I'm going through a bit of a spell. It's nothing new. It happens every six months or so. I go to a gig, jump up on stage with enthusiasm and vigour and then....nothing. My heart's just not in it. This will last for a few gigs, anywhere between 3 and 500, until something snaps me out of it. Every night getting on stage and looking at the ugly, disgusting, punchable faces of each and every audience member who have the gall to give me attention in an airless, black box of a venue that was rude enough to give me employment. Who the hell do these people think they are? Can't they see that I just want to sit in a corner, crying into my sick and feeling sorry for myself?
Watching robot comedians is just depressing. Dead behind the eyes, unfeeling, empty cyborgs who electronically transmit their act word for word without any deviation at all every single night without knowing the difference between a good night and a bad night (they are ALL bad nights) and then drink themselves into a coma to rid themselves of the last of their humanity. Emotionless ghosts who have no choice but to hang around after the show in the hope that someone from Earth will come up to them and tell them they were good and that everything will be OK and when they hear "You're amazing. How do you do that every night?" their electronic mouth says "Thanks" but their hollow, hollow skull screams "BECAUSE I'M DEAD. I WILL REMAIN IN LIMBO DOING THE SAME THING EVERY SINGLE DAY UNTIL THIS CURSE IS LIFTED. NOW EITHER BUY ME MORE BOOZE, FUCK ME OR KILL ME AGAIN". Well, they're my friends and I'm often like that myself.
On Saturday night, I did a gig in Bethnal Green and I just couldn't get it to work. I'm not sure if it was what I was wearing, the venue's PA or the material that I am bored shitless with but there was just something that wasn't right. Luckily, I had a very generous audience who patiently sat through my incredibly dull performance and only dreamt of punching me instead of actually doing it. I'm very grateful to them.
I was in a mood though and I still had another gig in Forest Hill to do. Well, I can't look and act that bored at this gig. I'll be utterly depressed if that happens. But lo and behold, I got on the stage and flung the same shit at a group of people who deserved better. Halfway through, something happened. I just told a story about something that happened to me a few weeks ago. Something that was so "my blog" that I didn't blog about it. But the story worked on stage and I was happy and animated telling it. Thank fuck for that.
Then I went straight back to doing my material and the audience shrugged and let me. BALLS!
Like I say, something comes along to just snap you out of that feeling and, luckily, mine came along right after the gig. Lynn Chambers, who was also on the bill, congratulated me on my story going down well. This made me happy because the rest of the gig was a shambles. "Do you mind if I say something about the rest of your act?", said Lynn.
Ah, crap.
"Please, go ahead", I said even though I meant to tell her to fuck off. "Well", she continued while trying to find the right words. "It's just like you don't like the rest of your material and you can't wait to get rid of it".
Well done, Lynn! Those were the right words and they have been making me laugh for the last couple of days. She's completely right. For the last few gigs I've basically been getting on stage and shouting "I HATE THIS SHIT. YOU HAVE IT" at the audience. And that's that. Time to shake up my act a little bit, write some new stuff, take a few risks and, you know, maybe enjoy myself on stage a bit. And then the cycle can start all over again.
Last night I performed at the excellent Storytellers in Hoxton. I wasn't great but at least I wasn't great while trying out new stuff.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
Monday, 28 June 2010
Who Won.
MY TEAM WON!
Did I ever doubt that they wouldn't win? Of course, I did. I've seen my team lose so many times before and I'm well aware of the disappointment and depression that brings. I take it as a personal let down. Why did they do this to me? What a pathetic display. They were rubbish. There were so many chances to score and they missed them all. Is the Head Writer blind? Yes, my team is Doctor Who and I am 41 years old.
The latest series is over. Fuck it, latest SEASON. Let's stick with the analogy. They played a blinder. It started and ended gloriously with only a few minor losses on the way and it was exciting the whole way through. From beginning to end. In fact, from before the beginning. The changes to the TV show for little children were massive. New producers, new cast, new head writer. That last one was the most exciting of all the news before the series started. Steven Moffat wrote the very best episodes of Doctor Who since it came back and now he's in charge the excitement has reached a peak. A peak that the children who love the show won't give a shit about but is so important to the unhealthy middle-aged men who go on to forums and embarrass themselves by complaining that it's not as good as when Colin Baker was in it. Yes, Steven Moffat's presence is felt throughout the series but him being in charge soon played second fiddle to The Doctor himself. The brand new Doctor, Matt Smith, appeared on screen crashing the TARDIS in the first episode and after 10 minutes, if even that, he was just perfect. I mean really, really perfect. Look what I'm writing right now: He's the best Doctor ever.
I mean, he's not my favourite Doctor. Not yet. But he is the best. The series wasn't 100% perfect but Matt Smith didn't seem to know that a couple of the episodes were duff or that some plotlines didn't make sense or that some of the other actors were terrible. He just rose above everything and was constantly quirky and interesting and angry and sad and funny and clever and perfect. I wonder when I'll start hating him?
The boring Silurians, the crap Daleks and Richard Curtis' moronic, patronising attitude to mental illness couldn't ruin the series. There was just too much good stuff in there to complain too much. Karen Gillan being as mad as The Doctor, loads of references about actual time travel (that sometimes gets forgotten in Doctor Who) and the little things, the tiny, obscure, trivial, magnificently important little things that made this series just incredible. The Doctor not knowing how much is a lot of money, the TARDIS makes it's materialising noise because The Doctor keeps the brakes on and, best of all, River Song getting a Vortex Manipulator that was "fresh off the wrist of a handsome time agent". BRILLIANT! Someone cut off Captain Jack's arm! That makes me incredibly happy knowing that Captain Jack can't die but you can hack him to bits.
