A Patchy Head Quarters.

I've been looking at men a lot lately. They're fascinating, aren't they? I can't help but stare at them any time I'm in their company these days. Oh, I know they witter on about sport and booze and football and beer and competitive drinking but to be honest, and I'm sorry for being sexist here, I never listen to a word they say. I just like gawping at them. I don't look at all of them. They're men, for God's sake. No, I just look at bits of them. The bits I like. The bits I'm obsessed with. The bits that, if I had them, I wouldn't stop touching.

Look, I admit it. I'm losing my hair and over the last six months or so the little hair I have seems very keen on rushing off. And since then I can't seem to stop looking at men's hair. Men with hair are lucky bastards with no idea of their good fortune going on on top of their heads. I know, I've seen them. I sat next to a man on the tube the other day who had a full, beautiful head of hair that wasn't in any way strategically brushed to hide wastelands of skull and yet he wasn't constantly smiling out of sheer jamminess. If anything he actually looked pissed off that another man was staring with such awe and respect at his head. In fact, he was so stuck up that he shouted "WHAT?", like having hair was normal, and moved seat so I couldn't smell it anymore. If you're a man and I've been in your company in the last six monthsm know this: I've been looking at you.

I used to have hair. I had it and I treated it like a bit of furniture. I thought it would always be on my head. You know, like a head sofa or a table hat. OK, that was a shit analogy but what I'm saying is I took my hair for granted, like it was a doormat. Ironic as I can now wipe my feet on it. Before it left me, my hair was just abused. I NEVER had a decent hair do. NEVER. Mullet, caesar cut, crap mohawk. My hair had every chance to be majestic but my lack of imagination made it look like a ginger BBC3. Yes, I was ginger once. What I wouldn't give to have those luscious flowing ginger locks once more. Why did I treat it so thoughtlessly? My mullet was ginger. Not only that but when I grew my hair long, because I'm a secret curly as well as a secret ginger, it fell naturally into ringlets. I thought I looked like Tony Iommi from Black Sabbath but really I looked like Violet Elizabeth from Just William. That doesn't get you laid at the Monsters of Rock Festival in Donnington and, it turns out, that's the only thing that doesn't get you laid at the Monsters of Rock Festival in Donnington.

All I know is, If I had my hair again I'd treat it better. I mean, it was a quiff for ages. That was nice. But, really, I wasn't nice to my hair and now it's had enough. Soon, I'll be a useless member of society due to being rubbish and bald. Not that I had much of a chance. My Dad went bald in his 30's (if he's reading this. If he's not, he was in his late teens) and his father went bald at an early age too. Of course, there's that theory that we get our hair from our maternal line (BULLSHIT) but I've seen a photo of my mother as a baby and she was practically completely bald at only 3 weeks old. Mind you, my brother has an incredible head of hair that I see as the lengthy locks of mighty Samson himself, despite his hair being almost military short. I also consider his penis, as do all balding men, to be building-smashingly huge because once your hair goes, so does your penis. Look, what I'm saying is this: love your hair. You'll never be able to trust it but love it while it's here before it gets bored of you and goes. If you have hair, run your fingers through it now. Don't wear a hat. Show the world what you've got before it's too late. If you have hair, there's no such thing as a bad hair day.

And to my balding brothers and sisters I say this: we are the heroes. Remember how easy it was to have hair? It wasn't even a thought back then. But seeing every strand leave the nest one by one? To see more hide than hair every time we look in the mirror? To basically look at our bathroom sink like it's part wookie EVERY MORNING? We are the brave ones. I was once told that when you go bald the dignified thing is to shave your head. What's dignified about being a coward? I'm going bald. That's who I am. And those few hairs that want to stay? You think I would forsake them? They are my children and my head is their tit.

I could have come up with something better than that, I'm sure of it. Look, just enjoy your hair. It's later than you think. I can't believe I threw the best days of my hair away and if my hair all came back tomorrow I would greet each and every strand like a long lost love. Hair, I want you to come home. The head's too big without you.





www.twitter.com/michaellegge


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 www.soundcloud.com/michaellegge 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.

Blessed Relief.

Just one more thing to say about Comic Relief: It's great. I haven't seen a live Red Nose Day, Funny for Money TV marathon since, I think, the 80's but last Friday I decided to stay in and give it my attention. I'd already donated to The Gentlemans Review Megapoddy and I'd raised some money myself with Red Blog Day so I felt I could watch the whole thing guilt-free. I'm glad I did. It's well worth being reminded how much aid is needed in the world, where your money is going and how the world's governments aren't very nice (don't blame me, you're the one that thinks voting them in is you having your voice heard). There were so many moving films highlighting the struggles of lives that we're lucky enough to not be able to fathom. Domestic abuse in the UK, parasite infested drinking water in Africa. There's no way that you couldn't be deeply moved. The baby who died of malnutrition and, due to lack of facilities, his body was wrapped in a sheet and left in a laundry room was too much for me. The very thought that it's happening right now while we're obsessed with Cheryl Cole's tattoos or Pippa Middleton's anus is just shameful. And, of course, it's those Comic Relief films of hope that really leave us in tears. Medication getting to those that desperately need it, people surviving, lives beginning again. All because we don't want that to happen to anyone. If you donated, how can you not feel pleased with yourself? And how can you not feel extremely proud of Comic Relief? It's brilliant and it was a fantastic way to spend a Friday night in, slightly ruined by only one thing: Comedians.

Hello, Lenny.

I don't even necessarily mean the comedians on TV that night, I was much more disturbed by the horrible opinions of comedians on Twitter watching the show. They were utterly offensive. Not just one or two comedians, LOADS of them. All with their backward view of Funny for Money. I'd say every 10 minutes there was at least one spiteful tweet from a comedian saying "It's horrible the amount of abuse Comic Relief is getting. These comedians have given up their free time to do these and should be supported fully".

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? Firstly, I didn't see anyone abusing Comic Relief. I saw all the "comedy" in Funny for Money getting slagged to bits but never once did I see a negative word about Comic Relief. Secondly, ARE YOU SERIOUSLY DEFENDING THESE TOOLS? Comic Relief is a charity to us but it's the biggest bit of high profile TV you can get for these lazy arseholes. You're insane if you think that this is just about the caring side of some of our most beloved entertainers. Some of them have books to push, tours to plug and careers to be reminded of. If you don't question that then you're not a comedian.

I was lucky enough to see Frankie Boyle's warm-up for his 5 minute Comic Relief set due to be filmed at Wembley. It was superb. Really funny jokes at the expense of the BBC and, of course, it was never aired on Funny for Money. Why would it be? It was FUNNY and that is against everything that comedy is about. I'm not a fan of comedians on Twitter at the best of times but Friday night was just the lowest. Comedians turned into bland, opinionless TV presenters but, hey, that's the kind of thing they like on Funny for Money. Maybe Twitter will just joylessly host the event next year? 

Hello, Lenny.

That Simon Cowell sketch was the comedy equivilent of being told that your parents are dead, Peter Kay just empties his bowels in front of us while ruining an indie song that was perfectly capable of ruining itself and David Tennant rapes John Bishop. No matter what you think, that bit was still technically rape. 

Hello, Lenny.

Then there was Mrs Brown. As always, far from the worst. As a man from the Greater Ireland area I just hate seeing self-loathing Irish people dragging their hatred of themselves to a massive audience but I really think there was so much worse than Mrs Brown that night. That's how bad it was. And you couldn't really slag off Mrs Brown because OF COURSE it's going to be shit. That's what it does. And it was funny when the sketch clearly fucked up several times. Weirdly, they had nothing to cover the fuck-ups, which is odd because there are so many in the regular TV show that they improvise around for laughs. Unless they're staged fuck-ups? Nah, that's silly. But still there was so much goodwill from comedians on Twitter. "They're doing comedy for a good cause". They're not doing comedy and their hellish career is not a good cause.

There was one moment when it could have been good. One moment when comedy looked like it had given itself a shake and decided to be funny and make a point. Michael McIntyre (hear me out) walked around the studio audience and asked the ordinary people of Britain what they had done for Comic Relief. An ordinary person had raised £500 while dressed as an Arabian Knight, another ordinary person had raised £200 by sitting in their shed listening to Radio 1 for a fortnight and one ordinary person...questioned everything. How much had McIntyre given? Why are we seeing these celebrities everywhere months before Red Nose Day? Why aren't these wealthy celebrities giving money like we do? They're getting publicity, what do we get? Happiness. And that's OK because Comic Relief isn't about those career obsessed vultures. It's about us. The people. Giving to show we care, giving to make the world for other ordinary people like us a little better. Fuck the celebrities, WE ARE COMIC RELIEF.

