I'm sure you're going to see it anyway as Gary seems to be selling out every day. You'd be very wise to. Fans of Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes will love it as he gets a name check. I think. A show that I must force you to see is Tara Flynn's Big Noise simply because it's, you know, brilliant and that. Really funny just plain weird songs. Dark and twisted? Macabre and bizarre? Maybe but mainly just weird and funny. "The Fog From The Film The Fog" is just one of the funniest things you're likely to see up here. You might think that, as I'm a friend of Tara's, that I'm biased but you'd be wrong. I bought a ticket specifically to watch her die on her arse for an hour but, unlike M Night Shyamalan films, the twist was right at the beginning. She was just excellent. Obviously, in a way, I'm disappointed but I can't take anything away from her. She has written a great show that I will definitely see again. I'm actually, and I never say this, proud of her. I will never tell her this to her face. She will get notions. And it was excellent to see very happy and giddy young students singing her songs afterwards. She's done well. The room was pretty much full when I saw it so I'd book early. She's on at the Gilded Balloon at 8.15.
Calm down, fuckers. I'm sure I'll see a bad show soon and bitch about it. I'm looking forward to it, to be honest.
On Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hastags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
The Unknown Comic.
And then the guilt set in.
You see, although it was really funny signing all those things for Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes fans, I think I crossed a line. Don't get me wrong, if people are so stupid as to not recognise the very person they insist they are really big fans of then maybe they deserve what they get. Maybe. Er...they don't do they? They just made a mistake. When Tony took his shooting script of Angela's Ashes out of it's protective wallet I should have stopped him. I should have just made up an excuse for not signing it. The script had autograph's from Robert Carlisle and Frank McCourt. And, now, me. That shooting script went from interesting movie memorabilia to worthless bit of crap in one second flat. Oh, Tony. I'm so sorry. Please feel free to punch me (really gently) in the face. Crap. I have to work really hard on my career now to make that script valuable again. Stupid Legge.
The Angela's Ashes thingy has made me reflect on something: am I in Edinburgh and do I exist? I can't answer that question with any degree of honesty. When I first arrived someone told me that I was seen at the Assembly Rooms party the night before on cocaine and shouting at women when in actual fact I was in London. I think. Then on Twitter yesterday someone said they saw me do a "blinding" set in Camden the night before when in actual fact I was in Edinburgh. I think. After Wednesday's Gutted, our director Chris huddled the cast together to plan a surprise chorus of Happy Birthday for me even though he was standing next to me with his hand on my shoulder at the time. I think. Then the Angela's Ashes thing happened and it's started to worry me that no-one actually knows who I am. I bet I'm the only person in Edinburgh that feels like that.
The incredible nature of NO in Edinburgh has not lessened one little bit this year. No matter what you want, doesn't matter where or when, in Edinburgh the answer is almost certainly NO. I've blogged about it a few times before but here we go again. Today I went to SEVEN different places and was told NO, all in the space of a couple of hours. Various cafe's nearby brag about vegan breakfasts but EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE said "Sorry. we've got no vegan breakfasts today". CUNTS! And wipe that fucking smug look off your fucking face when you say that to me. I wanted the vegan breakfast. Why are you so fucking happy that you're telling me I can't have one? CUNTS!! I went to a coffee shop, A FUCKING COFFEE SHOP, and asked for a coffee. NO! What the hell is wrong with this place? Then I witnessed a Classic NO. A woman in a cafe obviously didn't want to give her child unhealthy food despite him whining "I want a burger. I want a burger" so she clearly lied to him. "They don't do burgers", she said. Then the dick behind the counter said "We do, actually". The woman rolled her eyes and ordered a burger for her son. Two minutes later the dick came back and said "Sorry, we've run out of burgers". Brilliant. The boy goes hungry and thinks his mum's a liar. Well done, Edinburgh.
Hey, I've done something INSANE! I went to see two shows. I know. I'm such a twat but I did it and I regret nothing. Both excellent shows. I may not see another one because that's a pretty good strike rate. Gary Delaney's Purist show at the Pleasance is so much fun. Evil fun too. I'm sure you're going to see it anyway as Gary seems to be selling out every day. You'd be very wise to. Fans of Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes will love it as he gets a name check. I think. A show that I must force you to see is Tara Flynn's Big Noise simply because it's, you know, brilliant and that. Really funny just plain weird songs. Dark and twisted? Macabre and bizarre? Maybe but mainly just weird and funny. "The Fog From The Film The Fog" is just one of the funniest things you're likely to see up here. You might think that, as I'm a friend of Tara's, that I'm biased but you'd be wrong. I bought a ticket specifically to watch her die on her arse for an hour but, unlike M Night Shyamalan films, the twist was right at the beginning. She was just excellent. Obviously, in a way, I'm disappointed but I can't take anything away from her. She has written a great show that I will definitely see again. I'm actually, and I never say this, proud of her. I will never tell her this to her face. She will get notions. And it was excellent to see very happy and giddy young students singing her songs afterwards. She's done well. The room was pretty much full when I saw it so I'd book early. She's on at the Gilded Balloon at 8.15.
Calm down, fuckers. I'm sure I'll see a bad show soon and bitch about it. I'm looking forward to it, to be honest.
On Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hastags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
You see, although it was really funny signing all those things for Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes fans, I think I crossed a line. Don't get me wrong, if people are so stupid as to not recognise the very person they insist they are really big fans of then maybe they deserve what they get. Maybe. Er...they don't do they? They just made a mistake. When Tony took his shooting script of Angela's Ashes out of it's protective wallet I should have stopped him. I should have just made up an excuse for not signing it. The script had autograph's from Robert Carlisle and Frank McCourt. And, now, me. That shooting script went from interesting movie memorabilia to worthless bit of crap in one second flat. Oh, Tony. I'm so sorry. Please feel free to punch me (really gently) in the face. Crap. I have to work really hard on my career now to make that script valuable again. Stupid Legge.
The Angela's Ashes thingy has made me reflect on something: am I in Edinburgh and do I exist? I can't answer that question with any degree of honesty. When I first arrived someone told me that I was seen at the Assembly Rooms party the night before on cocaine and shouting at women when in actual fact I was in London. I think. Then on Twitter yesterday someone said they saw me do a "blinding" set in Camden the night before when in actual fact I was in Edinburgh. I think. After Wednesday's Gutted, our director Chris huddled the cast together to plan a surprise chorus of Happy Birthday for me even though he was standing next to me with his hand on my shoulder at the time. I think. Then the Angela's Ashes thing happened and it's started to worry me that no-one actually knows who I am. I bet I'm the only person in Edinburgh that feels like that.
The incredible nature of NO in Edinburgh has not lessened one little bit this year. No matter what you want, doesn't matter where or when, in Edinburgh the answer is almost certainly NO. I've blogged about it a few times before but here we go again. Today I went to SEVEN different places and was told NO, all in the space of a couple of hours. Various cafe's nearby brag about vegan breakfasts but EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE said "Sorry. we've got no vegan breakfasts today". CUNTS! And wipe that fucking smug look off your fucking face when you say that to me. I wanted the vegan breakfast. Why are you so fucking happy that you're telling me I can't have one? CUNTS!! I went to a coffee shop, A FUCKING COFFEE SHOP, and asked for a coffee. NO! What the hell is wrong with this place? Then I witnessed a Classic NO. A woman in a cafe obviously didn't want to give her child unhealthy food despite him whining "I want a burger. I want a burger" so she clearly lied to him. "They don't do burgers", she said. Then the dick behind the counter said "We do, actually". The woman rolled her eyes and ordered a burger for her son. Two minutes later the dick came back and said "Sorry, we've run out of burgers". Brilliant. The boy goes hungry and thinks his mum's a liar. Well done, Edinburgh.
Hey, I've done something INSANE! I went to see two shows. I know. I'm such a twat but I did it and I regret nothing. Both excellent shows. I may not see another one because that's a pretty good strike rate. Gary Delaney's Purist show at the Pleasance is so much fun. Evil fun too. I'm sure you're going to see it anyway as Gary seems to be selling out every day. You'd be very wise to. Fans of Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes will love it as he gets a name check. I think. A show that I must force you to see is Tara Flynn's Big Noise simply because it's, you know, brilliant and that. Really funny just plain weird songs. Dark and twisted? Macabre and bizarre? Maybe but mainly just weird and funny. "The Fog From The Film The Fog" is just one of the funniest things you're likely to see up here. You might think that, as I'm a friend of Tara's, that I'm biased but you'd be wrong. I bought a ticket specifically to watch her die on her arse for an hour but, unlike M Night Shyamalan films, the twist was right at the beginning. She was just excellent. Obviously, in a way, I'm disappointed but I can't take anything away from her. She has written a great show that I will definitely see again. I'm actually, and I never say this, proud of her. I will never tell her this to her face. She will get notions. And it was excellent to see very happy and giddy young students singing her songs afterwards. She's done well. The room was pretty much full when I saw it so I'd book early. She's on at the Gilded Balloon at 8.15.
Calm down, fuckers. I'm sure I'll see a bad show soon and bitch about it. I'm looking forward to it, to be honest.
On Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hastags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Rising From The Ashes.
I have done nothing.
Not the best start to a blog but it is a cold, hard fact. I am at the world’s biggest arts festival in a beautiful city full of excitement and I have done nothing. I wake up at noon, shuffle around to find a vegan breakfast (a cup of hot water that someone stirred with their finger), do the Angry show then at 3pm I swear blind that I won’t have any booze, normally while drinking beer, until after Gutted. Gutted (which is just getting better and better) comes and goes and then I fight like a gladiator to destroy my brain with alcohol while listening to actors sing Happy Birthday (along with embarrassing harmonies) at a member of their troupe of young, beautiful, permanently-fucking starlets in a late night performers bar. At about 5am my brain admits defeat and my carcass stomps to bed. This is not how a festival of arts is supposed to be.
I should be seeing shows, eating in interesting cafes and reading in courtyards. I will see a show today. I will. I really, really will. I nearly saw a show yesterday but it sold out. Which was a great relief. I mean, shows are an hour long. AN HOUR! In a box, oozing sweat and being dripped on by condensation with a comedian doing way better than I am showing off. I get enough of that in Pointless Anger. I don’t think I’m exaggerating at all when I say that I would rather be shot dead in the face and have my head shoved up my arse and my corpse posted to a German cannibal who would then eat me and all that would be left of me at all would be his excrement washing it’s way down a sewer than watch a quality hour of comedy. Maybe I’m in the wrong place.
