PC Gone Mad.

Train heave on to Euston. Well, Kings Cross anyway.

I'm back in London and immediately it welcomed me back the way only London can. Queues to get a tube ticket, queues to get through the barrier at the tube, queues to go down the escalator down to the tube platform and, of course, the sight of the tube doors closing and the train moving away and the dot matrix saying the next train is in 8 minutes. 8 minutes is a very upsetting amount of time to wait on a tube, 2 minutes is just about bearable but 8 is the most insane thing that I have ever heard in my entire life. At least it was at the time. Then I got on the tube and a man in crutches and wearing soiled clothes followed, apologised for asking and then asked for some change so that he could stay in a hostel. Some people don't trust people who beg but I am not one of those people.

He looks like shit and he smells. If he's conning us then at least he's done his homework. I find some people's theories on the wealthy homeless hilarious and depressing. How many times have you heard "Don't give them anything. Look at their shoes. Their shoes are OK. He probably has a mansion in Chelsea and a Lambourgini and his own independent film company and stocks in Microsoft and is married to Madonna and owns the rights to The Beatles back catalogue and is Richard Branson and invented the diamond"? It's fucking ridiculous and just doesn't make sense. I'm a deeply cynical person but if I ever get suspicious of a skinny man who looks so uncomfortable with his own skeleton, has shit under his fingernails and requests 20 fucking pence then it's time to take a long hard look at myself. I gave him some change. So did some other people. But a cunt didn't.

He was from the Department of Cunts, too. Very official. He had a badge and ID and he was so big and tough and it soooooooo impressed all of us when he stood over this skeletal half-man while he threw him off the train. "I'm Transport Police", he declared. "Do not give this man any money. Begging is a criminal offence. Get off this train at the next stop". The homeless man had to give some change back to the last man who gave him money. It wasn't just embarrassing it was simply horrible and evil. What difference could it possibly have made to this big badge-flashing shit if someone took a bit of spare change from someone else? How can Mr. Transport Police justify this action? He could plainly see that this man was, at the very least, ill. He might be on drugs, he might spend it on booze!!! We're ALL on fucking drugs and we ALL spend it on fucking booze. Why should he be left out? And what a fucking cowardly job being Transport Police is. I understand that violence occurs on trains but I have never seen any police around when this happens. Do they just sit there waiting for life's little fuck-ups to come along asking for change or fare dodging? That whole helping people thing really has to be stamped out. Thanks, pigs!

Yeah, I'm in a mood. Ha! See, he misses Edinburgh already. He's only back 5 minutes and he's missing it. WRONG. My TV blew up. That's why I'm pissed off. Might not have one for a few days. It is literally the end of the world and really puts that homeless man's petty begging into perspective. He doesn't know how lucky he is. There's only one thing worse than no TV and that's a TV that doesn't work.

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

The Last King of Everything of Scotland.

And that's that.

I'm writing this on a train back to London after the final King of Everything show in Edinburgh. I'm not saying I had a bad time but I'm a wee, little bit completely over the moon that I'm leaving. It was fun but I'm too old and stupid to have that amount of fun for that length of time. My body hates me for what I have done to it in August. And today when I was on stage during The Shouting Sketch when my comedy partner and Edinburgh husband, Johnny Candon, accidentally spat in my mouth I knew that it was time to leave.

I've loved the show and loved being on stage with Johnny. Sure, he finds rehearsing a repugnant chore but he's very, very funny and that makes up for a lot. And there were other elements of Edinburgh that made me happy for a while. I saw some great shows and two very shit ones. Dan Antopolski's show was utterly predictable in as much as I knew it was going to be brilliant. He's just one of the funniest people I have ever seen and, in a way, that makes him a cunt. I saw Stewart Lee's show for a second time and it was even funnier than the first time I saw it which, in a way, makes me a cunt. What didn't I get before? Stupid Legge. Bridget Christie's show was so fantastic and I was proud that she chose me out of all the people in her audience (one of which was her own father) to stand like a fascist. I saw a good few other great shows but my brain is letting me down at the moment, which is fair enough as it's so often the other way round.

See? It wasn't all bad, eh? I even got quite happy when I heard Tim Key had won the Edinburgh Funny Trophy. He's excellent. And Johnny Sweet won best newcomer which shocked everyone in comedy. How dare someone we've never even heard of win the best newcomer prize? That is just too radical a step. Congratulations to both of them.

Oooh, look. I'm in Newcastle now.

