Suspect.

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

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

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

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

I hate those people. 

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 atwww.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. 

Blog Off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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 atwww.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. 

Slights Return.

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

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

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

"Excuse me", I said.

"Yes?", replied the dick.

"Could you just hold this door for me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. 

Trailer.

Hello.

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

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

Also, you can see me performing What A Shame at the Betsey Trotwood tomorrow night along with Simon Donald's brilliant School Of Swearing. Two shows for £5. Please come along and support this fun night. Buy tickets here: http://www.wegottickets.com/event/190819

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

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

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

Olympricks.

The Olympics and Paralympics are over. Thank the fuck fuck. I've been pretty decent about you over the last six weeks but now it's my turn to talk. All you've spouted since the end of July has been about how inspired you are and what an inspiration the whole event has been and how we as a nation have inspired the world with our inspiring inspiration and our inspiration to inpire inspiring inspirotwats. Well, I've got a question that needs answering: what's wrong with being uninspired?

I love being uninspired. It's brilliant. Putting the flaming torch of dreams upside down in a bucket of water means that I can lie on my arse all day watching telly, scratching my ball and drinking the finest wine £4 will get you. I've taken the dog for walks, been to the pub a few times, seen some films, read some books and generally had a lovely time all thanks to a complete lack of motivation. What have you been doing? Oh, you've been inspired, have you? So, you've spent six weeks sitting on your arse watching telly all day, scratching your ball and drinking cheap booze while occasionally shouting "Come on, Team GB"? DO YOU KNOW WHAT INSPIRED MEANS? You're no different to me so please stop saying how inspired you fucking are.

Everywhere you go now it's all fucking inspiration. "Be the best that you can be". I am being the best that I can be. See this ridiculous heap of bad clothes and white, white flesh? That's ME. That's the best that I can offer. Stop assuming that I can do better. I can't. And has it ever crossed your alert, sharp, physically fit mind that I don't want to? Every advert that you see on TV, every song on the radio, every t-shirt that you pass on the street is basically a reminder that I'm shit. I don't need reminding. I'm actually happy being shit. I know that ruins your miserable optimism but it's a fact. This country used to be proud of it's pessimism. We would slouch together as a nation and smile at our many failures and lack of abilities. Am I the only one who has kept with tradition? In my day you could leave your front door open because no one could be bothered to burgle and there wasn't a motivated face in the street. Not like now. Once we heard a load of bloody foreigners were coming over we decided we had to change. Well, it sickens me. Seen the latest Levi's advert? It's insane: "You're going to be great...you'll find the cure...You're a king...You're the next leader of the world...This is a pair of Levi's". Now, I agree with the last bit but Jesus Christ that is a pair of jeans that expects way too much of me. I don't know how to drive a fucking car. How the hell does this pair of jeans expect me to be great? It's not going to happen, mate. "I'm gonna win", sing Muse in their awful song Survival. "I won't give in because I choose to thrive". Good for you, fella, but that has nothing to do with me whatsoever. I gave in because I choose to snooze. 

These people just haven't thought of me once. I met Richard Whitehead on Sunday. He won the men's 200m race at the Paralympics and is one of the most normal and down-to-earth, friendly people you could wish to meet. He's a gold medal winning runner despite not having legs and why does he do this? Because he wanted to push himself to the limit and, now that he's got people's attention, he wants to inspire people to better themselves, not just in sport but in all areas of life. He ran a marathon without prosethetic legs as a symbol to others that if they focus then they can achieve. The reason he does what he does is so that other people will be motivated to do well themselves. What a bastard. I mean, he fucking met me. He could clearly see what sort of person I am and yet he still went on about just wanting to help and inspire others. HE DIDN'T EVEN APOLOGISE TO ME. If I go out running now and have a heart attack then that is Richard Whitehead's fault. If I die there will be blood on his hands. What a horrible, manipulative, ice cold dick he really is. I know what he's trying to do. I know what you're all trying to do. Well, it won't work. Your inspiration has no effect on me. I'm made of stronger stuff, you'll see. None of your speeches and songs and ad campaigns will get to me. And unless Nike's new campaign is "Nike: Do Fuck All", I won't be buying the t-shirt.