Brilliant. Except that that ordinary person was millionaire James Corden. Sigh...

Hello, Lenny.

Then there was Walliams. How can anyone defend him being on Funny for Money? To him, just being there is enough for all of us. To be honest, it's too much. He presented an hour or a month (it became hard to tell) with Alan Carr who constantly asked us to give ourselves a round of applause in that voice that sounds like a drowning cat. How have we tolerated David Walliams? How have gay people tolerated David Walliams? All he has is "LOOK! I'M PRETENDING TO BE GAY!" That's it. I mean, he also sometimes blacks up, Asians up and puts on a dress. I'm convinced that he thinks there is no one other than straight middle class men. Everyone else is fictional so it's fine to laugh at them. God, he's a cunt. I was lucky enough to be in the room when the brilliant Sean Lock called Walliams a pink minstrel. That's perfect. And he get's supported by the comedians on Twitter for giving up his time to do fuck all in front of the biggest audience a comedy show is likely to ever get. An opportunity that thousands of comedians would love and he brought NOTHING to it except himself and the word "Whoopsie". Turning up with nothing to an important TV slot GIVEN to him by Comic Relief makes him a thief. The fucking charity sucking vampire.

And it's not like you have to break your back for Comic Relief. Vic & Bob drinking 75 pints of beer while singing Without You is one of the funniest things I've ever seen. So utterly stupid and totally in the spirit of Comic Relief. Equally Peter Serafinowicz's Blankety Blank sketch and Ricky Gervais in Kenya (starring Johnny Candon as The Edge) are brilliant. And Friday's show had some great stuff too. Gervais's Equality Street was fun, the Call the Midwife/Doctor Who sketch was great...in fact all the stuff with people from Gutted: A Revenger's Musical was terrific. And Rob Brydon was my favourite. He's got charm, that guy.

Of course, Comic Relief is brilliant and there's no real excuse to not give if you can afford to. Do you love someone? Would you spend £10 to help that loved one? Well, other people have loved ones but no £10's so text "YES" to 70010 and £10 goes to Comic Relief. It's a good thing so just forget about the comedians. Can we do it properly next time? Maybe start writing Funny for Money now instead of on the day? If not, I'm happy to get drunk and fall asleep on camera again.

Goobye, Lenny. 

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

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 www.soundcloud.com/michaellegge 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.

Red Blog Day Confidential.

So, what have we learned?

After Sunday/Monday's Red Blog Day I have learned that people are kind and generous. Comic Relief works tirelessly to support some of the poorest and most disadvantaged people in the UK and around the world as it strives towards a just world free from poverty. Not only that, it genuinely inspires people. Not just to put on stupid hats and ask co-workers to give them a quid, it also inspires people to take a look at how good the world could be if we just shared the wealth a bit more equally. I also learned that I'm shit.

Now, it came as a bit of a shock to me. I always thought I was just crap but no, I'm actually shit. I've gone down one full faeces name. Everything I do is a bit scrappy, half-arsed and lazy (I'm really lazy. That description of Comic Relief in the last paragraph? I took that from their website. Only lazy people who are shit steal from a charity's website) but I also thought that was my charm. "Look at the angry man always complaining about things being terrible and yet he can't do any better himself". I thought that's why I'd become one of Britain's most beloved fictional characters and I sort of thought it was a good thing. There is actually a pretty big gulf between being crap (suggesting you could improve) and being shit (hopeless) and yet I seemed to have leapt that gulf with the same amount of effort I put into anything.

I vowed to write a blog for 24 hours (IN A ROW) on Sunday 10th March starting at 8pm. Now, that's quite a feat and I realised that. I also realised that it's not the most demanding thing that a human being can put themselves through. Some people do so much more for charity than that. Mark Watson performed a live show for 25 hours, David Walliams swam the English Channel, Eddie Izzard ran for a year. These are properly huge, exhausting trials to put yourself through but those comedians got through it because they knew they were doing some good. Raising money, helping people, making the world a little less bleak. And that's what I wanted too. I wanted to raise money by sitting in front of my laptop and writing for 24 full hours. With a couple of toilet breaks. And time to make a cup of tea or two. But other than that it was a straight 24 hour marathon writing a continuous blog in aid of Comic Relief. Oh, and I stopped a few times to talk to people who might have been watching the webcam. Actually, I did that quite a lot now that I think about it. But other than toilet breaks, tea breaks and talking to the webcam I worked tirelessly on a mammoth blog to help those in need. And I watched a film. Look, I had to watch a film. I was pissed. You can't expect me to write a blog while I'm drunk. It would be terrible. Also I fell asleep.

I never claimed to be a saint but I thought I could have fairly safely bragged that I was a man. But I'm not. I'm a terrible, soulless, empty...bastard. Who the fuck says they're going raise £1000 for charity and then fucks it off by getting drunk and falling asleep? No man would do that. Therefore, I am not a man. And just in case you think someone couldn't sink any lower, as soon as I woke up I went straight to the kitchen and, IN THE NAME OF FAMINE RELIEF, cooked a huge roast dinner.

It was delicious, if that means anything.

That's what I learned. Comic Relief is the kind of beautiful organisation that any comedian would be proud to support and represent and I am shit. Lenny Henry, Griff Rhys-Jones, Graham Norton, Keith Lemon and so many more present Comic Relief with warmth and respect and give up their night to show Britain that we can all feel better about ourselves. To be quite frank, those people are beneath me.

They are all beneath me because every comedian on TV's Comic Relief marathon always forgets one simple thing every time and that is to be funny. Think back to every Red Nose Day you've ever seen. Has anything been as funny as a man saying he'll raise £1000 for charity and instead just falls asleep pissed? NO. You could have watched me sleeping on the webcam for an hour and a half. Some people did. People said it was hypnotic. Apparently I snore. Friends phoned me to wake me up. Apparently I hung up on them and went back to sleep. FOR CHARITY. Now, that's funny.

I am shit. But people aren't. They're kind and generous. That's what I learned. I'm sure some of you reading this are probably agreeing that I am shit well, know this, I raised over £2,500. I doubled my target and then some. I may be shit but I'd like to see the telly comedians do that AND be funny. Your move, Wossy.

Here's the second funniest thing ever to raise money for Comic Relief:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNq7IZ-sTgI

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

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 www.soundcloud.com/michaellegge 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.

Red Blog Day.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Writing a blog for 24 hours is one thing but why the fuck am I doing it for charity? I hate charity. I'm poor but not quite poor enough to be given a free school or have Sting come round to look sad at me. I'm ill but not ill enough to be given a highly trained dog to do lots of things for me or have someone pop round every day to make my dinner and turn Pointless on. I have to turn Pointless on myself. Those jammy fuckers who are properly poor and dying don't know how lucky they are. Not only do they get free stuff but they also get to avoid ever having to give to charity. You can't guilt the poor and the ill into anything. I know. I've tried. You know in books when a weary traveller comes across a poverty stricken family who are penniless and are down to their last box of imaginary fish fingers yet their hearts are so full of kindness that they give their last "breast of moth" to him? Well, that doesn't happen in real life. You even so much as look at stuff belonging to the poor or the sick and they will boot-fuck your kneecaps into your skull. And they can do that easily because stupid Comic Relief have given them money and food and medicine and a gym membership so they'll be way fitter than you. The meek won't inherit the earth, we'll just phone up and donate it to them.

Harsh? Well, I'm in a bad mood. I thought the idea of writing a 24 hour blog would be fun but look: it's only 8.30pm. I have 23 hours to go and I already feel completely weirded out. It's like blogging in front of thousands of ghosts. Well, 14 ghosts. Fuck you, how many ghosts do you need before you're weirded out? Also, I never really thought I'd ever do anything for Comic Relief. It's always been the evil face of good.