A brilliant series and I pity any idiot that doesn't love it and follow it religiously exactly the way I do. But I know how they must feel when I talk about Doctor Who. Left out is how they feel. I know this because I have lost everyone to football. Friends who don't like football have all suddenly become interested because of the World Cup so they either won't come to the pub with me or they will come to the pub only to watch the football. I can't watch football. It hurts me. Even going on Twitter is cold and lonely these days. Seeing people I know and respect giving commentary to a fucking football match just makes me feel like I don't know these people at all. And they are cunts.
Plus, these days, if you're a man and you are drinking outside a pub that is decked with sad and embarrassed looking St. George's crosses, could you do me a big favour? Would you mind putting on some clothes, please, you disgusting prick? Thank you.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Did I ever doubt that they wouldn't win? Of course, I did. I've seen my team lose so many times before and I'm well aware of the disappointment and depression that brings. I take it as a personal let down. Why did they do this to me? What a pathetic display. They were rubbish. There were so many chances to score and they missed them all. Is the Head Writer blind? Yes, my team is Doctor Who and I am 41 years old.
The latest series is over. Fuck it, latest SEASON. Let's stick with the analogy. They played a blinder. It started and ended gloriously with only a few minor losses on the way and it was exciting the whole way through. From beginning to end. In fact, from before the beginning. The changes to the TV show for little children were massive. New producers, new cast, new head writer. That last one was the most exciting of all the news before the series started. Steven Moffat wrote the very best episodes of Doctor Who since it came back and now he's in charge the excitement has reached a peak. A peak that the children who love the show won't give a shit about but is so important to the unhealthy middle-aged men who go on to forums and embarrass themselves by complaining that it's not as good as when Colin Baker was in it. Yes, Steven Moffat's presence is felt throughout the series but him being in charge soon played second fiddle to The Doctor himself. The brand new Doctor, Matt Smith, appeared on screen crashing the TARDIS in the first episode and after 10 minutes, if even that, he was just perfect. I mean really, really perfect. Look what I'm writing right now: He's the best Doctor ever.
I mean, he's not my favourite Doctor. Not yet. But he is the best. The series wasn't 100% perfect but Matt Smith didn't seem to know that a couple of the episodes were duff or that some plotlines didn't make sense or that some of the other actors were terrible. He just rose above everything and was constantly quirky and interesting and angry and sad and funny and clever and perfect. I wonder when I'll start hating him?
The boring Silurians, the crap Daleks and Richard Curtis' moronic, patronising attitude to mental illness couldn't ruin the series. There was just too much good stuff in there to complain too much. Karen Gillan being as mad as The Doctor, loads of references about actual time travel (that sometimes gets forgotten in Doctor Who) and the little things, the tiny, obscure, trivial, magnificently important little things that made this series just incredible. The Doctor not knowing how much is a lot of money, the TARDIS makes it's materialising noise because The Doctor keeps the brakes on and, best of all, River Song getting a Vortex Manipulator that was "fresh off the wrist of a handsome time agent". BRILLIANT! Someone cut off Captain Jack's arm! That makes me incredibly happy knowing that Captain Jack can't die but you can hack him to bits.
A brilliant series and I pity any idiot that doesn't love it and follow it religiously exactly the way I do. But I know how they must feel when I talk about Doctor Who. Left out is how they feel. I know this because I have lost everyone to football. Friends who don't like football have all suddenly become interested because of the World Cup so they either won't come to the pub with me or they will come to the pub only to watch the football. I can't watch football. It hurts me. Even going on Twitter is cold and lonely these days. Seeing people I know and respect giving commentary to a fucking football match just makes me feel like I don't know these people at all. And they are cunts.
Plus, these days, if you're a man and you are drinking outside a pub that is decked with sad and embarrassed looking St. George's crosses, could you do me a big favour? Would you mind putting on some clothes, please, you disgusting prick? Thank you.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Make Some Noise.
My taste in music is scattered. I like a bit of everything (except classical music which is shit). Although my collection is mainly indie there are lots of Sugababes, De La Soul, Beach Boys, various musicals and Miles Davis stuff in there. To be very honest, I only bought the Miles Davis stuff because having jazz albums lying around automatically makes you look cool. I have no intentions of ever listening to it. I like little bits of Ska, little bits of Electronica, little bits of Pop, really wee tiny, tiny, tiny bits of Reggae and little bits of Opera. But my first love may turn out to be my last. Lately, I have become metal thrashing mad.
I was 11 when I saw Iron Maiden perform Running Free live on Top Of The Pops and I loved them. They were the first band in years to perform really, properly live. They sounded awful and looked like twats. How could I not completely relate to them? I taped the song off the radio and listened to it on repeat. The next year I joined their fan club. Buying any of their records was beyond me financially but it had never actually occurred to me to that buying their records was that important. It certainly wasn't as important as owning a badge with their name on it and having a badly printed crap magazine with their beautiful mascot, Eddie, smudged on the cover. Soon buying Kerrang! magazine and learning more about Iron Maiden and their equally good looking and fashionable contemporaries became a normal part of my waking-up-go-to-school-be-bored-go-to-bed life. These people fitted in nowhere but had somehow made a career of their geekiness, odd shaped bodies and terrible hair. I liked these people a lot.