Anyway, this time next week and I'll start missing it all over again. But for now I'm quite content to say goodbye to comedians who keep their reviews on their iPhones and show them to you, to fucking Sagres beer and to "young" comedians who say The C-Bomb instead of cunt. For fuck's sake. The fucking C-Bomb? If you ever use the phrase The C-Bomb, ironically that automatically makes you a wally. Yeah, I went there. A few days ago I was in Brooke's Bar and a line from the film Anchorman kept running through my mind and did so for the remaining days of the Edinburgh Festival: "We've been coming to the same party for twelve years now, and in no way is that depressing".

Bye, Edinburgh.

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

Nearly Done.

Only two days to go.

I'm tired, drained, sick, ugly and fed up. That is definitely the spirit of the Fringe. I feel like I'm trapped in Groundhog Day but with a boring script written by Simon fucking Nye and it's been directed by a blind dog with rabies. And I'm not even Bill Murray, I'm Andie MacDowell, the worst actress in the fucking world.

I really need toast.

Has anything good happened over the last two days? Can I even tell the difference between the last two days and any other two days that have happen in the expensive and drunk moth of August? No. Not much. This isn't like last year. At least last year I was angry all the time. This year I'm just fed up. I'm so fed up that I can't get angry. Even the nominations for the Edinburgh Comedy I'm The Best Present Prize couldn't get me angry. Know why? Because I, along with everyone else on the fucking planet, doesn't give a shit about the fucking Edinburgh Comedy Award Present Thing. We don't even know what it's called anymore. I mean, well done to all the nominees and everything but honestly, if you're not a nominee who gives a shit? You'll get an award. Well done. You're following in the footsteps of Lano & Woodley, Will Adamsdale and all those other household names who have been flung into fame's bosom after winning it. It's such a dull award now that the only surprise about it is that occassionally you meet someone up here who has a little bit of a moan about it. "Ooh, that's terrible. No women in either of the shortlists" or "This is a disgrace. Not a single ethnic act in either of the shortlists." For fuck's sake, the awards panel are made up of a group of comedy experts who's qualified opinion is clear: Only white men are funny, everyone else isn't. It makes total sense when you think about it. Thatcher, Mugabe, Papa CJ? Are they funny?

I think I need Toilet here this year more than ever. It would just turn my last couple of days in Edinburgh right round if he, a man who keeps ignoring me, would walk up to me and put his arm round my shoulder and say "I love you".

Has it all been so bad? No. Not at all. The show is great. That is the best hour of my day. I've also been doing some stand-up at The Stand which I'm really enjoying plus last night's stand-up set at BBC Comedy Presents was so enjoyable. This is going to sound weird but I got a crouching ovation. When I said goodnight to the audience a fair few stood up to applaud. How lovely is that? Except they didn't quite stand all the way up, as if they went "Wow! He was amazing!" then immediately reassessed their opinion to "Well, not amazing but certainly quite good". Plus I've been hanging out, too briefly mind, with Tara Flynn and her boyfriend Carl. They make you happy simply by being in their presence. They're both too good looking, too funny and, well, pretty damned marvellous. Carl's stories of growing up in gangland L.A. are hilariously harrowing. He once got told off by his Mum because she tried to shoot him. I could spend a lot of time with Tara and Carl. They're great.

Oh, plus I had a truly lovely moment backstage at The Stand two days ago. I was fed up (I may have mentioned this) and was sitting on the sofa with Stewart Lee waiting for the last act to finish so I could go back on stage and wrap up the show. We started talking about Robyn Hitchcock. I'm Robyn Hitchcock's biggest and most embarrassing fan and Stewart has a lot of his albums and has gigged with him many times. Then Stewart starts playing a Robyn song on his guitar. It's a beautiful song called Linctus House and we both start singing it together. I'm sitting on a sofa singing one of the most beautiful songs ever written with one of the nicest people I have met.

20 seconds later, the last act finishes and the singing stops. But for 20 seconds I was very happy. That's not bad for Edinburgh.

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

Stupid Fucking Idiot.

I am a stupid, fucking idiot. This will not comes as news to anyone who regularly reads this blog. It's obvious that I'm stupid. All the fuck-ups that I make prove I'm an idiot. Even Abie has noticed that I'm "angry". So, it's not that different to any other day. I'm an idiot every day. But yesterday I just couldn't shake the sickening feeling in my stomach that I am, indeed, a stupid fucking idiot.

I walked into the Five Pound Fringe office and made a joke. It was a long, loud, sarcastic joke. I meant it as a humorous "innit bleedin' typical" but that's not how it came across. I know this because I made Lisa Keddie cry. I was utterly surprised that it happened because I didn't think anything I was saying could be taken any other way than as a joke. I was wrong. I know this because I made Lisa Keddie cry.