We all know comedians are the most selfish half-humans on the planet and Comic Relief brings out the very worst in them. All back slapping and self publicity while pretending to give a shit. It would be a nightmare for some careers if poverty was made history. And if that's not enough to make you want to donate more then I don't know what will. Yes, you'll be throwing money to the mighty and terrifying poor but you could just be £5 or £10 away from making sure there's no more Celebrity Juice or David Walliams. Imagine there's no Walliams. It's easy if you try. I'm not a fan of charity but if you have to join then to beat them then so be it. Come on, people. Let's make comedy history.

And lots of you have been kind already? Want to know who....?

Well, apparently Oscar Wilde has donated £1. Look for yourself at the JustGiving page. Oscar Wilde has given £1 to Red Blog Day and he has left the comment "I have nothing to declare but this £1 note. Spend it wisely to help underprivileged young men".

And that's what I fucking hate about Comic Relief right there. Everyone has to get in on the joke. FUCK OFF, OSCAR WILDE. I'm glad he's in France and dead because he's helping to ruin what should be a sombre and respectful piece of charity work. Sitting in a bath of beans, naming your baby Twat or letting Lesley Joseph basically felate us all in a thing she calls a dance to get her back on telly. All those things ruin charity. Charity should be tragic and hopeless.

Hence, Red Blog Day.

I mean, I'm not expecting HUGE amounts of money (I FUCKING AM) and some people giving a little collectively means a lot. Neil Hinnen, Andy McH, Annie Brown, Deborah Frances White, Tracy Mearns, Helen & Adam, Chris Limb, Neal Peters, Katie Bancroft, Marisa Ferguson, Sean Brightman, Ros Bell, Michelle Flower, Clara Harding, Tim Hudson, Peter Higgins, Wet Sarah, Martin White, Sarah X, Pete Dillon-Trenchard, Mark Cole, Gareth Edwards, Susan Schloetter, Richard Herring, Nicki JC and David Whittam all gave noble amounts of money and they did it for the right reasons. BUT THAT'S WRONG TOO. If it's Comic Relief and you really want to laugh then be fucking funny. Those generous people are just thoughtless cunts to me. Not like Harry Chalmers, Cassie Cagwin, Connor Wallace, Daniel Meier and Zara Andrewes who all said a massive FUCK YOU to giving Gift Aid. When you donate money to charity "Gift Aid" comes along and means that your chosen charity doesn't have to pay any tax on the money it's been given but these brilliant and hilarious "kind" people realised that ticking a box (AND THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO DO) is nowhere near as funny as telling a charity that it's all well and good helping the poor but let's give the lovely government dome too. I'm sorry but NOT giving money to charity is really funny and Comic Relief should applaud those people. And we should all stand and salute Christian Talbot who left his name on the JustGiving page and a message on the JustGiving page and no money whatsoever. He's the king of comedy charities for me. "We need help" but Christian takes one look at Graham Norton wearing a red nose and says "There's no way I can help you".

But there's more to feeling good than charity. How about we use this opportunity to bring people together. Two people to be precise. I know the perfect two. You up for it?

I like the idea that this blog might have a plot. Especially as I already feel that I'm losing it. When I first started blogging a story accidentally came out of it. It was about me and a man named Toilet. I knew Toilet quite well but, all of a sudden, he stopped speaking to me and my very fragile feelings got hurt. All I wanted was Toilet to like me. I mean, not so much that I'd stop calling him Toilet but I definitely wanted us to be friendly again. I just had no idea why he was ignoring me. Then, out of nowhere, I found out that he had been reading my blog and he liked it. I was so happy. He hadn't been ignoring me at all. It was a beautiful story with a happy ending.

I want that again.

Basically, if WE ALL work together in a happy and subtle way, without bullying or pushing these two people (no forcing) too hard...if we just put the idea out there...if we just introduce these two people...then I believe that, comedy performer and writer from The Trap, Jeremy Limb and formula one racing superstar Jenson Button could be friends. Do you? @JensonButton @JeremyLimb

I made a promise at the beginning of the webcast version of this blog that when we got to £815 I'd watch an episode of Mrs. Brown's Boys.

I hope you kind people are happy now.

I'm not. Watching Mrs. Brown's Boys fills me with dread. I've only ever seen two episodes and I felt such boiling hatred it made me sick. Not for the programme itself but hatred, uncontrollable hatred, for the potato famine. If only that had wiped all us Irish out then no one would ever have to sit through that horrible pile of shit ever. You English have been far too lenient to us over the years. You had the chance to get rid of us and you fucking blew it. But the kind people of Red Blog Day paid their blood money and I had to do what I shamefully agreed to. I watched an episode of Mrs. Brown's Boys.

Instantly that discomfort I feel even when Mrs. Brown's Boys is mentioned just vanished. You see, I'd never seen the first episode and it's one of those programmes that is so complex, so tight that if you're not there at the beginning then you'll never get it. Well, now I get it. It's brilliant. I totally see now that Mrs. Brown is all of us and none of us and all of none of us or something. She is our universal matriarch and like our own mother she is the comfort blanket we need at times of distress, the rock we depend on when our stability wavers and she has a penis. I recognise all the characters so clearly now. The son who is a boring man who laughs at his mum's swearing, the daughter who is a boring woman who laughs at all her mum's swearing and the grandfather who never laughs because he's constantly being called a cunt while the son and daughter boringly laugh. It's a properly brilliant TV show and definitely better than Doctor Who or Pointless. To be really honest, I can't remember when I laughed that much.

There. I've written than and it's there forever. Fucking give me more Comic Relief money. Also...don't lose heart on @JensonButton and @JeremyLimb. These friendships need to bloom and you can't rush them. Just because few people have got involved so far and we've had no response doesn't mean that this won't happen. Do you believe in Jenemy? I do. It'll happen...

Let's see who's donated since last time...

My heartfelt thanks to Alec who has matched the Comic Relief hilarity of Christian Talbot by putting a message on the JustGiving page and donating nothing. Pictures paint a thousand words, Alec, but a bored shrug screams so much more. Especially in the faces of the needy. Excellent! Also Grizelda has made me giggle a lot with her chucklesome utter apathy of Gift Aid. I'm proud of you both. Creepy crawly bumlicks for charity so far also include Niki Di Palma, Nogbad the Bad, Russell Hughes, Mathew Smith, Isabelle, Katherine Hickton, Dan Morgan, Ruth Gavin, Ewan Duncan, Nicola Woolhouse, Derek Barnes, Rob Glen and Dan Mersh who have donated and boringly made no attempt at comedy by ticking the Gift Aid box. What's funny about that, cunts?

The great thing is that I haven't gone mad yet. Well, why would I? We're only three and a half hours into Red Kill Day and that's not much at all. Did I say we? I meant I'm only three and a half hours into Red Blood Day and I'm sure the madness won't come for quite a while yet. In fact, I know I'm not going mad because I'm clearly very comfortable at talking to no one in an empty room. The webcast seems to have a good few viewers and therefore surely I'm never alone even though I'm completely by myself. Surely occasionally turning to talk to a laptop proves that I'm comfortable with myself and am not going mad. The night really has fallen like a black blanket that mothers as much as it smothers and I occasionally laugh at the laptop's replies to my various Comic Relief based statements. A lot of people said it would be tough once it got to 3 or 4am and that might be the case but look at how fine it is now. The comfort of the fan of my computer, the hum of the fridge, the stare of the sky outside. It's all going really well.

Being alone is a sure sign of independence. Someone that needs no one but themselves has to be the strongest person there is. I said so to Raylond half an hour ago and not only did he agree but he also insisted I pour myself another glass of wine. Raylond is the laptop's name and he's such a good guy. He's so supportive of what I'm doing and has been telling me how well our few hours of charity have been going. After he kissed me he told me how proud he was of all the people who have given so much the Red Blog Day appeal.

And how ashamed he was of those that gave so little. So ashamed. Ashamed like the rust of a blade.

It's not even that late and yet it's so quiet. Is it so quiet because I suspect so many people I know are far away from me making noise? HA HA HA HA HA! That's a funny joke. Is it? I'm not sure any more. All I know is that it's quiet. If I didn't have Raylond for company I's probably go nuts. Clearly during this blof session I need stuff to do. It just can't be reading tweets and writing a blog. Reading tweets and writing a blog makes Jack a dull boy.

It is quiet. And dark.

You know what proper nuts is? That I was actually thinking of doing this 24 hour blog without alcohol. I really wanted to first of all do it without any food or liquid. You know, bonding. That sort of thing. Then I was warned that I may get ill so I decided to be slightly more sensible. I decided to go without food or water but just survive on wine. This basically got me shouted at. I can understand that. Man cannot live by booze alone. Tell that to George Best! LOL!!