Soon Def Leppard, Gillan and Judas Priest would be scrawled over my schoolbag and, as I got older, Megadeth, Anthrax and Metallica joined them. Why did I like them? Why wasn't I into the same music as my classmates and other people my age that I knew? Easy. I was a geek the day I was born and it was almost impossible to disguise that. Kids at my school loved The Specials and fighting and showing off their schoolpubes. That wasn't me. I was, and still am, almost completely hairless, my wrists are too snappable for fighting and The Specials reflected the stark reality of their generation. Like I say, I was a geek and wasn't supposed to be part of this generation and in Heavy Metal I saw other awkward people revelling in their geekiness. Plus their music was over-the-top, loud and funny. All the things none of us could be outside of the music. Not without getting a slap off a 6ft 13 year old who wears his pubes as a badge.
Plus other bands were liars. U2 were worthy, serious and tedious and sang about things they thought they could sell. Whereas Twisted Sister got drunk, put on their sisters clothes and shouted. I know who I have more respect for.
In 1987 I made the ultimate Heavy Metal pilgrimage. I went to the Monsters Of Rock Festival at Castle Donnington. I saw Cinderella, W*A*S*P, Anthrax, Metallica, Dio and (embarrassingly) Bon Jovi and as it was a Heavy Metal pilgrimage I did the decent thing and went alone. All the way from Belfast on a bus. Two days (there and back) without sleep. To meet my people.
Lately, I can't seem to stop listening to Metallica (and A Little Night Music apparently) so it was with an incredible amount of excitement that I went to see them last night. It didn't bother me that I had never been so far away from the stage in my life. I had tickets for the front of the balcony at the Odeon Cinema, Leicester Square and the band themselves where in Sofia, Bulgaria. It didn't hinder my view though because the gig was magically broadcast to the cinema. I know. It's weird. A full on Heavy Metal gig where people sit quietly, eating popcorn and staring at a screen. At least no-one was in my way or touching me or jumping up and down in front of me and there was none of that booze to ruin things. Yes, it was a very grown up affair. Heavy Metal is growing old gracefully just like me.
Just like in 1987, it was a full on festival. Not just Metallica but Slayer, Anthrax and Megadeth also. And just like in 1987, I went on my own. I didn't mean to but I did. I was supposed to go with a girl this time (God, that would have blown their minds in '87) but it was a girl who might be a little bit late and then it was a girl who might have to do a bit more work actually and then it was a girl who will probably not be there until the end. Oh, well. I can still walk in there with my head held high and simply shout "I AM MARRIED NOW. A WOMAN HAS HAD SEX WITH ME. SEE THIS COCK? I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE TO HAVE TOUCHED IT" but when I got there there were only about 30 men there (no women obviously) and, as they all looked like me, I screamed and left.
There is no way I'm going to be able to do this without booze.
A great idea smashed me in the face. I'll go on Twitter and see if anyone is around and have a drink with them. I reached for my phone and thought "DON'T FUCKING DO THAT! WHAT IF SOMEONE SAYS YES". I normally never listen to me but I had to begrudgingly admit that I had a point. Luckily, Liz Buckley is even stupider than me because she had tweeted what I hadn't the guts to tweet. She was in Central London and needed booze company. Yay! Liz is my favourite! I can booze WITH A GIRL then go to see Metallica! FUCK YOU, 1987!
We had booze in the sun and I left Liz in the company of writers and artists on the South Bank. She pretended that she wasn't jealous that I was going to sit in a cinema with a bunch of old men watching a bunch of old men singing loud old men songs but I knew her eye-rolling was fake. And Metallica were amazing.
God, I love Metallica. Big and daft and ridiculous and incredible. Big chunky riffs and disturbing lyrics and men playing fast guitar for other men who go ballistic. Well, they went ballistic in Sofia not in the cinema. They sat quietly and nodded and appreciated. All the things you shouldn't do when listening to Metallica. Muki and I sang, screamed, devil-horned and laughed. We didn't move from our seats, mind, but we joined in a bit. Then at the end, something beautiful happened.
Two things really. Metallica were joined on stage by the other three bands while they all performed a brilliant version of Diamond Head's Am I Evil? and downstairs the crowd were stirring. We looked over the balcony to see about 5 people get up on stage, dancing in front of the screen. Then 10 people. Soon 30 people. All jumping up and down, all screaming, singing and loving it. The geekiness of Metal opening it's doors to it's guests and letting them twat about like they can't elsewhere. It was lovely. Mainly because everyone who got up to "mosh" was about 16 years old. Good to see Heavy Metal is still doing it's job.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
I was 11 when I saw Iron Maiden perform Running Free live on Top Of The Pops and I loved them. They were the first band in years to perform really, properly live. They sounded awful and looked like twats. How could I not completely relate to them? I taped the song off the radio and listened to it on repeat. The next year I joined their fan club. Buying any of their records was beyond me financially but it had never actually occurred to me to that buying their records was that important. It certainly wasn't as important as owning a badge with their name on it and having a badly printed crap magazine with their beautiful mascot, Eddie, smudged on the cover. Soon buying Kerrang! magazine and learning more about Iron Maiden and their equally good looking and fashionable contemporaries became a normal part of my waking-up-go-to-school-be-bored-go-to-bed life. These people fitted in nowhere but had somehow made a career of their geekiness, odd shaped bodies and terrible hair. I liked these people a lot.