I'm a stupid fucking idiot.

Lisa was very nice about it. She said that she was upset because I was upset and something else had just happened in the office and it had been a bad day and she was stressed...and...and...and all I heard was YOU MADE LISA CRY, YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT.

To be honest, I still can't quite shake it. Lisa is my favourite person by far up here. She has supported, helped and understood King of Everything fully while up here even when we didn't deserve support or help or were beyond understanding. She organised the Mr. Jolly night which I loved. That didn't stop me making her cry. What a bellend.

Yesterday was a bad day anyway. Luckily, the show was great. Sadly, I wasn't really there as all I could hear in my head was YOU MADE A GIRL CRY, YOU FUCKING RAPIST. Mind you, that is mainly what Johnny says during the show so it couldn't be helped. I ended up late in Brooke's bar boring the arse off my friends telling them my sorry-for-myself story. It's almost as if it was the last week of the Edinburgh Festival.

Here's the good news: Since the awful incident, I have seen the two best shows I've seen in Edinburgh so far. Andrew O'Neill's Occult Comedian and Caroline Mabey's Go Go Go Coffee Show. They are equally excellent. Andrew's show is as strong and confident a stand-up show as you're likely to see but with enough surrealism to make you childishly giggle as well as heartily laugh. Caroline simply is like no other stand-up you've seen. Her show is one of the funniest mental breakdowns you will ever see. And it's free.

I can only assume that the other shows that have been chosen for the Edinburgh Comedy Prize are even better. I mean, they must be.

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

It's the Pinnacle of Escorting.

I haven't mentioned the show in a while. Generally, it's been great. Our Sunday show was probably my favourite so far. It was nice to see the room (nearly) full. This is very probably thanks to a few mentions in the recent Collings & Herrin live podcasts. I know this because quite a few people waited around after the show to tell us where they heard about us and to say they enjoyed the show. We even had our first walkouts during that show. A dickhead of a man and two airhead fuck-holes of women who sat at the front and talked/texted their way through the first few sketches. Then, during the blackout before our Sex Change sketch, they left. I stormed after them and screamed CUNTS down the stairs of the venue. The audience seemed to like this. Especially those people sitting anywhere near the fuckers. For anyone who has seen our show, the three escapees left behind a little bit of irony: a load of wrappers and empty cups from O'Brien's Sandwich Shop. We obviously insulted their church. The best part of it was a MySpace message sent to me by a very nice person called James. James heard the three fuckers talking before going into the show. The man said "So if we walk out during the show does that mean I get to fuck both of you or just one of you?" Classy.

Only 6 shows left and I am looking forward to every one of them. Last night's screening of Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door just made me so happy that I feel I've no choice but to enjoy my last few days up here. I'll not lie to you, I was very nervous about talking to Nicholas Parsons and for a couple of good reasons. Firstly, he is in Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door and therefore I'm in awe of him. Secondly, because that afternoon Nicholas phoned me up to ask for my phone number. Now, that's odd behaviour in anyone's books. I thought, hmmmmm....tonight will be interesting. And it was. One thing that grips your brain first about meeting Nicholas Parsons is the little man in your head who continually whispers "For fuck's sake, don't swear in front of Nicholas Parsons". That is pretty much permanent. When he arrived, at midnight and remember he is 85, he seemed a little grumpy. I immediately asked him how he was. "Fucking tired" was the reply. Right. I can't swear but he can. New rules.

He was very impatient and wanted to get the whole thing started and get it over with. That was, until we started. When he saw that people turned up to actually see his film he became joy itself. I asked him a few sycophantic questions before the film and he pointed out that he couldn't really answer them because some people in the room hadn't seen Mr. Jolly yet and he didn't want to spoil it. I'm a fucking idiot. Thankfully, Nicholas stayed for the film and a brief chat afterwards. It was all really, really nice and I was nervous, sweaty and stupid. Still, I got him to say fuck twice to the audience and, if I do nothing else in this horrible blip between oblivions, I will always have that. Thanks to everyone who turned up especially the significant amount of people who had never seen Mr. Jolly before. Except one. The one who said that it wasn't that good. In front of Nicholas Parsons. He can cunt himself in his cunting face, the cunt.