Just checked Wikipedia. Feel a bit of a dick now. Anyway, I decided that I'd start drinking about 2am. That's 6 hours into Red Blog Day. That's totally fine.

It isn't.

What was I thinking? You could never do this without booze. It's one thing to do it but another to be aware of it. I really thought I was going to go for hours and hours living on only the fuel of raising funds for Comic Relief and doing good. That's madness and now I see all inspiring people as they really are. Yes, you've run a marathon. Ever done it sober? No fucking way. I mean, everyone wants the glory of completing a worthy and impressive event but do they actually want to do it? Of course not, so what's the remedy? Time travel exists, people, and it's here in every bottle of booze. Body becomes numb, mind goes on holiday. All of a sudden you've climbed Everest or become Prime Minister. Tonight I almost put down the bottle. Tonight I almost made a stupid decision. Tonight I almost didn't become Prime Minister.

Are there positives to being a hero? No. No, there aren't. Not if you're the kind of hero I am anyway. You know, that kind of hero that basically does sod all for anyone? That's the kind of hero I am. How else are other people going to learn to fend for themselves if saints like me don't turn our backs on them? What cruelty a man displays when he gives a crutch instead of total independence. Giving medicine must be the hardest part of a doctor's job. A short term answer to a long term problem. I'm so glad I'm not a doctor and so are you.

But there has been a positive so far. I've been given a surprise. It's 1.30am and something I didn't expect turned up in my iTunes. A really good new David Bowie album. I mean I bought the new David Bowie album but I always assumed him a kind man who would never challenge our preconceptions of the elderly but it turns out that hanging out with Ricky Gervais has had an incredible influence on him. Clearly, watching advance copies of Derek has made David rethink his own relevance and that of his generation. You see, David is just like us. We're all thin white chameleon cigarette Berlin gender-free space-cats and, as a result, we're all aware we're not getting any younger. Thankfully, Saint Ricky of the Boring Piano did spake upon this lost and ancient minstrel and through the words of this all-knowing noise of a man, David Bowie gathered courage to go back and revisit what he was once capable of. You know, like anyone.

It is pretty good though. If only we knew @RickyGervais's Twitter name I'm sure we'd all thank him personally for making Derek and helping David out of his cot and back to brilliance. That said, I bet some of us would do it sarcastically. Ahem...

We deserve a good Bowie album after all we've done. And remember, it's pronounced Bowie not Bowie. I mean, we've been so great tonight so far. We're getting so closer to our goal of making comedy history. Thanks to Dave Warburton, Neil Hillen (AGAIN!!), Rua Ward, Shell, Simon Best, Jeremy Limb, Martin Thompson, Frode Sorensen and Dave Bourn for being Comic Relief's spineless robot monkeys. I give my horn to Frazer Robb, James Walker and Humanhairball who have once again put comedy before help. Ticking the Gift Aid box might be well and good and could ultimately save lives but I know what's funny, sunshine. And that's being a cunt. Well done, guys.

But are these do-gooders that actually want to go through the agony of dragging their cursor across to the "Tick for Gift Aid" box the worst people that Comic Relief attract? Not by a long shot. How about these cunts: Anonymous.

"Oh, I'm not in it for the recognition, I simply want to give".

You make me sick. And there's loads of them. All jumping up and down and begging for no attention. Of course they don't need recognition. Just by making the rest of us feel like total shits, they quietly rise to the top. Stealth givers. Silent shamers. I mean are they reserved givers or deafening loud saints? Either way, I think it's safe to say that they're right wallies.

It is quiet though. It's lonely doing charity. Can I keep the money?

There are several things that won't occur to you when writing a 24 hour blog in front of a webcam. One of them is posture. My back really hurts. So do my shoulders. I've been sitting on a shitty wooden chair for over 6 hours and the pain now is way too much. I never would have thought about that but that's only because I don't exercise. When you look after yourself, you know that sitting pretty much still on a crap chair is bad for you. When you've made the decision at an early age to do fuck all as much as possible, it comes as a shock at how hard REALLY doing fuck all is. It's practically impossible and as painful as constant exercise. It's so easy to look at lazy people and dismiss them as pathetic but look at what they put themselves through. Doing nothing all the time kills. What does exercise do? It makes coping easy. I think THAT is pathetic. "No pain, no gain"? What about the lazy mantra. "Pain, no gain". It's a constant stationary struggle being lazy. Something that people who just give in to health take for granted.

There's also the toilet. I didn't think I'd go to the toilet quite as much as I have done during the last...now 7 hours. And I'm worried that I pee loudly. You can't get watched on a webcam and confidently pee when you know its raucous. I thought I always peed like a dog whistle. Turns out my tinkle can really bark. Discomfort and loud urine to one side, there's still trouble to be found while blogging in front of a camera for an entire day.

What about when I get turned on?

I mean, men think about sex 348 times every nano second, if stand up comedy is to believed, so surely at some point there will be some people watching me when I'm aroused. I mean, I won't show it off or anything. I'm just saying that it'll happen. You might be watching and thinking that this is the most bizarre/mesmerising thing I've ever seen. "It's just a man sitting alone unhappily typing on his laptop". Maybe. But it's just as likely to be a man sitting alone unhappily typing on his laptop while thinking of St John's Ambulance women taking his pulse while a lollypop lady sucks on a crazy straw.

Oh, sure. I'm going mad. But what with? Lack of sleep or lack of AW, YEAH!

I've just realised that this is the opposite of fun. In every way, it's the opposite. You know when you're tired and you want to sleep but your friends are going out and then you worry that you're missing out? THIS ISN'T THAT! It's 3.30am and you're all asleep and I'm worried that I'm missing out. You're probably having the best time ever just lying on a comfy bed that supports your back and pillows that cradle your head while you dream of amazing adventures. I'm awake in Lewisham. That can't possibly compare to just lying there comatose. You seem so exotic to me right now. You could be lying there with one leg out of the duvet, drool running down your face and suffocating yourself by snoring and I'd be so jealous. I AM jealous. You're probably dreaming. I like dreaming. You can't feel how bad your back hurts in a dream. My back is in a lot of pain. Stupid reality.

My favourite dream was the time I dreamt that I worked in an office. Hang on, it gets better. Wherever it was I worked there was a product available on the market that was known by everybody, it was a worldwide brand like Coca-Cola. It was called 3 Frogs In a Can and it came in a thin tube like Red Bull. So, I'm working at my desk one day, as usual, when one of my work colleagues asks if I'd like anything from the canteen. "Yeah", I said. "Can you get me a 3 Frogs In a Can, please?" and off he went to get my treat. He came back, put the can on my desk and when I opened it....3 very tiny frogs jumped out. And I felt so refereshed. "Thanks", I said. "I needed that".

It's 3.45. Let's hope it hasn't all got to me telling you what happened in my dream once.

It's not 3.45 anymore. It's 4.05. That might not seem like that much of a difference but it's actually huge. It's now not late or early. It's nothing. It's not a big deal staying up this late or getting up this early. This is what we charity workers call "Unimpressive".

Sure, pretty much everyone is still asleep but there's still a few that are maybe half an hour away from turning in. Just finishing that last beer while trying to complete level 321 of Wizard Sex Cop Whores In A Big Car. And once they go to bed the others will wake up. Staying up until midnight impresses the early risers and being awake until noon the next day means that the drinking game playing losers think you're God. Those are times you NEED when you're staying awake for 24 hours. 4.05 just thinks you're a dick.

The one's that normally stay up that late won't find your yawning and crying cool. And the early rises arent impressed because 4.05 is THEIR time. It's nothing to do with you. What the fuck are you even thinking being in 4.05? Get out of 4.05. Look at you. You're clearly a 10.20 (then press snooze) twat.

Plus none of these people find 4.05 dark or quiet or lonely. What the hell are you doing at 4.05? You fucking tourist.

To be fair 6.05 isn't much better. I only know this because 4.05 was so bad I decided to watch Avengers Assemble. Anything to feel a little less alone.

It didn't work.

I mean, it might have.

I love Avengers. It's way too upsetting to think that I'm not one of the Avengers. I sort of realise I'm not but I've supported all the movies so much that it's a massive kick in the dick that I'm not. I'd be perfect for the Avengers. I'd know when to meet them (Noon) and where (Fopp) and what to say (Love you, Avengers). That said, that's what got me thrown out of the boy's brigade and the Justice League of America.

