Friday, 30 November 2012

Dear Brendan O'Carroll...

I hate you. 

When you decided that you had to be famous instead of actually being good at something, you chose comedy as the medium that you would drag to the depths of braindead idiocy. You decided that if you were going to be big then you had to be bad (because there was no way you'd make it if you tried to be of merit), and because you wanted to be HUGE then that meant you were going to have to be the worst thing that has ever happened to television comedy since it began. In a way, you have to be congratulated on sticking to your guns and remaining doggedly focused on being utterly insultingly appalling at all times. You aimed low and you made it! Straight to the bottom. Or so you thought...

You see, O'Carroll, you THINK you're throwing diseased excrement into the yawning faces of the thick but you throw like a girl. And that shit in your hand? There's nowhere near as much hepatitis and E.coli in there as you thought. Oh, you're a racist, sexist, old joke telling, reactionary bullshitter but you're not the worst. Turns out, when you were licking your lips and looking at that piss soaked bag of blood and cum underneath the barrel, you were aiming too high. The worst you could come up with was Mrs. Brown's Boys. HA! Stand aside, amateur. Kookyville is here.

Kookyville is Channel 4's latest nail in it's coffin and it stars ordinary people being ordinary in ordinary situations. Oh, yes. With a pitch like that, you can see how it got made. Turns out Channel 4, like most TV stations and production houses, think that it's best to show ordinary, regular people at their very worst so that the middles classes and, let's face it, Channel 4 executives can point and laugh at all the stupid poor people again. It's basically Made In Chelsea but this time all situations are set up to appear like comedy sketches with these ordinary people just talking amongst themselves and trying to be funny. As you know, Brendan, ordinary people ARE funny. Graham Linehan is an ordinary man. He's funny. Louis CK is made of flesh and bone so he's just an ordinary man and he's very funny. Margaret Cabourn-Smith and Zoe Gardner are the two funniest people I've ever seen and trust me, I know them, they're incredibly ordinary. But you're not ordinary, Brendan. Although you almost are compared to the bacteria that screams it's way through Kookyville.

I'm sure, Brendan, you still see Channel 4 as that scary alternative television station but you should give it a go because I think you'd like it. It's terrible. In the 80's and 90's it used to be the home of the best comedy on TV but these days, with one or two exceptions, it seems to have looked at channel 5 for inspiration and then decided to totally eclipse it. Kookyville is basically two women being thick followed by an old woman saying "fuck" followed by a couple saying what a pain in the arse disabled people are followed by two men in a pub talking about "peedos" followed by the first two women again pointing and laughing at a dwarf. Hey! Stop laughing, Brendan, I'm trying to make a point. 

Kookyville is the brainabortion of a TV executive producer. And what happens when a TV executive producer says "we don't need good comedy actors or creative comedy writers" and then gets in a bunch of the most obnoxious, horrible, not-in-any-way-ordinary people to just film themselves being themselves? They get good comedy actors and creative comedy writers staring back at them and saying "On your knees and beg". If anyone works for Channel 4 again after Kookyville I'd be shocked (although I am available and do have some ideas). And here's the big claim, Brendan: I think Kookyville is the worst comedy ever made. Not just television, I mean comedy anything. Television, film, radio, christmas cracker joke, hidden camera stunt, that bleak fit of the giggles that you get at a funeral. EVERYTHING IS BETTER THAN KOOKYVILLE. Jesus Christ, even Two Girls/One Cup had some comparative integrity (the clear influence of John Waters was divine, no pun intended). And that is why I LOVE Kookyville. I LOVE IT!!!!

Look at you, Brendan. Pathetic. You tried so hard to be the most awful thing in your chosen field and you failed. You were insulting, obnoxious, offensive and you even sold out your own good Irish people and you're STILL not as bad as Kookyville. Ha! That's the first time you've made me laugh, Brendan. You're not even good at being the worst.

Lots of love, Michael xoxoxo

ps. If you want to read another letter about Kookyville then have a look at @mr_craig's open letter to Channel 4 here:

My blog is available on Facebook, Blogger and Tumblr. It's daily Monday to Friday. Some blogs will be long, some very short. If you're too lazy to read my blog it's also available as a podcast or you can subscribe to it on iTunes. All formats are free. That means if I'm doing a gig near you, please come and support it. I give you free stuff. That's fair, right?