Huge thanks to Lisa Keddie who organised everything even though she told people I did. She even said it was my idea. It wasn't. It was hers. I am simply taking the credit where absolutely none is due. Lisa is a credit to the Five Pound Fringe which is probably the most interesting thing going on in the fringe this year anyway. If you haven't supported the Five Pound Fringe yet then go to see one of the many shows today. I hear Superclump are good. And Trevor Lock. And King of Everything.

6 shows to go. Don't miss this opportunity to enjoy "two overgrown man-children" (Scotsman) at The GRV, Guthrie Street, 3pm, £5.

Sleep Well Tonight.

OK, Edinburgh is winning now. I tried to beat it but it has beaten me too much. I have drunk alcohol every night since the 4th August, stayed up to drunk o'clock and eaten badly. This needs to change. I'm starting to shake through lack of sleep and everything I see gets on my nerves. Mainly flyers.

I was DOA at Peter Buckley Hill and Some Comedians last night. I mainly waffled some crap about how I hated the audience because they were keeping me in Edinburgh when all I wanted was to be in my own bed in London. Oh, they laughed. The fuckers. But before I went on I was pacing everywhere just to keep awake. I looked like a bear in a zoo enclosure that was way too small. Just walking up and down, up and down and generally losing my mind. The back of the room at the venue has flyers scattered everywhere and occassionally my mind would focus on one and I'd get furious. For no fucking reason. I saw one for a show called Wanchorman and nearly lost all sense. Apparently it's quite good but you couldn't have told me that last night. Then I got pointlessly furious about something called Jimmy Frinton's Barmy Bingo. I think it's fair enough to get pointlessly furious about Jimmy Frinton's Barmy Bingo though. It boasts this: "A madcap hour featuring the ever popular B*stard Bingo". For the love of God. Then I saw Papa CJ's flyer for his show "Self-loathing Racist"...er...I mean, "Slumdog Comedian". It has a great press quote on it. "Papa CJ set fire to the city" - Asian Age. What a cunt. These fucking people came out to see you, Papa, and you commit arson. For fuck's sake, that is just so irresponsible and the fact that he's so proud of burning an entire city to the ground sickens me. All the people wanted was an hour of funny stuff about all people from India working in call centres and he had to make the poor fuckers homeless? He should be shot.

See? I'm tired. After PBH's gig I went to see Robin Ince's absolutely fantastic Bleeding Heart Liberal show. I've said it before but Robin really is incredible. Hard working, intelligent and very, very funny. Why someone wouldn't go to at least one of his four Edinburgh shows is a mystery to me. They're probably cunts. Mystery solved. Then it was off to Karaoke Circus, which should NOT be fun at all but definitely is. Fucking drunk comedians being self-indulgent and smug? I get enough of that at King of Everything but Karaoke Circus is a hoot. It's Martin White and Danielle Ward's baby (Awww, that would be nice. I'd love them to have a baby. I hope they fuck just for me) and their band plays music while comedians and the occasional human take turns to sing. My favourite bit was seeing Richard Herring laughing at Andrew Collins "singing" Love Cats and then getting up to sing This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us to prove that he was even worse. I couldn't do it because I'm saving my voice for my show and I am shit.

It was another late one. Got back to the flat about 6. Can't do that again tonight. In fact, I'm off to sleep RIGHT NOW because I need to be well rested for tonight's midnight screening of Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door with Nicholas Parsons Q&A at The GRV, Guthrie Street, Edinburgh. Please come along. It's very near sold out so book your ticket right away. Thanks!

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

Sick, Sober and Sorry.

You can run but you can't hide. The cunts will find you in the end. There I was thinking that maybe I could get away with not bumping into any complete arseholes up here and, so far, I'd been doing a damn fine job of it. I'd been generally happy and enjoying myself up here. That is NOT the spirit of the Fringe.

I gigged in Glasgow last night and when I got back to Edinburgh arranged to meet Robin Ince at a bar called Medina. When I got there Robin had decided he didn't want to stay because some of the bigger boys were looking at him funny or something. Fine. We'll find another pub. This wasn't as easy as you might think in Edinburgh. It was Saturday night, after all, and every bar was rammed. Finally we found a bar that was near our flat. Hooray for us. We got booze and sat down. What a mistake.

Robin had an entourage with him. Two delightful women who I was never introduced to and one massive cock who I also was never introduced to. I didn't need to be introduced to him. He was loud, annoying, a focus-stealing little bitch in a very quiet bar. I pretty much spotted him immediately. His name is Abie and he is a comedian. I know, I know. He's a tool already.