I have got shows that I do want to see and I will get round to them soon. Just not yet. It’s too early. Plus all publicity for every single show puts me right off it. Whether it’s some cunt with more stilts than dignity flyering me to see a one-man play about global overpopulation or a comedian bragging that someone with pointless fame and no credentials likes them (“Great stuff” – Peter Shilton), it just makes me cringe.
Look, the main thing is this: I have nothing to complain about. Shows are going well and I’m having fun. It’s been very nice hanging out with The Gentleman’s Review over the past couple of days, I’ve found a little (mostly) vegan shop near my flat and it’s the most pressure-free Edinburgh I’ve ever had. I died doing a stand-up gig on Sunday night here and even that was quite nice. I just stopped doing my routine that the audience sat silently throughout and then said “Do you mind if I go?” The audience were totally cool and said “Yeah. No problem”.
And that’s why I haven’t blogged even though I said I would. It’s just too dull. Every day is quite pleasant and no-one wants to hear that. But nothing that brilliant is happening either. Until today. Just half an hour ago.
I can’t think of a more wrong thing that has ever happened to me. At today’s Pointless Anger, where I went red in the face screaming about Clare fucking Balding (you’ll have to see the show to find out why I hate her), there were three men in their 50’s who had all come to see me. They are big Michael Legge fans and have been for a long time. They came with autograph books, postcards for me to sign, scripts for me to sign, theatre programmes for me to sign and photographs for me to sign. Photographs of Michael Legge. The actor in Angela’s Ashes.
And I signed them all, reminiscing about when the photos were taken and confirming that Michael Gambon is really nice, with a completely straight face. I think my favourite thing that I was asked to sign was a photo of “me” and James Corden. Now, that’s good irony.
We had pictures taken together and talked about my films. All of which they loved. They love my films and my acting, they just have no clue what I look like. Even when I’m standing next to a photo of “me” they just don’t seem to see the difference. You would have thought one of them might have noticed that I’m 15 years older and incredibly less handsome than Michael Legge but they didn’t. Perhaps that’s the mark of a good actor. I played the part of Michael Legge from Angela’s Ashes so convincingly that even his biggest fans were convinced I was him. I bet even Michael Legge from Angela’s Ashes couldn’t do that.
Of course, the thing is, I enjoyed being Michael Legge from Angela’s Ashes for those few minutes. He has fans that love him no matter how much he’s rapidly aged and he has a career to be envied. Well, he did have.
“Michael, what work have you got lined up for after the festival?”, asked Tony, a huge Michael Legge fan.
“Doing Highlight in Watford” said Michael Legge.
If on Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Not the best start to a blog but it is a cold, hard fact. I am at the world’s biggest arts festival in a beautiful city full of excitement and I have done nothing. I wake up at noon, shuffle around to find a vegan breakfast (a cup of hot water that someone stirred with their finger), do the Angry show then at 3pm I swear blind that I won’t have any booze, normally while drinking beer, until after Gutted. Gutted (which is just getting better and better) comes and goes and then I fight like a gladiator to destroy my brain with alcohol while listening to actors sing Happy Birthday (along with embarrassing harmonies) at a member of their troupe of young, beautiful, permanently-fucking starlets in a late night performers bar. At about 5am my brain admits defeat and my carcass stomps to bed. This is not how a festival of arts is supposed to be.
I should be seeing shows, eating in interesting cafes and reading in courtyards. I will see a show today. I will. I really, really will. I nearly saw a show yesterday but it sold out. Which was a great relief. I mean, shows are an hour long. AN HOUR! In a box, oozing sweat and being dripped on by condensation with a comedian doing way better than I am showing off. I get enough of that in Pointless Anger. I don’t think I’m exaggerating at all when I say that I would rather be shot dead in the face and have my head shoved up my arse and my corpse posted to a German cannibal who would then eat me and all that would be left of me at all would be his excrement washing it’s way down a sewer than watch a quality hour of comedy. Maybe I’m in the wrong place.
I have got shows that I do want to see and I will get round to them soon. Just not yet. It’s too early. Plus all publicity for every single show puts me right off it. Whether it’s some cunt with more stilts than dignity flyering me to see a one-man play about global overpopulation or a comedian bragging that someone with pointless fame and no credentials likes them (“Great stuff” – Peter Shilton), it just makes me cringe.
Look, the main thing is this: I have nothing to complain about. Shows are going well and I’m having fun. It’s been very nice hanging out with The Gentleman’s Review over the past couple of days, I’ve found a little (mostly) vegan shop near my flat and it’s the most pressure-free Edinburgh I’ve ever had. I died doing a stand-up gig on Sunday night here and even that was quite nice. I just stopped doing my routine that the audience sat silently throughout and then said “Do you mind if I go?” The audience were totally cool and said “Yeah. No problem”.
And that’s why I haven’t blogged even though I said I would. It’s just too dull. Every day is quite pleasant and no-one wants to hear that. But nothing that brilliant is happening either. Until today. Just half an hour ago.