Soon Def Leppard, Gillan and Judas Priest would be scrawled over my schoolbag and, as I got older, Megadeth, Anthrax and Metallica joined them. Why did I like them? Why wasn't I into the same music as my classmates and other people my age that I knew? Easy. I was a geek the day I was born and it was almost impossible to disguise that. Kids at my school loved The Specials and fighting and showing off their schoolpubes. That wasn't me. I was, and still am, almost completely hairless, my wrists are too snappable for fighting and The Specials reflected the stark reality of their generation. Like I say, I was a geek and wasn't supposed to be part of this generation and in Heavy Metal I saw other awkward people revelling in their geekiness. Plus their music was over-the-top, loud and funny. All the things none of us could be outside of the music. Not without getting a slap off a 6ft 13 year old who wears his pubes as a badge.
Plus other bands were liars. U2 were worthy, serious and tedious and sang about things they thought they could sell. Whereas Twisted Sister got drunk, put on their sisters clothes and shouted. I know who I have more respect for.
In 1987 I made the ultimate Heavy Metal pilgrimage. I went to the Monsters Of Rock Festival at Castle Donnington. I saw Cinderella, W*A*S*P, Anthrax, Metallica, Dio and (embarrassingly) Bon Jovi and as it was a Heavy Metal pilgrimage I did the decent thing and went alone. All the way from Belfast on a bus. Two days (there and back) without sleep. To meet my people.
Lately, I can't seem to stop listening to Metallica (and A Little Night Music apparently) so it was with an incredible amount of excitement that I went to see them last night. It didn't bother me that I had never been so far away from the stage in my life. I had tickets for the front of the balcony at the Odeon Cinema, Leicester Square and the band themselves where in Sofia, Bulgaria. It didn't hinder my view though because the gig was magically broadcast to the cinema. I know. It's weird. A full on Heavy Metal gig where people sit quietly, eating popcorn and staring at a screen. At least no-one was in my way or touching me or jumping up and down in front of me and there was none of that booze to ruin things. Yes, it was a very grown up affair. Heavy Metal is growing old gracefully just like me.
Just like in 1987, it was a full on festival. Not just Metallica but Slayer, Anthrax and Megadeth also. And just like in 1987, I went on my own. I didn't mean to but I did. I was supposed to go with a girl this time (God, that would have blown their minds in '87) but it was a girl who might be a little bit late and then it was a girl who might have to do a bit more work actually and then it was a girl who will probably not be there until the end. Oh, well. I can still walk in there with my head held high and simply shout "I AM MARRIED NOW. A WOMAN HAS HAD SEX WITH ME. SEE THIS COCK? I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE TO HAVE TOUCHED IT" but when I got there there were only about 30 men there (no women obviously) and, as they all looked like me, I screamed and left.
There is no way I'm going to be able to do this without booze.
A great idea smashed me in the face. I'll go on Twitter and see if anyone is around and have a drink with them. I reached for my phone and thought "DON'T FUCKING DO THAT! WHAT IF SOMEONE SAYS YES". I normally never listen to me but I had to begrudgingly admit that I had a point. Luckily, Liz Buckley is even stupider than me because she had tweeted what I hadn't the guts to tweet. She was in Central London and needed booze company. Yay! Liz is my favourite! I can booze WITH A GIRL then go to see Metallica! FUCK YOU, 1987!
We had booze in the sun and I left Liz in the company of writers and artists on the South Bank. She pretended that she wasn't jealous that I was going to sit in a cinema with a bunch of old men watching a bunch of old men singing loud old men songs but I knew her eye-rolling was fake. And Metallica were amazing.
God, I love Metallica. Big and daft and ridiculous and incredible. Big chunky riffs and disturbing lyrics and men playing fast guitar for other men who go ballistic. Well, they went ballistic in Sofia not in the cinema. They sat quietly and nodded and appreciated. All the things you shouldn't do when listening to Metallica. Muki and I sang, screamed, devil-horned and laughed. We didn't move from our seats, mind, but we joined in a bit. Then at the end, something beautiful happened.
Two things really. Metallica were joined on stage by the other three bands while they all performed a brilliant version of Diamond Head's Am I Evil? and downstairs the crowd were stirring. We looked over the balcony to see about 5 people get up on stage, dancing in front of the screen. Then 10 people. Soon 30 people. All jumping up and down, all screaming, singing and loving it. The geekiness of Metal opening it's doors to it's guests and letting them twat about like they can't elsewhere. It was lovely. Mainly because everyone who got up to "mosh" was about 16 years old. Good to see Heavy Metal is still doing it's job.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Snortle.
What a sad time it is for comedy. Yesterday Chortle broke the news of the death of a rival comedy website reviewer and paid tribute to her by pointing out her spelling mistakes and biased reviews, something you could never accuse Chortle itself of doing. Then it broke the news that the great Frank Sidebottom had passed away. I didn't click on Chortle's report of the story purely for fear that it showed this extremely funny and original comedian respect by calling him a big fat cunt or something. Chortle have obviously realised that being dead is THE comedy angle of 2010 and has started an anti-being dead bandwagon for us all to jump on. It's a classy site and no mistake.
That said, I'm slightly impressed that, despite trying to stir up pointless shit about Rufus Hound "stealing" a joke, Chortle kept the line "Mr Bennett: If you don't understand that, in the world of live comedy, mud sticks and that you have just a little responsibility to double-check before you fling it, go fuck yourself" in Rufus' response to them. Chortle even, sort of, apologised to Rufus. Sometimes I think that Chortle is really growing up. And then there are days like yesterday.