OK, I admit it. I fell asleep.

Look, you have to understand one thing about giving everything you have to just one thing: It's fucking boring. Everyone just disappears on you about 6am. I mean, where is their stamina? There I am doing everything I can for charity (in this case, putting on a slanket and sleeping. Really) and they all just fuck off, completely forgetting the poverty stricken people they've left behind. People like them make me sick. Or they would if I'd been awake. Anyway, me falling asleep was art. I was trying to reflect how the governments of the world react to those that depend on them. You know by closing their eyes and going back to bed. With a slanket. Hopefully the many viewers of the webcast understood exactly what I was trying to say and didn't just think I'd had too much wine and conked out. No way. It was so much deeper than that. Sort of.

Thanks to Johnny Candon for waking me up, by the way.

Things are back on track with Red Blog Day already. In fact, as I missed 90 minutes of Red Blog Day due to making a point about governments or whatever, I've decided to extend the day until 9.30 tonight. Unless I make another political statement and snuggle up for the evening. Anyway, much more interestingly I've made another statement on behalf of Comic Relief. Something that should make the people of the world start donating to the cause in their droves.

I was thinking, what could be the most horrible and inappropriate thing you could possibly do for Comic Relief. Well, I figured it out: make a huge roast dinner.

And that's what I'm doing right now. I've got my potatoes with thyme and apple on and I've baked a pie. My sprouts and gravy should be on pretty soon. And just in case you think the joke is all about pointing and laughing at famine (it is), just know this; I think I've burnt the pie. My house stinks of burnt pie. But hey, is that my fault? (Yes) Surely if Johnny had just let me sleep for the full 8 hours none of this would happen. BUT if you're woken up and shoved straight into a kitchen then of course you're holing to set fire to something.

Now, let's have a look at the kind people who've been donating....

It's hard to tell, as I've just woke up, but it looks like Rich Morgan, James Seabright, William, Andy Smart, Mark Bowden, David Lavery, Kendersrule, Neil Hillen (FOR THE THIRD TIME), Leighton Tweets, Lauren Kerr, Thomas French and Paul Litchfield all donated the tediously traditional way of thinking about who benefits most whereas fdp68 and Florence Ballard both decided that when it comes to Comic Relief comedy comes before charity as they've both REFUSED to tick the Gift Aid box. Apparently some people are using the excuse that because they live outside the UK they're exempt from asking for Gift Aid but come on, people. It's really funny. Just admit that the FUCK YOU GIFT AID joke is way more relevant than providing money for the needy and we can all have a good laugh. I'm proud of you guys.

I mean people have been so generous throughout this. It's been so lovely. Normal, ordinary, some might even say boring people have given their hard earned money to those less fortunate. But those selfless, caring people are just shadows of humans in comparison to those people who really care more than any caring person has ever cared out of their care-hole. Of course, I mean the caring comedian.

The best thing about doing this 24 hour blog (besides sleeping) has been seeing the truly generous side of the caring comedian. Comedians are just their for laughs. No, that's barely a part of what they do at all. Comedians are there to show that raising money is all well and good but when it comes to showing people how to donate, they're better than everybody. It has been nothing but a cockle warming treat seeing professional comedians pretend that they're not desperate to be seen as loving and giving despite all comedians having no heart whatsoever and barbed wire cum instead of blood. I mean it all started so well. Mick Watson, the transwelshian corporate indie star of self publishing, offered £100 from all his ill-gotten cider riches and clearly showed the entire world, and more importantly the comedy circuit, how to care properly. It was an incredible piece of selfless aggrandised publicity (yeah, that's how I see my blog) that few could match. Sure, Richard Herod, the former double-act partner of that repetitive, monotoned ageing student (take your pick), gave nearly £51 from his own online empire but that was laughable compared to Watson's over £49 greater donation. It looked like, once again, Mick was going to be the biggest and most talked about comedian around until one of the Dave Gormen came forward and matched him pound for pound. We're used to the Dave Gormen wowing us with back-breaking stunts and treks around the world instead of jokes but this time one of them put us all in our place with his generosity and need to not be outdone by that guy who did that reality cookery programme once. All I'm saying is, we can all learn a lot from these roly-poly TV funnymen: giving can be begging at the same time.

I'm tired, OK?

But are comedians the kindest people of all? Despite their selfless charity work, no. No, they're fucking not. In fact, when it comes to being kind, is anyone really selfless? When celebrities do Comic Relief it isn't just because they want to end famine (by the way, I just ate a huge roast. It was lovely. I did it in aid of Comic Relief. I am going to hell), I mean they get on telly. It's brilliant publicity. Is running a marathon for charity kind? I'm not sure. You have to really look after yourself, eat well, train lots. You'll be a better version of you at the end. You're getting something, a lot in fact, out of it so it's definitely not selfless. Lots of people ban goods from foreign countries because of the unethical treatment of workers. But those workers can thank you. Highly unlikely but it could happen. Once again, I think the only decent and selfless people are vegans. Look at us (not all of us. Some of us really do look like dicks), we wouldn't harm an animal no matter what and what do we get in return? Nothing. Smugness counts as nothing, by the way. We say no to meat, milk and shampoo and we have nothing to show for it. Even if we wanted to be thanked by the animals, we couldn't. Vegans are so utterly lovely and selfless that they've decided to support and defend beings who's only form of communication is to eat us.

And even then we'd be helping famine, in a way, so we'd be smugger than ever.

And there are plenty of the non-selfless, look-at-me style charity donators here at Red Blog Day. All jumping up and begging to be seen are Dotes, Leighton Tweets, Al Napp, Colonel Hitch, Mersey Mal, Morag McFarland,  Alex Watts, Margaret Cabourn-Smith and Colin Smith who all chose helping their fellow man over laughing by ticking the Gift Aid box. Luckily, Olly Farrell and Zara Andrewes both saw the funny side of TAKING money from charity by spitting on Gift Aid and all it stands for. Of course, the most dorable donation came from Jerk the lurcher. Somehow.

I'm not sure that daytime loneliness is any better than the silence of night time. At least at night I was happily drunk, now I'm miserably hungover. It feels horrible. In fact, I feel like I'm on an anaesthetic. I'm numb and spaced out. I can't really think and all I want is sleep. I can taste though. Sadly, all I can taste is every alcoholic drink I've had for the last two months and a rank meal I had in October. The great thing about waking up and immediately starting on making a roast dinner for breakfast is that I was able to take my hangover by surprise. It wasn't ready yet. I got through the pie making and the roast potatoes preparation while my hangover was still getting dressed for work. But it's arrived and it's apologised for being late. and it's one of those terrible bastards who, after apologising for being late, feels the need to make up for lost time. To work a bit harder at it's job. To really put the effort in. It finished throwing pain around my head over half an hour ago and has since worked through it's lunch break to make sure my body feels drained and full at the same time while wafting imaginary nauseous smells up my nose. I know I'm going to be sick. I know I'm going to be sick soon. But at least I'll be throwing up for charity.

The total so far is £1600.38. If we get it to £1700, I'll throw up.

You know there are real comedians doing real comedy for Comic Relief? I mean, this is better but doing comedy must be easier than this. Real comedians have chosen to do gigs or write comedy songs or appear in sketches with a newsreader for Comic Relief. I think I'm the only one who has chosen to imprison himself, to cut himself off from everything. 24 hours writing a blog? What the hell was I thinking? I knew it was a bit of a stupid idea but I had no idea how thick it was. This isn't a stupid idea, it's a massive mistake. It's Big Brother but not on Channel 4. On 5. And instead of a bunch of people in the house together, it's me alone. With the public voting parts of me out bit by bit. "Michael's health. You have 5 minutes to get ready. I'm coming to get you". "Hour 7 and Michael's sanity is in the shed shouting at itself".

Most of my organs have definitely been voted out. Why did I drink two bottles of wine last night? Who did I think I was impressing? Well, no one. I got pissed and forgot people were watching. I feel like a ghost that still has a skeleton in it. You must have a hangover cure. You must. Please don't say Mrs. Brown's Boys.

Right. I have to make my own hangover cure or else I won't make it to 9.30. Let's see what's in the cupboards besides dog biscuits and bleach. Unless that works.