I can’t think of a more wrong thing that has ever happened to me. At today’s Pointless Anger, where I went red in the face screaming about Clare fucking Balding (you’ll have to see the show to find out why I hate her), there were three men in their 50’s who had all come to see me. They are big Michael Legge fans and have been for a long time. They came with autograph books, postcards for me to sign, scripts for me to sign, theatre programmes for me to sign and photographs for me to sign. Photographs of Michael Legge. The actor in Angela’s Ashes.
And I signed them all, reminiscing about when the photos were taken and confirming that Michael Gambon is really nice, with a completely straight face. I think my favourite thing that I was asked to sign was a photo of “me” and James Corden. Now, that’s good irony.
We had pictures taken together and talked about my films. All of which they loved. They love my films and my acting, they just have no clue what I look like. Even when I’m standing next to a photo of “me” they just don’t seem to see the difference. You would have thought one of them might have noticed that I’m 15 years older and incredibly less handsome than Michael Legge but they didn’t. Perhaps that’s the mark of a good actor. I played the part of Michael Legge from Angela’s Ashes so convincingly that even his biggest fans were convinced I was him. I bet even Michael Legge from Angela’s Ashes couldn’t do that.
Of course, the thing is, I enjoyed being Michael Legge from Angela’s Ashes for those few minutes. He has fans that love him no matter how much he’s rapidly aged and he has a career to be envied. Well, he did have.
“Michael, what work have you got lined up for after the festival?”, asked Tony, a huge Michael Legge fan.
“Doing Highlight in Watford” said Michael Legge.
If on Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical hashtags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Monday, 9 August 2010
Now I Know My Abie Seethe.
I am knackered. That's the main story of Edinburgh at the moment. I'm averaging 4 hours sleep and still haven't properly eaten. Vitamin tablets aren't really food but I am getting plenty of them. That's good, isn't it? The fact that I feel like I'm permanently anaesthetised, can't focus on any form of conversation and want to punch everything better is probably something I should be concerned with. I would puke but as I've eaten so little food I'm too embarrassed to.
But besides me trying to kill myself, Edinburgh has been fun so far. I've fucked up one of my vows by not seeing a single show so far. Meh. There's time. The vegan thing is still ongoing thanks largely to not eating but, fuck me, vegans are wankers. I haven't joined your cult, weirdos. And I'm not doing it to piss off vegetarians (who are now worse than meat eaters in the eyes of vegans). There IS ethical dairy farming in Britain. I know you hate the very thought that some dairy farmers actually care for the animals they work with because it gives you nothing to validate yourself with but it's still true. And your precious, precious soya milk is one of the least ethical things you can buy, you rain forest raping hypocrites. I am tired and grumpy.
The shows are going well, though. I think that's the main thing about doing the Fringe. The shows should at least be going well. I've done three Gutted's and two Pointless Angers so far and I've really enjoyed them. Even Saturday's really awful Gutted had it's charm. The props fucked up, the PA system fucked up, the sets fucked up, the actors fucked up. It was really good. I wish you had been there. Mind you, you'd have walked out if you had been. Everyone was a bit shaken after our shit show (we're allowed ONE) none more so than the increasingly adorable Penny Dreadfuls who collectively seemed to say "I fucking can't believe two people walked out of our show. I mean, that is so bad. When five people walk out, you really feel it. But when those 10 people walked out I felt sick. I've never had 50 people walk out before. Did you see those 172 people walk out?" Oh, pick a fucking number! So, that was it. We had our really bad one and it's good to have it done and out of the way. Last night's Gutted was great fun so all's well for the future. Pointless Anger is, of course, two old men shouting so NOTHING can possibly go wrong there.
I'm very glad to see that Edinburgh has remained full of shit. I often worry that it will turn into a nice place full of really nice performers but I shouldn't. I mean, the Fringe thrives on twats and lies. I arrived on Friday and just 20 minutes after dropping my bag off in the flat, I heard my first bullshit. Apparently, on Thursday night I went to the Assembly Rooms party and got coked off my face. I was completely mashed. I kept screaming at women and pointing at my genitals.
Weird. Could have sworn I was in London on Thursday night. Maybe Mick Talbot is up here?
But in my two days up here I have heard two Abie Philbin Bowman stories. That's one-a-day. I hope this keeps up. If you don't know Abie Philbin Bowman then you are incredibly lucky. I met him at last year's Fringe and I liked him as much as I like any cancerous tumour that won't shut up about itself. He's a solid gold, grade 'A' cunt and, although you have never heard of him and never ever will hear of him, you hate him. Read my Edinburgh blogs of last year to discover more about the fucking penis. Anyway, Abie met Lisa Keddie the other day. I'm a big fan of Lisa. She's lovely. I raved about how good she was last year but I also ACCIDENTALLY made her cry. I'm an idiot. That didn't mean that I didn't think she was great. I did and I do. She was and she is. But Abie's introduction to her was "Hi. We have something in common. Michael Legge hates me too".
Erm...
Then I heard a classic slice of Edinburgh twattery. There was a show at The Caves (if I have the venue wrong, I apologise) where acts could showcase a 5-10 minute chunk of their show. Pretty commonplace type of thing up here. Sadly, there was part of the show where none of the acts knew who was on next. The stage was left empty for a few seconds. A few seconds is a billion years to an empty stage but luckily one audience member had a great idea. He jumped on stage, did some hilarious material and the audience gave him a standing ovation.