You'll no doubt agree with me that the most awful thing to happen to comedy recently, or indeed ever, is the news that Jack Whitehall, despite all the press and media opportunities he has been allowed, is still insisting he is 21. He's been 21 for two fucking years. Mind you, he will be ageing rapidly now. I mean his career is definitely OVER. Like nearly everyone in the entertainment or journalism business, Jack Whitehall took a bad drug and, like nearly everyone in the entertainment or journalism business, his career must be thrown into the bin of destroyed dreams and watery shit. Jack will just have to join the failed ranks of Russell Brand, Robin Williams and Otto from The Simpsons who would all have had promising careers in comedy were it not for their evil need to drug up (is that the right phrase?). OK, so he wasn't exactly a household name when he ended up in the News Of The World photographed with a line of coke and, with other TV appearances and an Edinburgh run to promote, it might look to the untrained eye that the picture was probably sent in by his management but THAT IS DEFINITELY NOT TRUE. And now we will never hear of Jack again. Yes, yes, yes, his talent should see him out of this one and he's got that new Stand Up For The Week on Channel 4 but, come on, no-one ever made a career after being caught with drugs even if he's proven that cocaine keeps you looking two years younger than you actually are.
Shame. I thought he was a very nice young man.
By the way, this is Day 4 of the toilet defeating me. It's hacksaw day.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
That said, I'm slightly impressed that, despite trying to stir up pointless shit about Rufus Hound "stealing" a joke, Chortle kept the line "Mr Bennett: If you don't understand that, in the world of live comedy, mud sticks and that you have just a little responsibility to double-check before you fling it, go fuck yourself" in Rufus' response to them. Chortle even, sort of, apologised to Rufus. Sometimes I think that Chortle is really growing up. And then there are days like yesterday.
You'll no doubt agree with me that the most awful thing to happen to comedy recently, or indeed ever, is the news that Jack Whitehall, despite all the press and media opportunities he has been allowed, is still insisting he is 21. He's been 21 for two fucking years. Mind you, he will be ageing rapidly now. I mean his career is definitely OVER. Like nearly everyone in the entertainment or journalism business, Jack Whitehall took a bad drug and, like nearly everyone in the entertainment or journalism business, his career must be thrown into the bin of destroyed dreams and watery shit. Jack will just have to join the failed ranks of Russell Brand, Robin Williams and Otto from The Simpsons who would all have had promising careers in comedy were it not for their evil need to drug up (is that the right phrase?). OK, so he wasn't exactly a household name when he ended up in the News Of The World photographed with a line of coke and, with other TV appearances and an Edinburgh run to promote, it might look to the untrained eye that the picture was probably sent in by his management but THAT IS DEFINITELY NOT TRUE. And now we will never hear of Jack again. Yes, yes, yes, his talent should see him out of this one and he's got that new Stand Up For The Week on Channel 4 but, come on, no-one ever made a career after being caught with drugs even if he's proven that cocaine keeps you looking two years younger than you actually are.
Shame. I thought he was a very nice young man.
By the way, this is Day 4 of the toilet defeating me. It's hacksaw day.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Monday, 21 June 2010
Fixed and Broken.
Sometimes it's hard to be a man.
My toilet is beating me in the tough-guy-of-the-house game. Up until the last few days I was well ahead of the game. I mean, normally I do nothing whatsoever so there was no real proof that I was a crap man but over the last few days I have stupidly decided to prove that I am brilliant at being male. As you know, that means fixing things. Fixing things that I have broken.
Early on I surprised myself at how easy it was to fix things. I fixed two sets of drawers that I had broken about three years ago and then my bedroom door that I had broken two weeks ago. I fixed them all by myself without ANY HELP. I even went to B&Q like a real man to get the stuff I needed. Stuff like woodfiller (whatever that is) and WD40. I've never bought WD40 before in my life and it felt great. It was like I'd grown a brand new cock. Of course, that was nothing compared to the feeling that I got from turning to a grown man in an apron and saying "Do you have a pair of running butts, please?" He did and, after I paid him money, he gave them to me and thanked me. That is the power you have when you finally become a MAN.
I felt 8 feet tall walking out of B&Q on Saturday. I had a bag filled with things that fix other things and I walked with a swagger that shouted I GET THINGS DONE. People stepped out of my way because they all recognised a man with a mission when they see one. Just a man with his tools, listening to A Little Night Music, on his way to put (household) wrongs to right.
The drawers and the bedroom door had been tamed, now to take on the toilet seat.
The toilet seat was very unique in my house. It's the only thing here that wasn't broken by me. But like everything in my house I had just left it for months and did nothing about it. I spent months going to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat, falling off, getting up again, doing a bit of business, falling off, tweeting, falling off, finish business, falling off, more tweeting, make wipey and leaving. Well, no more. That may have been how they went to the toilet in Victorian times but it was time for me to move on. I would take what's left of the seat from the toilet and replace it with a brand new seat. One that wasn't all smashed to bits. One that didn't push you to the floor when you sat down. One that showed you a bit of respect.
I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.
I'm on Day 3 of trying to unscrew that bastarding bastard toilet seat bastard from my toilet and it refuses to budge. The screw is corroded, due to my manly freeform style of urinating, and it has become a solid, rigid, going-nowhere bastard. It has laughed at WD40, Tabasco Sauce, Lemon Juice, pliers and my weak, weak wrists. It is completely stubborn and only makes a "Eeeeeeeeeee" noise when I use every ounce of my strength on it. "Eeeeeeeeeee". "Eeeeeeeeeeee". "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" like the laughter of pure evil.