This blog is also available on Kindle. It costs 99p a month and I do not recommend it at all. It looks nice though. 

Thursday, 29 November 2012


A few days ago this story was awful. In fact, it was pathetic. I recalled the story to neighbours who laughed mainly because they knew who and what I was talking about but also because they could see in my face how deeply disturbed I was by it. But time is a great healer. Sometimes when something awful happens to us we just need to be patient. Wait. It'll all sort itself out. And yesterday it did all sort itself out. If I was one of those karma believers that believed in karma I'd probably say it was karma or something. But I'm not. I'm a bloke who ends up in farcical situations all the time so it's probably just that. Again.

Ah, the park. If walking around Lewisham ever seems a bit too mad for you then I invite you to get off the street and go to the park. You have no idea what mad is until you go there. In the park this week I've seen a man dressed in just shorts and shoes dangling off a bridge, two girls taking mouthfuls of milkshake and then spitting at each other and a man and a squirrel sitting on the same bench and singing reggae. I watched that for ages and I started to suspect that the squirrel knew none of the words. Is there anything more adorable than man and squirrel finally sitting together and bonding over Bob Marley? Yes, there is. It's a very tiny puppy in a red polo neck jumper. I was throwing a ball for Jerk who thinks running after a ball again and again is the greatest thing that has ever happened to anyone ever. No, I don't see the appeal either. I did it once and it was rubbish and the ball tasted disgusting. But Jerk was happy running around and bringing the ball back for more. I wasn't happy about it at all because my body seems to have seized up this week. Over the past few days my shoulders have become stiff and achy, my legs feel fragile and painful and, trust me, you don't even want to know about my anus. Pain or not, Jerk needed to be walked so there I was shuffling like an old man (I'm not old, remember? I'm very young) and crying a little bit every time I feebly threw a ball. This running and ball chasing sometimes catches the eye of other dogs and at the other side of the park I saw a group of mid-morning alfresco drinkers with their dogs constantly staring at Jerk running and the ball they all desperatley wanted. It was fine though. The dogs were quite far away and, no matter how much they wanted that ball, I knew they'd be too lazy to do anything about it.

Well, one of them wasn't that lazy. One of them really wanted that ball. Despite being that far away and being the smallest of all the dogs gathered round the inebriated outdoorsmen, the tiny ickle adorable puppy in the tiny ickle adorable red polo neck jumper ran all the way over to me and Jerk. You could fit this dog in the palm of your hand. I put Jerk on the lead just in case she thought this tiny ickle adorable puppy was tiny ickle adorable food. He may have been small in stature but he was huge in spirit, running straight up to Jerk and licking her face. Luckily it was just my heart that melted, my body was in a bad enough state as it was. Anyway, that's when the shouting started.

The tiny ickle adorable puppy's owner started screaming for his dog to return. I hadn't a clue what he was shouting so there was no way a new puppy was going to figure it out. I decided to walk over to the owner and his friends and the puppy would follow us back to the loving arms of the scary screaming man. I had briefly met this man before about two years ago. He was talking to another man and his dog. I knew that dog. It was a beautiful Lurcher called Wednesday. I was with Muki who fucking speaks to fucking everyone and sure enough as we passed the two gentlemen and the dog, Muki had to go over and cheerily say "Hi, Wednesday!". It was then that the future scary screaming man turned around to reveal a tiny one-eyed Jack Russell under his arm and he said "And hello to Mr. Awesome". 

Well, quite.

This guy was big and loud and, well, I didn't like him. Even though I was walking his dog back to him, he was still shouting incoherently constantly. If you need to picture him in your head, this is what he looks know the scary Irish man from Withnail & I who calls I a ponce? Well, that's him. That is exactly him. So let's just refer to him as Ponce from now on. Right, Ponce was still shouting his face off even when Me, Jerk and tiny ickle adorable puppy were back over with the other dogs and the wine tasters enjoying the bracing weather. He thanked me for bringing his dog back, picked it up and hit it on the head.

I didn't like that.

I asked him not to hit his dog. He looked at me as if I'd asked him what flavour his mum is. I told him that that's probably why his dog isn't coming back. Why would anyone come back if they know they're going to get hit on the head? "It was only a little hit", he said. And then something really bad happened. He is a big man, I am in pain already and finding it hard to move, yet somehow I said this: "Well, what if I give you a little hit?"