I went to the Paralympics and it was fantastic. I saw the wheelchair fencing finals and the men were very sporting and gentlemanly and dull while the women behaved like their opponents had stolen their baby. It was brilliant. The only bad thing about being at the paralymics was absolutely everything except for the athletes. Everyone in the crowd (except me) was an arsehole. If painting your face and screaming is your way of showing pride on your country then clearly your country has driven you insane. And don't get me started on the price of beer. I actually got suckered in, JUST FOR A MINUTE, with the whole "inspiration of the Olympics" bullshit and when I had to pay £4.50 for a plastic cup of warm lager my inspiration slammed the door and ran up to it's room to listen to Morrissey. I also watched the opening of the Paralympics on TV because....well, I guess I was inspired. It was awful. I mean calling the team of athletes from Great Britain and Northern Ireland "Team GB" is one thing but why have the fucking British military hoisting the flag at the ceremony? Jesus, Northern Ireland just isn't welcome with you guys, is it? Also, it's the fucking Paralympics. I hate to point out the obvious but our brave boys might just have made some of the foreign competitors so maybe have someone else fly the flag? The whole world loves Doctor Who. Get Colin Baker to do it, NOT THE ARMY. Then yesterday I went to see the film Dredd. I'm trying not to be lazy at the moment (God, I hope that doesn't inspire you) so I walked from Lewisham into the centre of London. The great thing was that I was out strolling and not taking a train. Well, it was great until I got to the Strand and saw the Olympic parade. Roads were closed off and thousands of pricks crowded the streets. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! I mean there were thousands of them. And they'd all been given free flags. And they waved them because they wanted to show Team GB what an inspiration it had been. That's right, Team GB had inspired thousands of people to stand in the street and wave. Look at our Union Jacks!!! We're all waving Union Jacks!! Well, it's a Union Jack on one side and a Samsung ad on the other but we're so inspired by Team GB that it makes us proud to be the tool of a major electronics company from Korea.

I ended up having to walk back to Embankment, walking up the steps of the bridge to try to get into the back of Charing Cross station so that I could use the subway there to get out at St Martin-In-The-Fields. But no. There was a policeman on guard and he said there was no way he could let me through. I mean, there clearly was a way but he decided that he wasn't going to let me. I could understand if there was a huge crowd trying to get through but there wasn't. It was just me. He explained that he couldn't let anyone through until the Olympic parade was over and I said "But I don't give a fuck about the Olympics".

Isn't that fair? I don't like the Olympics, I don't want to support Team GB and I didn't want the Olympics happening in London anyway so surely I should be given a pass that says "DOESN'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE OLYMPICS" that I could flash anytime I wanted to cross a road and the police would let me through. But no. He just said "Don't swear at me, Sir". I explained that I didn't swear at him, I swore with him. "Is that illegal?, I asked. I realised I was pushing my luck and ended up walking away and getting the tube to Leicester Square. All I wanted to do was avoid taking the train and try to keep myself fit but I wasn't allowed to because our inspiring Olympic team said I couldn't. Typical.

London was apparently amazing during August. I missed it because I was in Edinburgh but lots of people told me that the atmosphere here was wonderful. People went around smiling, being friendly and chatting with strangers. That sounds horrific and I'm glad I missed it. There is practically nothing good about sport. The worst thing about it is that it's mandatory. It takes over TV, pubs and even streets. There is no other hobby that does that. The athletes should be applauded, of course, and I genuinely did get a buzz from meeting Richard Whitehead and hearing of the amazing things he's done. But look at the rest of it. Awful. And when I saw thousands of moronic sports fans waving their Samsung adverts I realised the difference between them and the people they admire. Sports fans inspire groups to be as utterly thick as they can be, to be shameful and to disrupt other people's lives in the process. Athletes inspire individuals to be the best versions of themselves. I like athletes.

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

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

Pest of the Fest.

