Pass.

That's something I forgot to say about Sheffield: it's really clean. No litter. Anywhere. The streets are really clean and you can eat your dinner off them. Just like the people of Lewisham do. There were a few clues that I was back in Lewisham after my lovely weekend in my favourite British town. The first was the sign saying "Lewisham" at the train station, the second was that I was standing in a pile of debris. For fuck's sake. How can we possibly know how many dead bodies are lying in the streets of Lewisham if people keep littering everywhere?

Also, the second I got off the train at Ladywell, the part of Lewisham I live in, I saw madness. That's one thing I'd miss if I left Lewisham. There's always something really fucking odd going on. A few weeks ago I saw a tramp give another tramp a bunch of flowers. Lovely, in a way, but definitely odd to see. Last week I passed a dear old lady and, I assumed, her adorable granddaughter. As they passed I heard sweet Granny say "No wonder they wrote cunt on his door". Then on Sunday, as I returned home from perfect, perfect Sheffield, the first thing I saw was a woman riding an exercise bike in the park. Instead of getting an actual bicycle, this plucky and insane Lewisham resident carried an exercise bike from her house, set it up at the entrance of the park and rode it for the equivalent of miles and miles. You just don't get that anywhere else. It's good to be home.

And I was worried about getting home. Being in a really charming and progressive city can make you loathe where you live all the way home but, luckily, exercise bike woman was there to welcome me and she made me smile. My other worry then was doing a gig. I performed four gigs in Sheffield and I just wasn't great in any of them. The Lescar gig was OK but I just wasn't on form so I got a bit concerned about my next lot of gigs. Luckily, the first one back cancelled. Phew! Being unemployed and not earning any money really helped dodge a bullet there. Then last night I had Covent Garden Comedy Club. People had bought tickets, they were in the building, they were seated facing the stage. There was NO WAY this was going to cancel. I'm going to have to do a gig. Shit.

Not only was the gig utter fun to play but one of the funniest things I've ever seen in a comedy club happened right in front of me. Covent Garden Comedy Club is based in Heaven, the gay nightclub underneath Charing Cross Station. During his set, Del Strain asked a man what it was that he looked for in a woman. That's right, he asked that question to a man in Heaven. The man who was holding the hand of the man sitting next to him.

The man actually had to ask Del to repeat the question. It just baffled him that much.

"What do you look for in a woman?", Del asked again. The man screwed his face up and said in a is-this-right? tone of voice "Prettiness?".

I nearly vomited with laughter. "Prettiness". It was such an alien question to him, quite rightly, and he winged it. He thought prettiness sounded right and he went for it. Like in Sci-Fi films when an alien disguised as a human tries to understand and fit in. It was just so beautiful. You could actually see his brain working as he thought about the answer. Hmmm, this is a poser, he thought, what do straight men see in women? If I was straight, what would I tolerate? "Prettiness". And how right he is about us straight men, right, lads? Eh, lads? We're fucking always on the prowl for a bit of prettiness. PHWOOAR! Seen the floral patterned summer frock on that? "Prettiness". We can't get enough of it. Look at her tits, lads. They'd look lovely in a vase.

Can audiences always be as fun and funny as last night in Covent Garden Comedy Club, please? It just makes it all so much better. For the rest of the night I told Prettiness Man I loved him and I meant it.

Of course, it'll all go tits up tonight.

www.michaellegge.info

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