I immediately mentally shat myself. I desperately hoped he thought I said "hat" not "hit" but I could tell pretty quickly that he had seen I'd thrown down the gauntlet. I hadn't thrown down the gauntlet though, I'm just too weak to hold a gauntlet at the moment. Why the hell would anyone put me in charge of carrying the gauntlet anyway? I'm bound to drop it. More screaming erupted. I got scared. More screaming about how I shouldn't tell anyone how to look after their dog and how he's been raising dogs for years and how I should fuck off. I agreed. I should fuck off right away. But there was a bit more screaming at me to do first. This upset me, people walking by and, worst of all, the other dogs. They all started barking in my direction. All except Jerk who was pulling on the lead to leave. The fucking back stabbing deserter. Stay and take my punishment with me. One of the other dogs was muzzled. All muzzled dogs are scary. They're muzzled for a reason. They like the taste of blood and I have blood that I greedily want to keep for myself. The muzzled dog barked the loudest. Of course it did. It's a muzzled dog. It has a reputation to uphold. It's standing in the pack is clearest. "I'm muzzled, dangerous and in charge". The muzzled dog was right up at me now, barking and showing it's teeth. I'm never scared of dogs but this fucker looked like he meant business. I backed off, the muzzled dog moved forward. Shit. Is this dog going to attack me? Is this dog going to leap at me, shake it's muzzle off and go for my throat? Is this dog a...a...poodle?

It was a BIG poodle, OK? Not a little handbaggy toy poodle. It looked like two guys in a pantomime poodle suit so don't get all "It was only a poodle", alright? I started to move back quite quickly but I was stumbling because my legs hurt. I didn't fall but I thought I was going to. The confusion of walking backwards, the barking of a mad dog, the laughter of drunk men pointing at me and saying "He's scared of a poodle" made it hard to keep balance. Finally I turned my back on the dog and walked away as quickly as I could. Which was quite slowly. The dogs were still barking and the men were still laughing. I'll be very honest with you now: I felt pretty emasculated.

Don't get me wrong, even I think it's funny being attacked by a poodle but I can't help but think I'd have enjoyed it more if it had happened to you instead of me. I'm not saying the events of that day have haunted me ever since but they have popped into my head a few times. I got attacked by a poodle. Damn.

I don't think I'd ever have blogged this story unless there was a solid conclusion. And there is. Jerk and I returned to the park yesterday, just like we have done every day since the events of 25/11 (that's how we ALL refer to that day) and there were the guys drinking under a tree. The group was smaller this time but the poodle was there, the tiny ickle adorable puppy was there and Ponce was there. He laughed as soon as he saw me. I ignored him. I was feeling a lot better yesterday and I even thought "Yeah, I could fucking take him today" but no, best to ignore him. He called over a few times, "Any trouble and we'll set the poodle on you". But I ignored him. I'm above all that. "Get back, now. This poodle is deadly". God, I hate this prick. "Scared of a fucking poodle".

Fuck this. I stared right at Ponce and said "Do you think I give a fuck about being attacked by a mad, muzzled poodle? I couldn't give a shit. You hit your dog and I think you're a cunt and one more word from you and I'll boot your balls into your throat". That's what I said. IN MY HEAD. Instead, I just stared at him a bit while he laughed, threw his cigarette into a bin and confidently sat down on a bench.

The thing is, there was no bench there.

I watched him writhe about on the ground for a while as he swore his face off and the poodle started barking again. I felt that warm glow of joy return to my heart and I smiled...laughed he eventually found his way to his feet. I know nothing of karma but I'm well aware of the joy someone falling over can bring when you're a bit down. Look at him, the big drunk shouty Jamelia. I get angry and upset a lot but look at all I need...look at what makes me happy. That's all my stress needs: slapstick. Cosmic slapstick.

My blog is available on Facebook, Blogger and Tumblr. It's daily Monday to Friday. Some blogs will be long, some very short. If you're too lazy to read my blog it's also available as a podcast or you can subscribe to it on iTunes. All formats are free. That means if I'm doing a gig near you, please come and support it. I give you free stuff. That's fair, right?

This blog is also available on Kindle. It costs 99p a month and I do not recommend it at all. It looks nice though. 

Wednesday, 28 November 2012


I'll tell you what I hate: anyone who likes Helen Mirren.