Well, the guy in the audience was Abie and he leapt on to the stage even though he wasn't invited to. He stopped the next act from going on because he seized a chance to publicise his own worthless ego, did part of his show and died. Oh the ego's of Edinburgh. Will they ever learn? Abie won't.
Hey, guys. I'm sure that those Abie stories are only based on truth thus proving my theory that Edinburgh is based on lies and twats. At least with Abie stories you get both those things in the only place.
If using Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #guttedmusical hastags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
But besides me trying to kill myself, Edinburgh has been fun so far. I've fucked up one of my vows by not seeing a single show so far. Meh. There's time. The vegan thing is still ongoing thanks largely to not eating but, fuck me, vegans are wankers. I haven't joined your cult, weirdos. And I'm not doing it to piss off vegetarians (who are now worse than meat eaters in the eyes of vegans). There IS ethical dairy farming in Britain. I know you hate the very thought that some dairy farmers actually care for the animals they work with because it gives you nothing to validate yourself with but it's still true. And your precious, precious soya milk is one of the least ethical things you can buy, you rain forest raping hypocrites. I am tired and grumpy.
The shows are going well, though. I think that's the main thing about doing the Fringe. The shows should at least be going well. I've done three Gutted's and two Pointless Angers so far and I've really enjoyed them. Even Saturday's really awful Gutted had it's charm. The props fucked up, the PA system fucked up, the sets fucked up, the actors fucked up. It was really good. I wish you had been there. Mind you, you'd have walked out if you had been. Everyone was a bit shaken after our shit show (we're allowed ONE) none more so than the increasingly adorable Penny Dreadfuls who collectively seemed to say "I fucking can't believe two people walked out of our show. I mean, that is so bad. When five people walk out, you really feel it. But when those 10 people walked out I felt sick. I've never had 50 people walk out before. Did you see those 172 people walk out?" Oh, pick a fucking number! So, that was it. We had our really bad one and it's good to have it done and out of the way. Last night's Gutted was great fun so all's well for the future. Pointless Anger is, of course, two old men shouting so NOTHING can possibly go wrong there.
I'm very glad to see that Edinburgh has remained full of shit. I often worry that it will turn into a nice place full of really nice performers but I shouldn't. I mean, the Fringe thrives on twats and lies. I arrived on Friday and just 20 minutes after dropping my bag off in the flat, I heard my first bullshit. Apparently, on Thursday night I went to the Assembly Rooms party and got coked off my face. I was completely mashed. I kept screaming at women and pointing at my genitals.
Weird. Could have sworn I was in London on Thursday night. Maybe Mick Talbot is up here?
But in my two days up here I have heard two Abie Philbin Bowman stories. That's one-a-day. I hope this keeps up. If you don't know Abie Philbin Bowman then you are incredibly lucky. I met him at last year's Fringe and I liked him as much as I like any cancerous tumour that won't shut up about itself. He's a solid gold, grade 'A' cunt and, although you have never heard of him and never ever will hear of him, you hate him. Read my Edinburgh blogs of last year to discover more about the fucking penis. Anyway, Abie met Lisa Keddie the other day. I'm a big fan of Lisa. She's lovely. I raved about how good she was last year but I also ACCIDENTALLY made her cry. I'm an idiot. That didn't mean that I didn't think she was great. I did and I do. She was and she is. But Abie's introduction to her was "Hi. We have something in common. Michael Legge hates me too".
Erm...
Then I heard a classic slice of Edinburgh twattery. There was a show at The Caves (if I have the venue wrong, I apologise) where acts could showcase a 5-10 minute chunk of their show. Pretty commonplace type of thing up here. Sadly, there was part of the show where none of the acts knew who was on next. The stage was left empty for a few seconds. A few seconds is a billion years to an empty stage but luckily one audience member had a great idea. He jumped on stage, did some hilarious material and the audience gave him a standing ovation.
Well, the guy in the audience was Abie and he leapt on to the stage even though he wasn't invited to. He stopped the next act from going on because he seized a chance to publicise his own worthless ego, did part of his show and died. Oh the ego's of Edinburgh. Will they ever learn? Abie won't.
Hey, guys. I'm sure that those Abie stories are only based on truth thus proving my theory that Edinburgh is based on lies and twats. At least with Abie stories you get both those things in the only place.
If using Twitter please use the #pointlessanger or #guttedmusical hastags
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Saturday, 7 August 2010
May I Recommend a Fight?
Before I start telling you all the horrible stories of Edinburgh, why not start off with the horrible stories of the train journey up to Edinburgh. I made some friends, I made some enemies. Sadly, they were all the same people.
The train was rammed, there was no trolley service and the WiFi kept cutting out. All very normal. The man next to me showed off his incredible snoring skills while a nearby baby screamed itself sick. Four and a half hours of crappy train crappiness. I cheered my belly up with it's last non-vegan food (at least for a while) and my brain hid in Horror of Fang Rock. Then I got a call from Lizzie Roper, my supporting actor in my musical. We had a quick chat about the show and hung up. That's when the happy Americans said hello.