He was being loud and talking about his sunglasses. It was an important issue he was discussing at us, should he wear them on his head or just keep them dangling on the neck of his t-shirt? Mo' sunglasses, mo' problems, eh? I thought I could throw in a little joke at this point, just to lighten the "God, this guy is a prick" mood. "I think having sunglasses in Scotland is an affront to God", I said. "You don't get it.", he bored. "I'm Irish". You're right, Abie. Why would I get that? Oh, and what the fuck does that even mean? And that was the beginning of the end of mine and Abie's friendship.

Closing time was 1 o'clock but I knew another bar even nearer the flat. Brilliant. When we arrived we arranged some seats and I said I'd buy a round. Abie wanted a glass of water. Does this man have a redeeming feature? I soon discovered that he did not.

A glass of water is free. I didn't have to put my hand in my wallet to make sure that Abie was properly hydrated but just because I didn't pay for it doesn't mean that he doesn't need to thank me. He didn't thank me. In fact, not only did he not thank me he pushed me out of the way to get his water from the bar. I really don't like this guy now. I will hate him later.

We turn from the bar to take our seats that we had gathered together when we arrived. Abie had other plans. He arranged more seats in a different part of the bar. Fine. We'll sit there. I sat beside Abie. Lucky me. When I sat down he moved his seat round so he had his back to me and therefore blocking not only me but also Sarah Bennetto and James Dowdeswell from the table. The rude cunt. Don't get me wrong, I love Robin too but I am very willing to share him. By this stage, Abie had already fucked off James by saying how crap everything is in the Fringe. James asked him several times what it was that Abie liked at the Fringe. Abie kept ignoring the question. Good. He's now pissed off two people he's just met. He's a charmer.

Eventually, Robin pops out to do some light shopping which leaves Abie with no focus for his ridiculous mouth to yap at. Sadly, he turns to us. Sarah was in the middle of a story which Abie, the fucking tool, feels confident to interrupt. Sarah tells him that she's in the middle of a story and continues. This is now Abie's cue to start playing air guitar. Honestly. A fucking grown man is playing air guitar while adults are talking. Sarah asks him to stop because it's distracting to which he replies "Just ignore me. Go on with your little story". What a fucking cunt. For fuck's sake, Abie, no-one wants to hear Sarah's story but there's no need to be rude. Sarah was too polite to say anything but I'm old and see no reason to be polite to rude people anymore. "Stop it now", I said. I wish I could remember how I put him down but I can't. He just smiled sarcastically and said "Everyone's a comedian". "Not everyone", I said sternly. Then Abie did my little favourite: he started talking in a Northern Irish accent.

I was now so angry that I really didn't know what to say to the guy. "Racist" was the only thing I could manage.

"Racist?" said Abie. "You lot call us Mexicans".

Yeah, it doesn't make any sense to me either but I went along with it.

"What do you mean?", I sighed.

"Well, if we in the south of Ireland are Mexicans then that makes you Texas".

"Will you stop trying out new material on me, Abie?"

"That material is tried and tested", he said without irony.

What an absolute sack. He talks in material. What a fucking awful, awful prick. I went to the toilet to have an angry piss.

When I get back I see that Abie has taken my seat. Robin has returned and, quite wisely, has decided to join our side of the table. Abie won't be stopped though. He'll just take my seat. That was it for me. I needed to tell him what I thought of him. And I did. And I enjoyed it. But did the self-admiring little fucknut feel embarrassed and leave? Fuck no. It's Abie! Abie has so little clue that he's disliked that even when you tell him he's a cunt he assumes you love him. I asked him if anyone has said that he is rude before. The egotistical bollock just rolled his eyes and said "Yes". He said it like it happens every day. He said it like it happens every day and it's so BOOOOOORING.

Robin stepped in to defuse the situation and I was fine with that. I had told Abie what I thought of him and how rude he'd been and he, to be fair, had apologised. The eye rolling thing made his apology worthless, of course, and he didn't apologise to Sarah for being rude to her. He should. And he should take up drinking. At least if you're going to be a total cunt all your life, have an excuse for it.

In a way, I should thank Abie because he has genuinely put me off the festival and made me so angry that my blog will probably be a bit better now. But he's a cunt so I won't.

On a more positive note, Pete Harris and his utterly beautiful wife came to see King of Everything yesterday. It was lovely to see him as Johnny and I both love him for being a great guy and thank him for pretty much starting off our careers. He said some lovely things about the show and we both felt like we'd had the stamp of approval from someone who knows. Pete started up the brilliant Screaming Blue Murder comedy clubs in the 90's and isn't always as positive about what he see's in the world of comedy. He likes us. That's very, very good.

www.twitter.com/michaellegge