I don't hate Helen Mirren, I barely have an opinion of her, but people who like Helen Mirren are dreadful, not to mention the most easily impressed people on the planet. I mean she seems a perfectly fine actress, I suppose, and she was in The Long Good Friday, so she must have something. She's not brilliant though, is she? But her fans seem to think she is. Just a had quick look on Twitter this morning and found hundreds of Mirren fans all praising their favourite actress. "Mirren is gorgeous playing the role of emerenc", "Helen Mirren looks amazing!" and "i FIND HER BEAUTIFUL" were pretty much the first three things that came up but, seeing as the last one was posted by a person called DidyLilMonster, we should probably ignore it all. Still, I think all those comments say a lot about how highly respected Helen Mirren's acting talent is.

Of course, the media are just as respectful of the art of Helen Mirren. In the role of Alfred Hitchcock's wife, Alma Reville, in the new film Hitchcock, the San Francisco Chronicle has said of the her performance "Mirren is still a woman who can wreck a man's life. The real Reville wasn't that kind of siren". She won an Oscar, didn't she, for that film The Queen? I remember that because at the time there were thousands of photographs in thousands of newspapers, magazines and websites telling us how beautiful the actress is. Even Esquire ran a What Lady Would We Like As A Brilliant Girlfriend competition and the magazine got pissed and shouted at everyone about how Helen Mirren was beating fellow actress Megan Fox to the number one position of Best Girlfriend Ever. I've seen a lot of Helen Mirren films and I'm just as impressed. Well, I'm impressed that I can't quite remember any of the films she's been in.

I can't really judge her work, to be fair, but I do know this about Helen Mirren: She's a very popular actress. What she isn't though is a FUCKING AGE DEFYING MIRACLE. You know what? You're allowed to look good in your 60's. It's not weird at all to be older than 22 and still look somewhat presentable. Not that you'd know that from the hoards of idiots who claim to love "actress" Helen Mirren. "Oooh, didn't Helen Mirren look great on the red carpet? She's 67, you know, and when I saw her I was hardly sick at all". "Yes, normally when I see anyone over the age of 30 I start to cry and wonder why the government hasn't shot them to put them out of our misery". "I know. But Helen looks like she's about 15...but, you know, ill".

I hate those people.

My blog is available on Facebook, Blogger and Tumblr. It's daily Monday to Friday. Some blogs will be long, some very short. If you're too lazy to read my blog it's also available as a podcast or you can subscribe to it on iTunes. All formats are free. That means if I'm doing a gig near you, please come and support it. I give you free stuff. That's fair, right?

This blog is also available on Kindle. It costs 99p a month and I do not recommend it at all. It looks nice though. 

Tuesday, 27 November 2012

Blog Off.

Well, it's good to be back. Thanks to everyone who read yesterday's blog. Have I offended anyone yet? No? Good. 

I had some really nice (is nice the right word? I don't want to offend anyone) feedback from people (oh, shit. People isn't the right word these days, is it? Fuck. It's sentient beings of individual ethnicity, I think) and I just wanted to say thank you. (I DON'T MEAN "YOU"!!! I don't think you're all the bloody same. Jesus, it's really hard to know what to say these days. Can you say Jesus? Damn, I'll have upset Christians now. Better blaspheme against all religions just to make it all nice and even. YOUR GOD IS A TWAT! No!! Women have twats, don't they? Erm...YOUR BELIEFS ARE A BIG COCK AND BALLS. There. I think I've made everything OK now. Thank goodness for words, eh?).

Yes, not everyone was delighted at me returning to blogging yesterday. Apparently my podcast version, Blogging For The Blind, is offensive as I am "lumping blind people together as 'The Blind'" I didn't think for a second that I was but my use of the term 'The Blind' is "rude & unneccesary. Blogging for Blind People works just as well". It isn't rude, it is neccesary and Blogging for Blind People is an awful name for an already badly named podcast. I've never actually loved the name Blogging For The Blind but it definitely served a purpose. My blog is about my world, not THE world. It is about a man who can't see past his own fury and frustration and I get enough feedback from people to suggest that I'm not the only one who exists like that. Here's the M. Knight Shyamalan twist to Blogging For The Blind.....IT'S NOT FOR BLIND PEOPLE!!! No, it's for everyone. Everyone who can't come to terms with the bigger world because just getting out of bed and making a cup of tea in the morning will be a disaster that will sit with them for months. I'm not going to notice an earthquake in Korea that killed thousands because someone is listening to Little Mix too loudly on the train.