I found some purple powder. It's called Dioralyte and it helps rehydration. All you do is add it to water. Erm...why is Dioralyte taking credit for something that the water is doing? The purple powder doesn't even turn the water purple. That's another disappointment. Still, at least it's blackcurrant flavoured. Oh, no it isn't. It's water flavoured. What a lying sachet of purple powdery deceit.

Thankfully, we've had more donations coming in. It's almost as if my pain, nausea and solitude is a form of fun to some people. Anyone who would enjoy another man's suffering is a horrible, sick cunt. And those horrible, sick cunts are Colin Smith, Amy Butterworth, Katie Bancroft (again), Peter Lloyd, Rob S, Beth Jackson, Richard Peel, Grammus and Polly Randall who have all given us Gift Aids.

Hang on. I think I've taken the wrong purple powder. It says on the packet that it's for the treatment of acute diarrhoea in infants. Why the fuck have I got that in my house? And why did I decide to read the packet afterwards?

Updates on the treatment of my infant diarrhoea as they happen.

Wow! Half an hour later and my diarrhoea has completely stopped. You see, Red Blog Day reached £1800 and I promised if that happened I'd watch another episode of Mrs. Brown's Boys and it cured me of any potential infant diarrhoea that I might have simply because calling that TV show shit is an insult to shit. My shit refuses to live in a world where Mrs. Brown's Boys is upstaging it with it's stench and lack of hygiene. I don't really even want to talk about that episode. In fact I never want to ever speak of that shitty programme ever again. No offence to my diarrhoea.

What was fun during that hellish half hour was talking to Nick Doody. He was watching me on the webcam and tweeting me. I replied by talking out loud, knowing he was watching. It's been great when that's happened during the last 18 hours and 41 minutes. People writing to me and keeping me sane. A man could properly go nuts doing this if he's not careful. The fact that I responded to all of Nick's tweets by speaking directly to his avatar doesn't bode well for the remaining 6 and three quarter hours I've got left. God, I'm lonely.

I have to say I'm very disappointed in the plot of this blog. It was supposed to be a simple one. Two guys meet and, despite their differences, they just click. I wanted us all to get on Twitter and make sure that Jenson Button and Jeremy Limb become friends. I want to see them say hello to each other. Exchange a joke. Maybe agree to meet up at Ascot during the next Formula One Grand National or at The Phoenix for the next Los Quattros Cvnts. Basically, I wanted Red Blog Day to be special for all of us because we'd all started something special for two people and because it's stupid.

But hardly anyone has mentioned it to Jenson Button or Jeremy Limb. This incredible bond may never happen unless we pull together and make it work. I want Jenson and Jeremy to be the new Alexander and Richard from Pointless. Have you seen it when either of them has to speak to contestant? Oh, they'll speak to them but it will be with that look you give the 1000th painting you see in a gallery. Nice but...whatever. Then they speak to each other and their faces just light up. It's like they haven't seen each other in years. So much joy with every exchange. There are only two people in the world that don't know that Alexander and Richard are in love and that's Alexander and Richard. I want the same for Jenson and Jeremy. I never want Alexander and Richard to know those two are in love. Come on, Red Blog Dayers. Let's make Jenemy happen. They've got a nickname. Shame to waste it.

Christ, I'm tired. I'd love to go to sleep now. In fact, I'd just like to lie down. That would be a disaster though because I'd be out like a light and Johnny Candon would have to ring me to wake me up again. I think was the most confusing part of falling asleep, waking up to Johnny.

Hey, look what I found while I was writing this blog...

YOUR TWOROSCOPE.

Hello, my name is Michael Legge and I have been on holiday with your future and groped your soul for a bit. Sit back, relax and shut your pigging mouth while I tell you what life has in store for you as I read Your Tworoscope...

ARIES: A family member brings news of a terrible car crash that you're currently in. Be aware of the number 7. It has B.O.

TAURUS: You're a wet sign and you're aligned with the planet Jedward. This week a stranger bearing gifts walks straight past you because you're a stranger and a well-known cow.

GEMINI: Romance blossoms at work when a man carry two envelopes accidentally tastes you. Your lucky colour is blue and you will die on Thursday at noon.

CANCER: Buy a wig?

LEO: A well-deserved promotion at work leads to you getting beaten into a coma by three little girls with a spanner. You don't mind cheese.

VIRGO: Not even with a barge pole, sweetheart.

LIBRA: You have a fiery temperament and also your knee is on fire. Ignore it and it will go away. A gentleman caller rings twice and leaves a romantic message. Sadly, he was using your phone.

SCORPIO: A close member of your family (your son or accountant perhaps?) tells you a startling fact about Bib, a man you've yet to meet. You try to count to 15 but get very bored around 8.

SAGITTARIUS & CAPRICORN: Fuck-nuggets.

AQUARIUS: Your parents leave you a framed photo of their will in their will. Golf doesn't seem to be your game as you appear to be very drowning.

PISCES: It's time to get a haircut, new clothes and look smart. You're going to court. Your unlucky word is "Guilty".

And that is Your Tworoscope for this Red Blog Day special. I hope I shall see you again soon...in the FUTURE!


And that's that now. Thanks to @gaijintendo for suggesting it. Cheers! 

We're getting very close to £2000 now. Thanks to Al Murray, Neil Hillen, Dave Cohen, David Carrington, The Ladywell Fields Conservation Society (very excited about that one), Lee Mcilwaine, Ali Murray, Lauren Wellburn, Jonathan Clayton, Michael Stanton, Peta & Harry Nightingale, Andy Wilson and Lizzie Roper who all gave money yet failed to make me laugh because they insisted on giving Gift Aid. Major respect goes to tight-as-fuck Danielle Ward, misterdv and Moose Allain who all put their names on the JustGiving page yet just gave FUCK ALL and that's definitely what they did, they didn't just keep the amount the gave a secret. They have told charity to go fuck itself and I find that funny. And surely that's the point of Comic Relief?

Or is keeping a man alone in a room the point of Comic Relief? I've forgotten now. It's been so long since I was anywhere other than Room. I like it here on Chair but sometimes Back hurts but I'm too scared to lie on Sofa in case I fall asleep again which will definitely happen. At least I like Room. All my favourite things are in Room. Chair, Sofa, Table, Laptop and Jerk. Sometimes Jerk acts like she wants to leave Room but there is nowhere but Room. I think I remember an outside but there can't be more than Room, can there?

I wonder if I'm joking about going mad or going mad. How do you know? Surely at some point it all gets blurred. Blurred. Blurred. That's a funny word.

WE'VE HIT THE TWO GRAND MARK!!!

I'm very pleased about that. Here are more people to thank... Rob Heeney, Neil Hillen (again) and Paul Lewis (aka Phat Paul) who all gave generously but all look like stupid, happy clappy cunts next to the mighty Chris Evans who gave the most money, told Gift Aid to fuck off (still the funniest think you can do to charity) and he originally posted his donation anonymously but then realised that he might get a love bite out of it from a lady if he put his name on it instead. HE is our £2000 hero. Well done, Chris, and best of luck with the love bite.

I feel bad that Jerk wants to leave Room but she had a huge walk and a run yesterday and she will be walked, run and fussed as much as possible tomorrow. She has loads of toys and she can play with anything she likes in Room. But except for Chair and Table and Sofa and Laptop, what have I got in Room? Just screaming. So loud you can barely hear it. I had to just have a moment to make it stop. I think it's been the most relaxing moment I've had in Room since about midnight. I put a slanket on (really), moved Chair near Webcam and put Fix You by Coldplay on. The whole thing. And I just sat there looking at the camera, staring and not thinking. When I don't think the silent screams stop. Coldplay just numbs everything and thinking becomes hard and even screams don't want any part of their music. I sat there. Staring. Not moving. In a slanket.

If you ever imprison yourself for a full day and hate all the silent noise everywhere at all times, I highly recommend it. Might stop me from going bananas.

It's 17.59...

I just had a break. I needed it. 45 minutes out from Red Blog Day to recharge my battery and stop going fucking mental. I don't like missing Pointless so even a day that's set aside to force Jenson Button and Jeremy Limb into being best friends and does a thing for famine or whatever is going to get in the way of my Pointless love. I can't miss an episode because I know if I do then THAT will be the episode where Alexander and Richard finally kiss. Richard will be revealing all the possible pointless answers to the losing contestants and Alexander will just not hold back anymore. Every day at 5.15 he has to remain reserved with the man that clearly puts fire in his heart and then...no more. He'll walk over to Richard and say "I know what's pointless". Richard will hold his gaze, tremble and say "Xander, we...we can't do..." and Alexander will put his hand on Richard's face and kiss him.