This has to be fixed today. 3 days is too long to spend on the removal and replacement of a toilet seat. My brand new cock is shrivelling up and coughing.
There was a time when Toilet was my target of mockery in this blog. I don't like it when toilet laughs back.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
My toilet is beating me in the tough-guy-of-the-house game. Up until the last few days I was well ahead of the game. I mean, normally I do nothing whatsoever so there was no real proof that I was a crap man but over the last few days I have stupidly decided to prove that I am brilliant at being male. As you know, that means fixing things. Fixing things that I have broken.
Early on I surprised myself at how easy it was to fix things. I fixed two sets of drawers that I had broken about three years ago and then my bedroom door that I had broken two weeks ago. I fixed them all by myself without ANY HELP. I even went to B&Q like a real man to get the stuff I needed. Stuff like woodfiller (whatever that is) and WD40. I've never bought WD40 before in my life and it felt great. It was like I'd grown a brand new cock. Of course, that was nothing compared to the feeling that I got from turning to a grown man in an apron and saying "Do you have a pair of running butts, please?" He did and, after I paid him money, he gave them to me and thanked me. That is the power you have when you finally become a MAN.
I felt 8 feet tall walking out of B&Q on Saturday. I had a bag filled with things that fix other things and I walked with a swagger that shouted I GET THINGS DONE. People stepped out of my way because they all recognised a man with a mission when they see one. Just a man with his tools, listening to A Little Night Music, on his way to put (household) wrongs to right.
The drawers and the bedroom door had been tamed, now to take on the toilet seat.
The toilet seat was very unique in my house. It's the only thing here that wasn't broken by me. But like everything in my house I had just left it for months and did nothing about it. I spent months going to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat, falling off, getting up again, doing a bit of business, falling off, tweeting, falling off, finish business, falling off, more tweeting, make wipey and leaving. Well, no more. That may have been how they went to the toilet in Victorian times but it was time for me to move on. I would take what's left of the seat from the toilet and replace it with a brand new seat. One that wasn't all smashed to bits. One that didn't push you to the floor when you sat down. One that showed you a bit of respect.
I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.
I'm on Day 3 of trying to unscrew that bastarding bastard toilet seat bastard from my toilet and it refuses to budge. The screw is corroded, due to my manly freeform style of urinating, and it has become a solid, rigid, going-nowhere bastard. It has laughed at WD40, Tabasco Sauce, Lemon Juice, pliers and my weak, weak wrists. It is completely stubborn and only makes a "Eeeeeeeeeee" noise when I use every ounce of my strength on it. "Eeeeeeeeeee". "Eeeeeeeeeeee". "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" like the laughter of pure evil.
This has to be fixed today. 3 days is too long to spend on the removal and replacement of a toilet seat. My brand new cock is shrivelling up and coughing.
There was a time when Toilet was my target of mockery in this blog. I don't like it when toilet laughs back.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Thursday, 17 June 2010
I'll Give You a Shout.
Had a lot of fun with Robin Ince at our preview of Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire. We had an hour to talk about things that make us furious. It should go without saying that an hour was simply not enough. Even our Top 10 Things That Annoy Us Today list had 12 things in it and we only talked about 4 of them because we kept remembering more things that upset us. Thanks to everyone who came to it. We have a few more previews and then we'll be performing it at the Edinburgh Fringe at The GRV from the 6th-18th August.
This is something I wrote for the show last night. I think I even got round to actually saying some of it. This was in the My Angry Hero section. It's been a while since I read about this man but I think I've got my very basic story right. If not, let me know. I realise I'm cheating in this blog by just cutting and pasting something but, you know, fuck off. This is free. Enjoy:
MANZONI.
Do you like art? I love art. I’m happy to say that I’m fortunate enough to have a collection of incredibly beautiful paintings on my phone. Banksy. All that shit. Brilliant ringtone too. I KEEL YOU! Very funny.
I think it’s safe to say that all art before the 1950’s was fucking shit. They should just get rid of it. It’s all pictures of fruit or pictures of God or pictures of God eating fruit. I like the one with the banana. That was cheeky. But really all art was terrible and all artists were wankers and the art world was dead. Before the 50’s, nothing had happened in art since before cave paintings when people used to make statues out of mammoth tusks and man-dung. Some of us had moved on from then. I’m talking to you, Emin.
But luckily in the 1950’s a man would come along and save us. Piero Manzoni made incredible art. He did amazing paintings of silhouettes of things like scissors and pliers and very quickly became the Italian art version of our very own Morph. Brilliantly, he was angry. He hated the art world. Why would he not? It’s pretentious, elitist and apparently even Timmy fucking Mallett can do it. So he used that anger wisely. He started selling toot to some of the very best galleries in the world. Canvases painted white. Not just one of them. A whole collection of completely white canvases. The reviews? INCREDIBLE!
Balls.
He drew really basic line drawings with a twist. He rolled them up and put them in a tube, sealed the tube and then signed it. If you opened it and looked at the painting it would be RUINED! The reviews? MAGNIFICENT!
For fuck’s sake.
He blew up balloons, sold them and called the collection “Artist’s Breath”. The reviews? THAT IS THE BOMB!
Tittybits!
Right. He sold eggs with his thumb print on it, boxes that if you stood on them then you were art and even painted bread. He could do nothing wrong and all the art world loved him.