Blogging For The Blind sounds archaic because I am quite archaic. I just want everyone to get on and be nice and sit down and shut up and fuck off. If there's one thing I like about the title it's the horribly old fashioned sound of it coupled with that modern blogging on the internet thing. Of course, I totally understand how damaging certain words can be. Terms like handicapped, special needs and Red Indian changed for good reason. They're bollocks. And, of course, "the blind" is massively dated but it's a term used for a good reason. It's not like Ricky Gervais constantly saying mong. Not that I want to bring that up again because, after all, Ricky did say he apologised for that. He didn't actually apologise but he said he did and I think that's the best we could hope to get from him. Of course, you could realise that my podcast blog is in no way offensive against anyone if you heard it. The person on Twitter who accused me of being disablist hadn't heard it. Sigh...

Here's the thing, words are just words. It's the intent behind those words that makes the difference. There are people I have met over the last few years who say they're feminist. There are even people who have "feminist" written in their Twitter profile to let people know that, yes, they're a complete and utter feminist. NOT "I study feminism" or "I have written books on feminism", THAT I understand,  but just "feminist". Why? Surely you wouldn't go up to someone and say "Hi. My name's Quinnly and I'm not a racist". Don't we just assume that the people we meet aren't racist? Don't we just assume that the people we meet consider men and women equal? Well, here's something else you won't agree with then: Clare Balding is the worst person in Britain. She actually makes me sick. AA Gill is widely considered to be a massive cunt, we all know that. He's been horrible to so many people about so many things for decades and Clare Balding, with her high profile on television, said nothing. Then he saw a picture of Clare on a bicycle and referred to her as a "dyke on a bike". She got upset and over the next few days she was on TV and in newspapers speaking out against this horrible sexism. Sorry but where was she when AA Gill was being evil before that? Where was she when he shot a baboon because he wanted "to know how it felt to kill a man"? Her high profile would have come in handy then but no she only got upset when a comment was made about her. And you know what? Clare Balding was on a bicycle. SHE IS A DYKE ON A BIKE. Brilliant. Now I'm defending AA Gill. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY, CLARE, YOU HORSE MURDERING BASTARD!

Fine if you want to be offended by words but surely you choose your target carefully? I asked the person on Twitter to listen to the podcast then they'd know there was nothing offensive about it. "The blind" is just a phrase and there is no intent to insult or degrade in any way. I don't want to be a boring twat and say that my grandfather was blind but I'm a boring twat and my grandfather was blind and that was as good a reason as any for the way I played the part of a blind vicar in Gutted: A Revengers Musical in Edinburgh in 2010. Non-blind actors playing blind people in anything is always excruiciating. Ben Affleck in Daredevil is astoundingly shit, with the only relief being that blind people will never see that film. In Gutted, I didn't feel around the set or use a white stick, I just walked around like I could see perfectly well but, because I am a great actor on the stage, I subtly reminded the audience of my character's disability by continually shouting "I am blind". Thus taking the piss happily out of actors. Oh, and I do realise that non-blind actors isn't the politically correct term, I'm not an idiot. It should be non-blind wankers.

The Twitter person kept reminding me how offensive the term was and I kept reminding them that they should listen to the podcast. Nothing was aggressive. Well, not until I was told I was "another non-disabled, straight, white man being testy about having his language questioned".


That person on Twitter was making a fair point until that. I was then told to keep terms like that to my own "communities". Double fucking wow! My ideology questioned, my sexual persuasion questioned, my ethnicity questioned and now I've basically been told to keep to my own kind. Here's my point: why make a tiny fuss? There is so much discrimination in the world so don't swan around Hoxton, drinking mojitos and saying you're a feminist. Do something. Don't just sit there when a cunt's being a cunt until the cunt calls you a cunt. Do something. And don't waste your time looking at words and not intent when it comes to discrimination. Especially when you're arguing with someone who agrees with you. That person on Twitter has a disability and claims to see predjudice all the time. That is horrible. But there is good news: not everyone is a dick. Perhaps find the dicks and use your time wisely by addressing them? I use the name Blogging For The Blind for what I see as a good reason and if that's offensive to some people then I actually do feel quite sorry. As I'm sure are charities like Greater London Fund for The Blind and The Guide Dogs for The Blind Association. I'm not a feminist or a non-disablist (is that the PC term for people who don't completely hate people with disabilities?), I just have an unspoken belief and if it had a name I suppose I'd call it equality. So, maybe I just don't think too hard about these things because I think we're all on a level playing field, one with good wheelchair access. I most definitely don't think that anyone is in a "community" unless those communities are "us" and "dicks".