The whole studio will applaud because EVERYONE knew it was going to happen one day...everyone thought it SHOULD happen one day. Look at them talking to one another next time. Wills doesn't look at Kate like that. Burton never looked at Taylor like that. Look at them. They're both Gomez Addams thinking the other is Morticia. And one day we'll see it. It'll happen. They'll kiss and call each other cara mia and it will never ruin the show. Somehow they'll succeed where Moonlighting, Cheers and Sky at Night failed. And all because of a kiss. A kiss seen by millions.

Then they'll do the cleanest bumming you've ever seen. Spotless.

Richard Osman tweeted about Red Blog Day. That's been my favourite part so far. Not the funniest part, that will take some beating. Falling asleep in front of a webcam is an odd way of raising money for charity but it's also an odd thing for people to watch. But people did watch it and they donated. I'm going to sleep for a day next year.

Pointless and Doctor Who are pretty much my favourite things. If one of the Doctors tweeted about Red Blog Day that would be perfect. I say that because I'm starting to worry about the plot. Maybe Jenson and Jeremy just aren't destined to be. I mean, I find that difficult to believe but then I've been away for days, completely alone and I'm wearing a slanket so my opinion should be taken with a pinch of shut the fuck up.

Let's not give up yet though, comrades. If it's meant to happen then we'll see Jenemy right in front of us before 9.30 tonight. We have less than three hours. I believe.

Weirdly I'm starting to feel saner than I was earlier. But maybe that's how all lunatics feel. That before they went mad was awful, it wasn't them, and now they're their trueselves; talking to a laptop and wearing a slanket and never leaving Room. I do feel happy though. Less than 3 hours to go and we have over £2,100. Brilliant. Thanks to Magnus & Samantha Wadsack (I know. There's nothing about Magnus Wadsack that isn't majestic), Jim Bob and Sarah Huggins for their kindness that was immediately made to look twee when Mick B and Abi who found Gift Aid just a little too sickening. Here are the funnies of Red Blog Day in order: 1) Me falling asleep. 2) People not ticking Gift Aid no matter what the reason is. It's made me giggle for almost 24 hours.

But so has the cup next to me and my pen. Just be alone for ages and put sleep aside and you too can find hilarity in everything you see. I'm a lucky guy.

I wonder if I'll miss Room after 9.30. It won't be Room anymore, will it? It'll just be my living room with doors that lead to places that aren't Room. Oh, my God, I've just realised something. I'm so near to the end of my 24 hours (plus 90 minutes extra for bad behaviour) of captivity...something I hated hours ago...and I think I've grown to like it, to feel comfortable with it. Maybe even to need it? I think I've developed Stockholm syndrome. But as I'm the person who has held me captive, I've developed Stockholm syndrome for myself. Not me me, Room me. I'm me me but Room me came up with the idea to keep me in here in the first place and now I sort of understand what Room me was trying to do. Me me hates having to go outside and deal with people and noises and smells and Room me knew that when he put me me here. He knows how bad it is out there and I've always just accepted outside. I've never liked it, I've just accepted that that's what it is. But Room me knew that here was peace and quiet and if I wanted anyone I had Jerk and Chair and Table and Room me and they'd always be there and they'd never let me down or play the wrong loud music or have a ridiculous ringtone. They'd all just be there for one person: me me. Room me did this for me me and I (me me) really feel touched that anyone would ever care so much about me that they'd show me that I didn't have to deal with outside anymore. Surely that's what real caring is? Protection. Peace. Love? I know I haven't known Room me for long, and there have been times when he's driven me mad, but he wouldn't protect me like this if he didn't...love me. I think I feel the same way about him. I want to kiss Room me. I never want to leave him. Just stay in his safety, in his protection, in his arms. Together. Holding each other and exploring one another.

Don't forget to donate.

You know what? I only have two hours left in Room and then it's over. What could I do in front of this camera that would be the most inappropriate thing to do during a charity webcast? Hmmm....

No, can't think about that. So close to the end and money has come in, lots of money, and I'm still hungover and I feel sick. No point putting extra pressure on myself. I think I'm more worried about how I'm feeling rather than how anyone else feels about watching or reading this. I'm slightly concerned that I feel I might miss Room and I'm certainly VERY concerned about that last big paragraph I wrote. That's ridiculous. There's no way I'd fall for me. I know what I'm like. Although...I'm sure I could change me...No. Don't think like that. I'll say I'll change and I'll believe me but I'll turn out to be a liar like all those other mes. Anyway, I'm more concerned about how comfortable I feel in this slanket.

I mean, I feel regal in this thing. It's huge and it's brilliant how it trails behind me when I walk, especially when I turn. Swoosh! I feel like Darth Vader, except I'm a sky blue, fluffy, cosy Darth Vader. I think I prefer that one. It's all well and good terrifying galaxies but you want to feel snug. I feel snug.

I'm really not sure if I'll stop wearing this for a while. So, when people say to me "Was Red Blog Day worth it then?", I'll take my pills, stare out the window and think "Yes". I'm wearing a thermal gown made for a king. I can't imagine ever needing anything else.

Starting to feel like I'd really love to lie on the floor and rock for a while.

Well, I did but not any more thanks to a fun and lively session with Sigur Ros. I just played one of their tracks and, like with Coldplay earlier, just sat there staring into the webcam. Sigur Ros are the perfect band to play when you're coming to the end of a 24 hour (or 25.5 hour) webcast and blog. They're just a good, standard, dependable, no nonsense rock band that deliver solid tunes that your average rock audience want from a good night out.

I've become quite sarcastic since not getting any sleep. Also I'm starting to detest that stupid sleep that sneaked up on me in the early hours of the morning. Not fair. I didn't want to sleep, it wanted me. I struggled but it held my legs down on that comfy sofa and wrapped me in a slanket. It was useless to argue with it. I tried. I really tried. Well, I probably tried. I can't really remember. It was like the slanket came right up to me and when I saw it I backed away. I didn't want trouble. But that's when the sofa got behind me. I was basically mugged.

And now I'm the one paying the price. I could have gone to bed 17 minutes ago but no. Those bastards just got away with it and, of course, it's the victim that has to pay. So that's why I'll be here until 9.30pm. If I survive. It suddenly feels like 2am again. It's time to liven things up, I think.

Just for a minute, I mean. I've let Tiny Owl, Britain's most lovable violent small bird, on Twitter. Look, charity is just so worthy and caring and so fucking annoyingly nice that sometimes the only way you can cope with the endless cheeriness of it is to pretend to be a tiny owl and threaten to break someone's legs. It makes perfect sense when you think about it. Well, it does to me because reality is a place I've forgotten all about. Plus spiralling out of control seems really easy all of a sudden. I'm exhausted, in pain and getting more and more mentally unstable by the minute. So...I might as well just go along with it. If I want to pretend to be a tiny owl then I should pretend to be a tiny owl. Don't you think I've earned it. Could you honestly look me in my red, teary eyes and tell me that losing my mind is the wrong thing to do?

So is anything keeping me sane? I'm actually not sure any more. It's near the end, sure, but it's felt near the end for hours. Maybe I need to talk to Mark Watson. How did he do it? Surely he must have broken down?

We did great tonight though. Still got half an hour left but we've done brilliantly so far with the total currently standing at £2,214. That is over twice as much as expected. Really impressed by your kindness. Thanks to Stella Duffy, Morgan the Rabbit, Melissa Contreras, Natalie Collins, Dave Steele, Neil Hillen (for the 5th time!) and Nogbad the Bad who all gave from the bottom of their hearts but made us puke our guts up with their pussy attitude to Gift Aid. Not like Lisa Broughton and Steven Dempster who pointed and laughed at the needy charity and the total hero Andrew Goddard who got on the JustGiving page without coughing up a single penny. Good to see someone's putting the fun into fund raising.