There's only one thing worse than going to the Edinburgh Fringe and that's coming back from the Edinburgh Fringe. It just all ends too harshly. Half the festival should be sent home at the beginning of the last week, then half the remaining lot should be sent home two days later, all the posters should be burned to death on the last Friday and all flyerers who are on stilts, are dressed in their stage clothes or are happy should be arrested and decked. We should be eased into the comedown of Edinburgh but we're not. It's very cruel. For a month we drink heavily, lounge around looking fabulous, bitching about awful shows and shout about not being Dave Gorman for at least an hour a day. And then, suddenly and brutally, it's over.

The train journey back from Edinburgh to London is the most miserable experience you'll ever go through. It's mournful, lonely and scenic. The beauty of the Scottish coast and countryside does not match the ugliness oozing throughout my insides on this unholy journey to reality. For weeks before the Fringe every shiny, happy fuckwit on the internet was cheerily posting their fucking embarrassing "Guide to Surviving Edinburgh" unfunny and pointless blogs full of spiteful tips such as "Drink plenty of water" and "blow your own dad for a Kitson ticket", but where are those smiling, optimistic pricks now? That's right, they're curled up in that cupboard under the sink with a gun to their head, crying and eating their Claudia O'Doherty ticket stubs. So, where's the survival guide to coming back from the Edinburgh Fringe? I don't know but here's some stuff you can try if you're still alive.

As soon as I arrived at Waverley Station yesterday my survival instincts kicked in. It's a long and heartbreaking journey ahead; I need champagne. DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS TRAIN JOURNEY SOBER. If you do you will remember happy things and you'll burst into tears. Constantly. Also, travel First Class. Don't even think about travelling with the other performers in Shit Class. It's more expensive but you CAN earn your money back if you work hard enough during the journey. Firstly, you get free wifi which means you can go online anonymously and criticise Craig Hill's poster (an important part of any relaxing train ride) plus you'll see tweets and Facebook posts from hundreds of other performers who are emotionally destroyed by the end of the festival and there is NOTHING cheerier than reading about another depressed performer. Really perks me right up. Secondly, a bottle of champagne doesn't last long and First Class gives you FREE BOOZE. I reckon I easily got another bottle and a half of wine out of them and that really helped a lot especially as I ended up having a 25 minute chat with the improviser Deborah Francis White and, thanks to FREE BOOZE, I can't remember any of the things I must have had to listen to. 

So that's the journey home taken care of but what happens when you get home? Easy. Sure you can go out for a meal and discuss your exciting month with your loved ones, family and friends but that means your missing out in one of the major Fringe experiences: Talking to yourself. What I like to do is come back to an empty house and open and close every cupboard 35 times and then stand by the living room window for an hour just staring. After an hour, I open the curtains and stare for another hour. Then I close the curtains and agree with myself that staring this way is much better. It's time to pour yourself another drink but don't forget to forget to buy any more alcohol so that you can waste more time scrambling around the house looking for any booze at all that you can find. After relaxing with a refreshing glass of Baileys, Fanta Lemon and Mead, it's time to turn the telly on. Why not wind down from the Edinburgh Fringe by watching lots of people who didn't need to go this year because they've already made it big? That'll put you in the right mood. But don't actually watch anything. Concentrating on anything is not part of the Edinburgh comedown experience. Just flick through all the channels. Then do it again but this time, time yourself. Then do it again but this time try to break your record. When you stop crying, have another brandy and veggie gravy.

Look, that's just one way of passing the time. There are lots of things to do (and I have actually done some of these): Read all your takeaway menus and then throw them in the bin, realise you've never lied facedown on your living room floor before and then do that for a destructive amount of time, walk to the back of the garden just to touch the shed and then walk back again, realise that there aren't that many friends that live near you, get excited about next year's show before remembering that your idea has already been done by Reginald D. Hunter and people would think you doing it would be a bit racist anyway, alphabetise your problems, scream, watch The Twin Dilemma, curl up on the sofa and, through the streaming tears rolling down your face, say your show out loud to your dog.