I really do like Americans. Friendly, chatty, warm people who smile a lot. Not all of them, obviously. I heard that Charles Manson could be a right wally. But these Americans were nice and wanted to chat. They had overheard me talking to Lizzie and wanted to know if I was in a show. "YES, MY DEARS. I'M THE GLITTERING STAR OF A MUSICAL PRODUCTION THAT WILL MAKE YOU SWOON, DANCE, SING, LAUGH AND FALL IN LOVE!!!", I whispered. For the next ten minutes the Americans and I were the best of friends talking about the Fringe and how excited they were to be going. They even bought four tickets to Gutted right there on their laptop right in front of me. What lovely people, I thought. "We're also going to see Emo Phillips". Charming. "And Jennifer Coolidge". Lovely. "And Idiots of Ants". You stupid cunts. But I couldn't hold it against them (I fucking could) because they had been so very, very nice. Nice Americans. Nice, cheery Americans.
Of course, this couldn't last. We finished our chat and I put my earphones in and listened to a podcast while doing a little reading. Not long passed when Daddy American started watching YouTube clips on his laptop. With no earphones. Letting the noise blare out for all to hear whether they wanted to or not.
Now what to do? I mean, these Americans are my friends. I can't just tell them to turn the laptop off. I can't just tell them that they're being rude. Oh, no. I'm wrong. I can do that and I did do that.
Well, reader, the atmosphere changed.
I was polite about it and could see that they felt awkward about it but it was still annoying to have that unnecessary noise on a train so I felt pretty justified. "You know, I did just buy four tickets to your show", said Daddy American but he wouldn't listen to my explanations of not wanting to hear a bunch of YouTube clips while trying to listen to Phil Wilding telling someone to fuck off. "You should have a bit more respect", he continued ironically. I decided to quit while I was behind and ignored him despite his repeated grumblings and repeated claims of looking forward to THAT show. All I'm saying is, book for Monday. I reckon four Americans will be booing every time I walk on. Mind you, I've always been prepared for that.
Gutted had it's first night last night. It went up 45 minutes late and it over ran by about 20 minutes. COOL! It was a great first go at it though and fun to have a new stage set with a moving stage. Be nice if they had told me it was a moving stage and not just let it scare the crap out of me when it happened. I was standing on it and nearly fell when it moved. What a fun first night that would have been if I'd knocked all my fucking teeth out. Luckily, I have an American coming on Monday night to do that for me. The shows been edited a bit now and a song has been dropped so that should help time-wise. Hopefully I remember my lines and cues from now on because I reckon that looked sticky last night.
So, Edinburgh has begun. Gutted and the first Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire both went really well so I feel Edinburgh has really begun. Well, it's sort of begun. I mean it doesn't really begin until you've been stuck with a wanker who keeps going on about their reviews or a man on stilts hands you a flyer for a play called Amanda's Last Winter Of The Vagina, a tale of loss and screaming starring The Aylesbury Youth Collective and directed by a baby. I haven't seen any dancers rehearsing in the street and no one has invited me to The Loft Bar so it's been pretty much cunt-free. Still, I've only been here 24hrs. It'll all happen soon. Speaking of 24hrs in Edinburgh, you'll probably want to know all about how my veganism is going. It's going great. No milk, no cheese, no animal products of any kind. Also, I haven't eaten anything. I am very hungry.
On Twitter please use the hashtags #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
The train was rammed, there was no trolley service and the WiFi kept cutting out. All very normal. The man next to me showed off his incredible snoring skills while a nearby baby screamed itself sick. Four and a half hours of crappy train crappiness. I cheered my belly up with it's last non-vegan food (at least for a while) and my brain hid in Horror of Fang Rock. Then I got a call from Lizzie Roper, my supporting actor in my musical. We had a quick chat about the show and hung up. That's when the happy Americans said hello.
I really do like Americans. Friendly, chatty, warm people who smile a lot. Not all of them, obviously. I heard that Charles Manson could be a right wally. But these Americans were nice and wanted to chat. They had overheard me talking to Lizzie and wanted to know if I was in a show. "YES, MY DEARS. I'M THE GLITTERING STAR OF A MUSICAL PRODUCTION THAT WILL MAKE YOU SWOON, DANCE, SING, LAUGH AND FALL IN LOVE!!!", I whispered. For the next ten minutes the Americans and I were the best of friends talking about the Fringe and how excited they were to be going. They even bought four tickets to Gutted right there on their laptop right in front of me. What lovely people, I thought. "We're also going to see Emo Phillips". Charming. "And Jennifer Coolidge". Lovely. "And Idiots of Ants". You stupid cunts. But I couldn't hold it against them (I fucking could) because they had been so very, very nice. Nice Americans. Nice, cheery Americans.
Of course, this couldn't last. We finished our chat and I put my earphones in and listened to a podcast while doing a little reading. Not long passed when Daddy American started watching YouTube clips on his laptop. With no earphones. Letting the noise blare out for all to hear whether they wanted to or not.
Now what to do? I mean, these Americans are my friends. I can't just tell them to turn the laptop off. I can't just tell them that they're being rude. Oh, no. I'm wrong. I can do that and I did do that.
Well, reader, the atmosphere changed.
I was polite about it and could see that they felt awkward about it but it was still annoying to have that unnecessary noise on a train so I felt pretty justified. "You know, I did just buy four tickets to your show", said Daddy American but he wouldn't listen to my explanations of not wanting to hear a bunch of YouTube clips while trying to listen to Phil Wilding telling someone to fuck off. "You should have a bit more respect", he continued ironically. I decided to quit while I was behind and ignored him despite his repeated grumblings and repeated claims of looking forward to THAT show. All I'm saying is, book for Monday. I reckon four Americans will be booing every time I walk on. Mind you, I've always been prepared for that.