Except for one reviewer.
One of Italy’s art glitterati got bored of Manzoni and complained that galleries would buy ANYTHING that he made no matter what it was. He could sell his own shit for it’s weight in gold.
My favourite piece of art that Piero Manzoni ever created was his collection known as The Artist’s Shit. This beautiful man, a cross between Picasso and Beadle, put his own shit into 99 30gr tins and sold them to galleries in accordance with the daily exchange rates for gold.
I’d like to see Timmy Mallett do that. I would hate to see Timmy Mallett do that.
I'm really looking forward to getting angry with Robin on this show. I've only been awake about 20 minutes but this article, that I saw via Paul Sinha's link, has made me angrier than I should be at this time. Janet Street-Porter really is an incredible cunt. I don't have time to write about it now so please leave a comment for me so I don't have to write about it. Thanks: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-1278510/Depression-Its-just-new-trendy-illness.html
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
This is something I wrote for the show last night. I think I even got round to actually saying some of it. This was in the My Angry Hero section. It's been a while since I read about this man but I think I've got my very basic story right. If not, let me know. I realise I'm cheating in this blog by just cutting and pasting something but, you know, fuck off. This is free. Enjoy:
MANZONI.
Do you like art? I love art. I’m happy to say that I’m fortunate enough to have a collection of incredibly beautiful paintings on my phone. Banksy. All that shit. Brilliant ringtone too. I KEEL YOU! Very funny.
I think it’s safe to say that all art before the 1950’s was fucking shit. They should just get rid of it. It’s all pictures of fruit or pictures of God or pictures of God eating fruit. I like the one with the banana. That was cheeky. But really all art was terrible and all artists were wankers and the art world was dead. Before the 50’s, nothing had happened in art since before cave paintings when people used to make statues out of mammoth tusks and man-dung. Some of us had moved on from then. I’m talking to you, Emin.
But luckily in the 1950’s a man would come along and save us. Piero Manzoni made incredible art. He did amazing paintings of silhouettes of things like scissors and pliers and very quickly became the Italian art version of our very own Morph. Brilliantly, he was angry. He hated the art world. Why would he not? It’s pretentious, elitist and apparently even Timmy fucking Mallett can do it. So he used that anger wisely. He started selling toot to some of the very best galleries in the world. Canvases painted white. Not just one of them. A whole collection of completely white canvases. The reviews? INCREDIBLE!
Balls.
He drew really basic line drawings with a twist. He rolled them up and put them in a tube, sealed the tube and then signed it. If you opened it and looked at the painting it would be RUINED! The reviews? MAGNIFICENT!
For fuck’s sake.
He blew up balloons, sold them and called the collection “Artist’s Breath”. The reviews? THAT IS THE BOMB!
Tittybits!
Right. He sold eggs with his thumb print on it, boxes that if you stood on them then you were art and even painted bread. He could do nothing wrong and all the art world loved him.
Except for one reviewer.
One of Italy’s art glitterati got bored of Manzoni and complained that galleries would buy ANYTHING that he made no matter what it was. He could sell his own shit for it’s weight in gold.
My favourite piece of art that Piero Manzoni ever created was his collection known as The Artist’s Shit. This beautiful man, a cross between Picasso and Beadle, put his own shit into 99 30gr tins and sold them to galleries in accordance with the daily exchange rates for gold.
I’d like to see Timmy Mallett do that. I would hate to see Timmy Mallett do that.
I'm really looking forward to getting angry with Robin on this show. I've only been awake about 20 minutes but this article, that I saw via Paul Sinha's link, has made me angrier than I should be at this time. Janet Street-Porter really is an incredible cunt. I don't have time to write about it now so please leave a comment for me so I don't have to write about it. Thanks: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-1278510/Depression-Its-just-new-trendy-illness.html
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
James, Sit Down.
I watched Doctor who, the TV programme that I am married to and having sex with, on Saturday night in full knowledge that James Corden, the biggest cunt in the entire world, was in it. It was a depressing day, anyway. I was away from home and stuck in a hotel trying to get over my phlegmy illness and was feeling very sorry for myself. Playing four Metallica albums in a row while just lying there doesn't cure anything, by the way, so don't try that. But soon Doctor Who would be on. My beloved Doctor Who with the best Doctor since Peter Davison and the best companion pretty much ever and...and...and cunting fucking bastarding James fucking Corden.
And he was really good.
It was the first episode in a while that I completely enjoyed (the ending was pretty crap but I forgave it) and Corden was so good in it that I forgot that he wasn't the most horrible person currently working in television. He's a really good actor and I'm surprised that he hasn't thought of doing acting before now instead of going on TV, pointing at his stomach and collecting a cheque.
Of course he's a good actor. He would never have got a foot in the door if he wasn't at least OK at acting. I mean, there's no way that he has got where he is today on personality. And that is pretty much all the James Corden that I know. I've never seen Gavin & Stacey and I know that I never will. It's just not for me. The few clips I've seen scream twee and the title alone puts me off. So all I have to judge Corden on is his sketch show, Horne & Corden, and his forced personality. If he has this acting talent, why on earth is he behaving like such an arsehole in front of cameras? Does he have THAT little amount of faith in himself? Is he still THAT worried that the bullies that surely pushed him around every single biscuit-eating day of his schooldays are going to come back and get him? I mean, he's a good and successful actor. He's won. He's had the last laugh. But that's the problem, his laugh his vicious, cold and terrified.