What I'm trying to say is, the day it's all over is crap. And somehow we forget all that in time for next year. For the last month I've had a brilliant time showing off and partying. Today I'm cleaning my whole house and spraying all the furniture because Jerk has fleas. Is it right to come back from the Edinburgh Fringe to spend time dealing with irritating parasites that you can't avoid? Aw, it's like I'm still there. Thanks, Jerk!

Thanks to the brilliant Stand Comedy Club for being so good to me this year. They're the best comedy club in the country and it's baffling to me why anyone would go anywhere else during the Fringe. I love them. And thanks to Diane for the lovely flat (can I stay there next year, please?). If you came to my show then I'm incredibly grateful. It was a fun year. Now to try to get through the next few days. A glass of pernod and water?

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

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

Seagullible.

Never been to the Edinburgh festival? Well, let me tell you exactly what it's like.

A couple of days ago I needed some things in Sainsbury's but I had very little time to do it because I had to get to my show. I'd spent the morning doing an interview for BBC Breakfast, getting my picture taken for a GQ Edinburgh Fringe special and script editing my new TV series. And by all that I mean I woke up, urinated for 26 minutes and then fell asleep on the sofa watching cartoons. It's all much the same thing. I shuffled my equivalent of a body towards Sainsbury's and spent the journey worrying. I've a lot to buy and very little money and next to no time. Why can't I be more organised? Why don't I do something better for a living? Why didn't I go to Sainsbury's yesterday instead of drinking? Why don't I do something that will earn me lots of money? Why am I here?

Just a few feet away from Sainsbury's, a very large seagull did a massive shit on me.

I have to say, top marks for aim and quantity to that seagull. In that way, I'm impressed. And his timing couldn't have been better. I have a proper massive splatter of seagull excrement on my shoulder, all down the left side of my t-shirt and even some on my neck PLUS I have no time to go back and change. So, I went shopping around Sainsbury's with more than the recommended amout of animal faeces on me. Lovely. About 10 minutes of walking up and down aisles while freaking out customers and upsetting staff while they all pointed in horror and tried not to be sick.

THAT is what it's like up here. You worry and fret but you convince yourself that you're doing the right thing but once you get here you realise you're just dragging shit around that makes other people disgusted at you. 

Yesterday's show was proof of that. The room was hot and stuffy and about 10 minutes before the end a woman right at the front row started to faint. Her boyfriend/husband/owner (I didn't ask) motioned to me that they were both about to leave due to the heat and it definitely had nothing at all to do with the never popular "Pie Chart" segment of my show. He got up but she didn't. She stared at me longer than any woman has ever been able to stare at me so I knew something bad had happened. I asked if she was OK, did she need water and who won the World Snooker Championship in 1982 and she didn't answer at all. She just stared. Right. Time to panic. I opened the window, someone opened the doors and I asked if anyone knew CPR. I don't know if CPR is even the thing that's needed right now but I knew that snooker trivia wasn't going to help. Simon Donald was at the back of the room and rushed to her aid. "Put your head between your legs", he said to the woman just as he has done for 25 years in his comic. She started to feel a bit better almost immediately. What a total hero. It was a brilliantly weird moment when you think to yourself "God, that woman looked like she might have died right in front of me. Thank God the creator of Viz was in".

Simon, I love you and thanks also to my other friend Simon who spent the last 10 minutes of my show holding up a window to let air in despite getting pins and needles. People are lovely at the Fringe.

I've decided to try to follow the lead for the lovely Fringe folk. If you're up here and on Twitter then please check the #LetsSellThisGigOut hashtag every day. The first one is tonight and it could only be Simon Donald with his School For Swearing at The Stand 2 at 10.30pm. Come along!

www.twitter.com/michaellegge

Get more Legge embarrassment at the Edinburgh Fringe. I'm very proud and happy to say that my show, Michael Legge: What a Shame, is on nearly every day of the fringe at the fantastic Stand Comedy Club. Here's info: http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/michael-legge-what-a-shame  

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