Gutted had it's first night last night. It went up 45 minutes late and it over ran by about 20 minutes. COOL! It was a great first go at it though and fun to have a new stage set with a moving stage. Be nice if they had told me it was a moving stage and not just let it scare the crap out of me when it happened. I was standing on it and nearly fell when it moved. What a fun first night that would have been if I'd knocked all my fucking teeth out. Luckily, I have an American coming on Monday night to do that for me. The shows been edited a bit now and a song has been dropped so that should help time-wise. Hopefully I remember my lines and cues from now on because I reckon that looked sticky last night.
So, Edinburgh has begun. Gutted and the first Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire both went really well so I feel Edinburgh has really begun. Well, it's sort of begun. I mean it doesn't really begin until you've been stuck with a wanker who keeps going on about their reviews or a man on stilts hands you a flyer for a play called Amanda's Last Winter Of The Vagina, a tale of loss and screaming starring The Aylesbury Youth Collective and directed by a baby. I haven't seen any dancers rehearsing in the street and no one has invited me to The Loft Bar so it's been pretty much cunt-free. Still, I've only been here 24hrs. It'll all happen soon. Speaking of 24hrs in Edinburgh, you'll probably want to know all about how my veganism is going. It's going great. No milk, no cheese, no animal products of any kind. Also, I haven't eaten anything. I am very hungry.
On Twitter please use the hashtags #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Friday, 6 August 2010
Not Again.
I'm on the train on my way to Edinburgh so I will make this brief. I would have done a longer blog but this train is rammed with noisy, smelly bastards who desperately need a red- hot injection of disappointing theatre and noisy, smelly bastards who desperately believe in unachievable dreams and love throwing all their money on to a massive bonfire made of shit. It's the spirit of the Fringe.
So, I have made a few vows for this Edinburgh. The vegan thing that I mentioned in the last blog will start as soon as I get off this train which is why I am currently injecting myself with eggs and rubbing cheese into my hair. I'll miss that. But, I'll give it a go anyway. I also vow to blog every day. This should be relatively easy as my first show is at 2pm and then my other one is at 11.15pm. That's a fair bit of time to enjoy Tofu cheese, no booze and furious blogging. As long as my new diet frustrates me and people up here behave as normal, my blog should be as vitriolic as it was in 2008. Let's hope Toilet comes up.
My other vow has surprised even me. I promise to see more shows this year. Obviously, loads of people say that every year but I never have. I try to see as little as possible therefore not upsetting my eyes and making my brain vomit so that puke drips out my nose. The thing is, my utter snobbery has made sure that I have missed a lot (Ok, a few) great shows. So this year I'll be trying to see at the very least one show a day. That is an incredible step up from other years. I've already got my favourites in my head, and I recommend to you, that are An Hour Of Telly Live, Tim Vine, Stewart Lee, Colin Hoult, Caroline Mabey, Andrew O'Neill, Richard Herring, Andrew Collins, Richard Herring & Andrew Collins, Bennett Arron, Tara Flynn....erm...I'm sure there's more. You can recommend some to me if you like. I've also picked out my favourite worst sounding show of the Fringe (and, surprisingly, it's not Lights! Camera! Improv!) that I might go to see. Don't worry, it's not your show. Your show sounds....your show sounds nice.
It's the first night of Gutted tonight. My supporting cast have all been in Edinburgh since the beginning of the week, all rehearsing and perfecting their roles. I've been shouting at Robin Ince and watching Timelash. I might need a line run or something before the show. If they haven't replaced me, that is.
Gutted: A Revenger's Musical starring me and a bunch of cunts in a bag is on at the Assembly Rooms at 11.15. Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire starring me and a cunt in a bag starts tomorrow at 2pm at The GRV. Hope to see you there.
On Twitter please use #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
So, I have made a few vows for this Edinburgh. The vegan thing that I mentioned in the last blog will start as soon as I get off this train which is why I am currently injecting myself with eggs and rubbing cheese into my hair. I'll miss that. But, I'll give it a go anyway. I also vow to blog every day. This should be relatively easy as my first show is at 2pm and then my other one is at 11.15pm. That's a fair bit of time to enjoy Tofu cheese, no booze and furious blogging. As long as my new diet frustrates me and people up here behave as normal, my blog should be as vitriolic as it was in 2008. Let's hope Toilet comes up.
My other vow has surprised even me. I promise to see more shows this year. Obviously, loads of people say that every year but I never have. I try to see as little as possible therefore not upsetting my eyes and making my brain vomit so that puke drips out my nose. The thing is, my utter snobbery has made sure that I have missed a lot (Ok, a few) great shows. So this year I'll be trying to see at the very least one show a day. That is an incredible step up from other years. I've already got my favourites in my head, and I recommend to you, that are An Hour Of Telly Live, Tim Vine, Stewart Lee, Colin Hoult, Caroline Mabey, Andrew O'Neill, Richard Herring, Andrew Collins, Richard Herring & Andrew Collins, Bennett Arron, Tara Flynn....erm...I'm sure there's more. You can recommend some to me if you like. I've also picked out my favourite worst sounding show of the Fringe (and, surprisingly, it's not Lights! Camera! Improv!) that I might go to see. Don't worry, it's not your show. Your show sounds....your show sounds nice.