Patrick Stewart made a bit of a tit out of himself at the recent Glamour Magazine awards by telling Corden off in front of everyone. Picard was obviously a bit drunk and his "joke" about Corden's fat belly fell flat but that's OK because he's Patrick Stewart. He's been a successful, acclaimed and, most importantly, loved actor for decades. He's allowed to fuck up once. He's earned it. But Corden? Well, Corden ONLY fucks up. That's what he does for a living. He is a professional, hard-working, money-making fuck up. His sketch show was such an egotistical car crash that the only laughs it got were from it's many, many terrible reviews, his football coverage seems to consist of him him going "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!" while doing a series of obscene hand gestures and he confidently defines himself by his gut, displaying it at every opportunity. That's why his reaction to what Patrick Stewart said is just baffling. Patrick Stewart basically did every single joke that James Corden has ever written and condensed it to five words. And how did he react? Like James Corden. Not like James Corden, the talented actor. No. Just like James Corden.
He put his face viciously right up against the face of a 70 year old man and repeated "Go on" at him. You know, just the bullies at school had done. That's how he's taken his triumph and his success. To try and be more like the people he is afraid of. He then proved what a hilarious comedian he is by, you guessed it, showing his belly. Sigh...
You'd think if he had a friend one of them might have a word with him. Maybe say something like, you're a really good actor and people must ask you to be in things all the time. Why don't you do more of that? I mean it's great that you're number one in the singles chart but it's just you hanging around with a load of big lads going "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!" and doing the Wanker hand gesture. I saw you in Doctor Who and I just think you're better suited to something like that. You gave the role a lot of weight. Yes, I thought you'd like that but seriously, you made the character really likeable and considering you're James Corden that must have been very difficult. But obviously not. You're just that good. I really look forward to seeing you acting in something else very soon. It must be so good to have that amount of talent and to have so many opportunities to use that talent. Be a shame if that was wasted.
So, to cut a long story short, I'm a big fan of James Corden the talented actor and I never thought I'd ever say that.
Thanks to Cripesonfriday for donating pictures from his private collection.
www.twitter.com/cripesonfriday
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Dear God.
The worst thing that's ever happened.
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And he was really good.
It was the first episode in a while that I completely enjoyed (the ending was pretty crap but I forgave it) and Corden was so good in it that I forgot that he wasn't the most horrible person currently working in television. He's a really good actor and I'm surprised that he hasn't thought of doing acting before now instead of going on TV, pointing at his stomach and collecting a cheque.
Of course he's a good actor. He would never have got a foot in the door if he wasn't at least OK at acting. I mean, there's no way that he has got where he is today on personality. And that is pretty much all the James Corden that I know. I've never seen Gavin & Stacey and I know that I never will. It's just not for me. The few clips I've seen scream twee and the title alone puts me off. So all I have to judge Corden on is his sketch show, Horne & Corden, and his forced personality. If he has this acting talent, why on earth is he behaving like such an arsehole in front of cameras? Does he have THAT little amount of faith in himself? Is he still THAT worried that the bullies that surely pushed him around every single biscuit-eating day of his schooldays are going to come back and get him? I mean, he's a good and successful actor. He's won. He's had the last laugh. But that's the problem, his laugh his vicious, cold and terrified.
Patrick Stewart made a bit of a tit out of himself at the recent Glamour Magazine awards by telling Corden off in front of everyone. Picard was obviously a bit drunk and his "joke" about Corden's fat belly fell flat but that's OK because he's Patrick Stewart. He's been a successful, acclaimed and, most importantly, loved actor for decades. He's allowed to fuck up once. He's earned it. But Corden? Well, Corden ONLY fucks up. That's what he does for a living. He is a professional, hard-working, money-making fuck up. His sketch show was such an egotistical car crash that the only laughs it got were from it's many, many terrible reviews, his football coverage seems to consist of him him going "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!" while doing a series of obscene hand gestures and he confidently defines himself by his gut, displaying it at every opportunity. That's why his reaction to what Patrick Stewart said is just baffling. Patrick Stewart basically did every single joke that James Corden has ever written and condensed it to five words. And how did he react? Like James Corden. Not like James Corden, the talented actor. No. Just like James Corden.
He put his face viciously right up against the face of a 70 year old man and repeated "Go on" at him. You know, just the bullies at school had done. That's how he's taken his triumph and his success. To try and be more like the people he is afraid of. He then proved what a hilarious comedian he is by, you guessed it, showing his belly. Sigh...
You'd think if he had a friend one of them might have a word with him. Maybe say something like, you're a really good actor and people must ask you to be in things all the time. Why don't you do more of that? I mean it's great that you're number one in the singles chart but it's just you hanging around with a load of big lads going "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!" and doing the Wanker hand gesture. I saw you in Doctor Who and I just think you're better suited to something like that. You gave the role a lot of weight. Yes, I thought you'd like that but seriously, you made the character really likeable and considering you're James Corden that must have been very difficult. But obviously not. You're just that good. I really look forward to seeing you acting in something else very soon. It must be so good to have that amount of talent and to have so many opportunities to use that talent. Be a shame if that was wasted.
So, to cut a long story short, I'm a big fan of James Corden the talented actor and I never thought I'd ever say that.
Thanks to Cripesonfriday for donating pictures from his private collection.
www.twitter.com/cripesonfriday
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
www.preciouslittlepodcast.co.uk
Dear God.
The worst thing that's ever happened.
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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