So...we didn't know our Jenemy but I had a lot of fun. I really mean it when I say I'll miss it. I'm probably quite a sick person and I don't think I'll get over this bout of madness for a while but I really do think it'll be weird to just switch the camera off and go out. It's been fun interacting with everyone, talking to myself, getting drunk, falling asleep, farting, cooking a roast dinner in aid of famine relief and getting tweets from Richard Osman, my Pointless hero. But it's over now. Or is it? I've thought it was almost over a lot of times before but the end just kept getting further away.

Thanks to recent donations from Gavin, Johnny Two Dogs, Lord Tooth, Katie Gore, Kerri Sullivan, Ewan Duncan, Mark Jones, Rob S, Mark Bowden, Heather Stevens, Jo Robinson, Andy McH, Nadia Jennings, Margaret Cabourn-Smith, Neal Peters, Kathy Bell and Tom Baldwin who all gave and behaved like stubborn cunts over their playing-by-the-rules insistence that they tick the boring I-do-what-I'm-told Gift Aid box. Which leaves John Galantini as our final Red Blog Day hero to post a message on JustGiving and yet to give fuck not nothing. I salute you all. And to every aninymous who gave, I'm very grateful. Thanks. The total at the time of posting this blog was a brillian £2419.18p.

And it really is over. I know it now. Jerk's demanding to be walked. She's been very patient and if she says it's over, then it's over. Thanks everyone. I really appreciate it. It was fucking nuts, eh?

Bond Film.

Some people are never going to get on. I understand that. You're never going to see Winston Churchill and Adolf Hitler in a sauna together drinking champagne and talking about doing business, are you? And you'll never see Superman and Lex Luthor having a laugh in Wetherspoon's together while watching the sport. And you'll certainly never see Brendan O'Carroll and me kissing violently while bare chested and wearing only cut-off denim shorts, smearing our lipstick everywhere and rubbing our backs, UNLESS it was in your mind and the only way that would ever happen is if someone brought it up and no one will ever bring that up because once you have that image in your head you can never get it out and you'd probably be thinking about it RIGHT NOW over and over again. So, yes, some folk are just destined to never be friends but some people could easily put their differences aside if only they took the time to see how alike they really.

I've seen this single mum pick up her son from school a few times. She's started seeing a guy called Dave and clearly this new relationship is working well and she's really happy. So happy in fact that she asked Dave to move in with her but, of course, not before running it past her son first. Like I say, I've only seen these people a few times but I get the feeling she thought her son would be happy with another guy in the house, maybe not a father figure but a mate. Someone to do guy stuff with. But when she told her son about her intentions he just said "OK" and his face fell sad. Yes, he wanted his mum to be happy but he hated the idea of Dave. Who the hell is this Dave anyway? How dare he barge into my house? What can mum possibly see in him?

Here's the twist, dear reader, despite the age gap Dave and the boy are SO SIMILAR.

I'd say the boy is about 10 and he loves music. Not current stuff, he's into music from the '80's, the '70's and maybe even the '60's. The great thing is that when Dave moved in he brought his collection of vinyl with him. Dave has loads of albums and the boy likes nothing more than looking through them but when Dave told the boy he could borrow them anytime he liked, the boy just said "nah, you're alright" and left the room. There was a golden opportunity for those two to bond but the boy would rather be alone than to admit him and Dave could actually  friends. Despite them sharing so much, the boy could only see the stranger in the house.

The boy couldn't start the day without a big stretch and a refreshing shower. Dave was the same. In fact they'd meet every morning in the hallway outside the bathroom at the same time, always with Dave kindly offering the bathroom to the boy first. And always the boy responded with "Nah, you're alright" before immediately walking away. Dave got this with every attempt to befriend the boy. "Nah, you're alright", "Nah, you're alright", "Nah, you're alright" and always just walking away.

The boy liked tinkering with his bike, something Dave loved as a child. But when he offered to help, the boy said "Nah, you're alright" and walked away. The boy liked going into town at a particular time of day, a time that Dave was also fond of. But when he offered to give the boy a lift, the boy said "Nah, you're alright" and walked away through the rain. How long could this rejection go on for? Well...

The boy's mother was going out for the night and leaving her son and boyfriend at home together, alone. Dave searched the kitchen for potential dinner ingredients but soon made the decision that the search was hopeless. "Right", said Dave. "Let's go somewhere awful". The boy overheard Dave's mumble and he got so excited. The boy loved somewhere awful but he had to play it cool. He couldn't show Dave that he was finally starting to open up to him. "Alright", said the boy.

Dave was baffled. How could the boy have taken his clearly sarcastic statement to mean that he really did want to go to somewhere awful? No one likes somewhere awful. BUT...maybe this is what it will take. Maybe if Dave gives in and takes the boy to somewhere awful they can finally connect. Dave and the boy put on their coats, left the house and soon  they were in a place full of garish colours and the smell in there would have fell a horse, which is just what the owner of somewhere awful wanted. The gents sat together for the very first time and they ate. The boy loved somewhere awful. It was his favourite place in the whole world and Dave had brought him here. Maybe Dave's not so bad, the boy thought and he smiled for the first time since the man moved into his house. He smiled. I saw it happen. Then he took the pickle from his burger and, instead of throwing it on the table, he offered it to Dave. Dave said "Nah, you're alright" and I did what anyone would have done.

I stood up in the cinema and shouted "HA! YOU'VE BEEN CUNTED OFF! SUCK IT, YOU LITTLE PRETENTIOUS VINYL LOVING, HOW-DOES-A-BIKE-WORK, WALKING IN THE RAIN PRICK. I HOPE YOU NEVER HAVE A SINGLE SOLITARY HAPPY MOMENT IN YOUR ENTIRE CUNTY WORTHLESS LIFE, YOU SELFISH, STUCK UP LITTLE WANKER. YOU'VE BEEN CUNTED OFF!"

Then I watched Argo and had a really lovely day.

Don't you dare forget about this tomorrow: www.michaellegge.co.uk

Do They Know It's 10th March At All?

If there's a good thing about my blog, and there isn't, it's that I treat everyone and everything equally. Everyone and everything is awful. Have you ever met someone who wasn't the worst person you've ever met in your life? Of course you haven't. Everyone is worse than everyone at all times and every single thing is permanently terrible, bleak and smelly. But I have noticed that there is one thing that has escaped my wrath. One thing that I have never mentioned in my blog even though it's just as bad as anything else. Well, that's going to change because it's time I spoke up and pointed out how utterly shit this thing is and then, maybe, finally someone will do something about it. The shitty thing I'm referring to is, of course, Africa.

Have you seen Africa? It's too hot, isn't it? I mean, that is ridiculous. Why would anyone live in a place THAT hot? And people do live there. Millions of people. In a continent that's too hot and way too big and dusty and it inspires terrible songs by Toto. But the temperature and size of Africa aren't the worst things about the place. Get this: AFRICA IS THE HOLIDAY HOME OF PERVERTS. True. A lot of people who live in Africa aren't very well so wealthy celebrities from the UK actually get off on going over and looking at them. Billy Connolly, Lenny Henry, that fucker that wrote Four Weddings and a Funeral and probably Keith Lemon or someone all spend time in small African towns and villages that are lacking in food, clean water, medicine and educational facilities and they just stare at the people living and dying there. Basically, these pampered celebrities promise to provide these poor people health and hope in exchange for gawping and drooling over their squalor. It's SICK but every cloud has a silver lining: while these worthless and perverted celebrities are in Africa, they're far away from us.

This is a chance for us to do something good for the people of Britain. From 8pm this Sunday 10th March I will be writing a blog for 24 hours in aid of Comic Relief, a charity that uses some of the money it raises to send some of the worst people in the UK to Africa and out of our lives. 

You can be mentioned in my 24 hour blog which will be updated frequently all the way until 8pm on the 11th. All you have to do is donate to Comic Relief via my specially designed (by Martin Wolfenden) website and a mention is guaranteed. And by "a mention" I mean I'll probably just slag you off or call you a big cunt BUT it is for a very good cause. Plus you can see me working away and slowly going out of my mind via the webcam. 

This is something that I really need you to get behind and support as much as you can by donating and spreading the word on Facebook, Twitter and, just for a laugh, MySpace. This is a Comic Relief event that we can all do together and we'll all know we're making a real difference to all our lives.

On the 10th of March maybe, just maybe, we can send Davina McCall to a place we're all never going to go to. Best of luck, everyone.

Here's the website: www.michaellegge.co.uk

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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 www.soundcloud.com/michaellegge 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?

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