It's the first night of Gutted tonight. My supporting cast have all been in Edinburgh since the beginning of the week, all rehearsing and perfecting their roles. I've been shouting at Robin Ince and watching Timelash. I might need a line run or something before the show. If they haven't replaced me, that is.
Gutted: A Revenger's Musical starring me and a bunch of cunts in a bag is on at the Assembly Rooms at 11.15. Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire starring me and a cunt in a bag starts tomorrow at 2pm at The GRV. Hope to see you there.
On Twitter please use #pointlessanger or #GuttedMusical
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Dairy Intolerance.
I may have made a big error.
Edinburgh is always a mistake on some level. You go up there with your very first solo show to play at The Pleasance Fucking Miles Away or the Guilded Balloon Asbestos Cupboard and realise that, instead of getting a four part Radio 4 series based on your theme of only falling in love with people who have the same name as characters from Mr. Benn, you have spent £8000 on being ignored except for one 17 year old who wrote on igotafreeticketthatididn'tfuckingdeserve.com that you are "a cunt". Luckily, I'm too jaded and cynical to ever fall for that sort of thing so I pretty much have to make my own mistakes and I definitely think I've make a doozie.
Stupidly, I said out loud that I thought I'd go Vegan for the whole of the Edinburgh Fringe.
Now, yes, you're right. I am bound to fail but I also think that I might as well try something new while I'm up there. It's not like I can do anything else that's healthy. The gym is a place that only egotistical, competitive look-at-me's go to and I'm going to get enough of that while I'm there and I can't give up booze. Ever tried talking to a comedian sober? Christ. What? A three-star review, you say? Read like a five? Yes, Frisky & Mannish have done well quickly. Of course, you deserve it more than them. You're writing a book? I have to go.
With that in mind, turning vegan for four weeks seems the only option. It's probably something I should be looking into anyway. I'm fairly confident there's a lot of ethical dairy farming in Britain but there's a lot of horrible things happening to cattle and chickens too. I sometimes don't know where my dairy stuff comes from so, hey, why not go without for a while and see what happens. Any help or advice would be gratefully received.
Robin Ince and I did our penultimate preview of Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire last night and I enjoyed it immensely. What an absolute treat to be doing a load of material I don't normally do, improvising with the audience and working with Robin. He is so much one of the very, very best stand-ups we have and he just gets better. Never tell him this. If he knows, he will become happy, content and shit. We have one more preview at the Roundhouse in Camden tomorrow night. Please come along. Book your tickets now. Last night's show was very well subscribed. Then we're both off to Edinburgh and our first show is at 2pm on the 7th at the GRV, Guthrie Street. To say the least, I'm excited.
Also, I'm in a musical. Don't forget that, OK? I'm in a fucking musical.
On Twitter, please use #pointlessanger or #guttedmusical
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
Edinburgh is always a mistake on some level. You go up there with your very first solo show to play at The Pleasance Fucking Miles Away or the Guilded Balloon Asbestos Cupboard and realise that, instead of getting a four part Radio 4 series based on your theme of only falling in love with people who have the same name as characters from Mr. Benn, you have spent £8000 on being ignored except for one 17 year old who wrote on igotafreeticketthatididn'tfuckingdeserve.com that you are "a cunt". Luckily, I'm too jaded and cynical to ever fall for that sort of thing so I pretty much have to make my own mistakes and I definitely think I've make a doozie.
Stupidly, I said out loud that I thought I'd go Vegan for the whole of the Edinburgh Fringe.
Now, yes, you're right. I am bound to fail but I also think that I might as well try something new while I'm up there. It's not like I can do anything else that's healthy. The gym is a place that only egotistical, competitive look-at-me's go to and I'm going to get enough of that while I'm there and I can't give up booze. Ever tried talking to a comedian sober? Christ. What? A three-star review, you say? Read like a five? Yes, Frisky & Mannish have done well quickly. Of course, you deserve it more than them. You're writing a book? I have to go.
With that in mind, turning vegan for four weeks seems the only option. It's probably something I should be looking into anyway. I'm fairly confident there's a lot of ethical dairy farming in Britain but there's a lot of horrible things happening to cattle and chickens too. I sometimes don't know where my dairy stuff comes from so, hey, why not go without for a while and see what happens. Any help or advice would be gratefully received.
Robin Ince and I did our penultimate preview of Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire last night and I enjoyed it immensely. What an absolute treat to be doing a load of material I don't normally do, improvising with the audience and working with Robin. He is so much one of the very, very best stand-ups we have and he just gets better. Never tell him this. If he knows, he will become happy, content and shit. We have one more preview at the Roundhouse in Camden tomorrow night. Please come along. Book your tickets now. Last night's show was very well subscribed. Then we're both off to Edinburgh and our first show is at 2pm on the 7th at the GRV, Guthrie Street. To say the least, I'm excited.
Also, I'm in a musical. Don't forget that, OK? I'm in a fucking musical.
On Twitter, please use #pointlessanger or #guttedmusical
www.guttedthemusical.com
www.michaellegge.info
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