That's basically what I meant to say to that person on Twitter. Instead I called them a dick and they blocked me. 

This is a blog. I wrote it quickly with only some thought so I'm sure I've made a cock-up or two or not understood a few things. Please feel free to put me straight. Thanks for reading.

My blog is available on Facebook, Blogger and Tumblr. It's daily Monday to Friday. Some blogs will be long, some very short. If you're too lazy to read my blog it's also available as a podcast or you can subscribe to it on iTunes. All formats are free. That means if I'm doing a gig near you, please come and support it. I give you free stuff. That's fair, right?

This blog is also available on Kindle. It costs 99p a month and I do not recommend it at all. It looks nice though. 

Monday, 26 November 2012

Slights Return.

It's bullshit, isn't it? Everywhere you go and everything you see, hear, taste, touch or kill is just such complete and utter bullshit. There is no God, this country is broken, music is awful, my shoulder hurts, it's always nearly Christmas, we could all be dead tomorrow, I have nothing in the fridge, half the world doesn't have a fridge, everyone who has ever voted ever has voted for the wrong person, BBC 3, Disney now own Star Wars, Studio Canal now owns Tron, there are only two types of people in the world and they're both cunts, puppies are cute and cows are food, Clare Balding, there's not enough cuddling in pornography, Ceefax has gone, the government is a late-night members only gentleman's drinking establishment and we're all the strippers.

2012 was supposed to be a year of inspiration and pride for us all thanks to the Olympics, the Queen's 200th year as monarch and other trivial fluff given to us as presents for shutting the fuck up and doing what we're told. But it's been a terrifying year. The BBC might close because everyone who has ever worked for them is a paedophile. Every politician could resign because they're all paedophiles. You are a paedophile. I woke up at 6 this morning and went downstairs and sat next to Jerk. I have sworn that I've heard Jerk speak a few times in the past. Once I thought she said "Hello". Another time she climbed on top of me, looked me in the eye and I could have sworn she said "Friend?". But this morning when I sat on her sofa she sighed, got up and said "Han shot first". I'm sure of it. Look, what I'm saying is that I'm clearly someone who is easily confused and I think this year has been the most confusing and worrying year of my life. Nothing seems reliable. Everything's not as it looks. The only thing that I can be sure of in 2012 is that the moment I wake up (IF I WAKE UP) it's going to be awful. That's definite. As soon as I leave my house, it's rock solid that I will meet a complete arsehole who is hell bent on ruining my day within seconds. Whoever you are, I have always depended on the rudeness of strangers.

It's taken me a while but I've finally found a cure for that feeling of anger you get when you hold a door open for someone and they just walk past without saying "Thank you". For decades I have actually started to believe that I AM a doorman. My Dad always had a beautiful touch when it came to such matters. He would clearly, loudly and Northern Irishly shout "COULD YOU COME BACK HERE, PLEASE?" to the rude, thankless person who would then timidly reply "Why?". Dad would then clearly, loudly and Northern Irishly say "BECAUSE I WANT TO SLAM THIS DOOR IN YOUR FACE". That's right, even in Northern Ireland, the Northern Irish accent is scary. No wonder it took so long to get some of us to sit down and chat about being more civil towards one another. Anyway, I'm really glad to say that my cure for that anger brought on by rudeness works. I've tried it a few times and it's always a lovely feeling. I invented it in Birmingham recently when I was leaving WH Smith's and a dick was walking in. I held the door open to let him through. He walked past without a word. Well, this will not do, I thought. Then this happened...

"Excuse me", I said.

"Yes?", replied the dick.

"Could you just hold this door for me?"

The dick then held the door open and I walked away.

It felt great to look back and see the dick looking confused and still holding a door open while people walked past him and, let's face it, in these confusing and uncertain times where would we be without small victories? It's practically all I live for. Here's another handy tip that I don't recommend you ever use. I was on the tube just a few nights ago and I was tired and a bit drunk and I just wanted to sit in silence until I got home. Sadly, youths sat beside me (I say youths, they were probably about 20). They decided to play a game of Let's See Who Can Talk About Vaginas The Loudest. If I was judging that game I would have been pushed to pick a winner. They were all brilliant at it. The three in front of me were easily equal to the two sitting directly beside me. The woman sitting opposite and a few seats down looked furious and I was feeling pretty similar too. But you know what? All you have to do in situations like this is politely ask the people to keep the noise down and, being civil people themselves, they'll oblige. Of course, I'm an idiot who gets bored easily so I turned to the one sitting next to me and asked him what aftershave he was wearing. He said "I'm not wearing aftershave" and that was pretty much all he and his friends said for the rest of the journey. Coincidence? No.

I'm not really sure what happens to me when I face the rude but I definitely become a different person. I become confident, something I most certainly am not at any other time. Maybe I should thank these rude people but as they've clearly never heard the phrase "Thank you" it might startle and scare them. Take this for example. I was walking along the Southbank just a few weeks ago when a complete stranger came up to me and said "Where's Waterloo Station?"

Look, I know we haven't stopped global hunger yet and I realise that my energies could be better spent elsewhere but I just thought to myself "No. That's just not good enough" and said "Excuse me?" to the man. He replied with "I'm looking for Waterloo Station".

"What an odd thing to say", I said. He looked confused and said "What?"

"Well, I mean coming up to a complete stranger in the street and saying I'm looking for Waterloo Station is really weird. Do you always stop people you've never met before to tell them what you're doing? Surely that's what Twitter is for?"

He looked really confused and was about to respond when I cheerily said "Oh, hang on. Did you mean 'Excuse me. Sorry to bother you but I'm trying to find Waterloo Station. Could you help me at all, please?'"

He said yes and then I asked him to say it then. He did. Then I told him where Waterloo Station was. "There", I said. "That didn't hurt, did it?" He agreed that it didn't hurt, thanked me and walked away. A job well done, I thought. Then I heard him say "Asshole". He was right, of course, and I completely agreed with him. "While there are cunts like you, mate, there will always be assholes like me".

And I hope that's true. We've got just over a month left of this strange and uninspiring year left. Let's not give up hope yet.

My blog is available on Facebook, Blogger and Tumblr. It's daily Monday to Friday. Some blogs will be long, some very short. If you're too lazy to read my blog it's also available as a podcast at or you can subscribe to it on iTunes. All formats are free. That means if I'm doing a gig near you, please come and support it. I give you free stuff. That's fair, right?

This blog is also available on Kindle. It costs 99p a month and I do not recommend it at all. It looks nice though. 

Wednesday, 21 November 2012



As you may or may not know, I used to blog a lot. About 5 or 6 times a week. The blogs were generally about me being upset with a minor inconvenience like running out of salt or threatening a child by demanding he gave me his shoe. Sadly, I had to stop blogging due to illness. Laziness IS an illness so don't start fucking lecturing me that it isn't. Suffereing from laziness is just as bad as any other life threatening disease. You never know, it could be that NO ONE has ever died of cancer but in fact millions of people have died due to the laziness of researchers looking into a cure for cancer. So, you see, it really is as serious as anything you can think of. But, unlike those people who sit around all day waiting for a cure to be just handed to them, I've decided to battle my disease bravely. That's right, my blog is coming back.

As of Monday the 26th November, my grumpy blog will be available on Facebook, Blogger and Tumblr five days a week. That also means the return of the Blogging For The Blind podcast on Soundcloud and iTunes. All these things are free and quite sweary, I imagine.

Also, you can see me performing What A Shame at the Betsey Trotwood tomorrow night along with Simon Donald's brilliant School Of Swearing. Two shows for £5. Please come along and support this fun night. Buy tickets here:

So put up some bunting, alert your friends and all hail return of the "shouting into the abyss" that is my blog. I wonder what has been pissing me off recently?

If you're too lazy to read my blog or are in fact blind then why not subscribe to Blogging For The Blind at or look up Michael Legge on iTunes and subscribe there for free also. Thanks.This blog is also available on Kindle but I don't recommend you get that. It's bollocks.