Do You Remember?

My memory is terrible, I think I've told you that before (HA HA HA!!! BRILLIANT!). In fact, for me to remember anything, it pretty much has to be right in front of me. Practically in my face, preferably, because not only is my memory bad but I'm also not very observant. Put it this way, a bird did a massive shit on me last week and I didn't notice. I've no idea how long animal faeces had been on my coat when I finally spotted it. Incredible, really. I mean, who doesn't notice when a flying animal has shat on them? I've no idea. Oh, hang on. I've remembered: me.  

I forget everything. Names, faces, Mum's birthday, where I live (really). Last year at the Edinburgh Fringe I was on stage talking about the actor Michael Legge from Angela's Ashes when I forgot his name. That's how bad my memory is and, you know, how thick I am. Being unobservant means I don't always take things in so I forget them easily. But when I'm reminded...something weird happens. I can see a photo of the past (I think that's the only thing that has ever been photographed) or see a film I saw as a child or go to a place I haven't been to in years and my memory just wakes up and everything floods into my head. Tastes, smells, textures and temperatures come speeding from the past and seem to just take over my entire body. Maybe everyone get's these memory sensory overloads when something opens a memory file in their dusty head hard drive but I like to think I'm the only one. I am special. Probably the most obvious thing to waken my memory is music. I don't listen to too much music from my youth but there are certain songs that will seemingly appear out of nowhere and transport me back to being a teenager. When I was a teenager, I loved Marillion.

You know how you love your kids? That's how I loved Marillion. Fish-era Marillion. Fish-era Marillion from 1982 to 1985, to be precise. They released one more album with Fish after that but my tastes were changing and, clearly, so were Marillion's. I liked indie, jangly, depressing music and they wanted to crack America. But for those few years, they were the greatest thing that ever happened. If you don't get prog-rock then there's no way I can convince you how brilliantly melodic, clever, experimental, theatrical, dark and utterly daft that it is. I mean, prog-rock isn't cool, is it? Radiohead, Animal Collective, The Mars Volta...those bands were never cool and they'd all be nothing if it wasn't for Genesis and Pink Floyd (note I didn't say Muse, another modern prog-rock band, because they really have never been cool. Bless). On Friday night I went to see Fish, a solo artist since '88, and as soon as I heard his voice...that memory sensory overload shouted "BUNDLE!" and leapt all over me.

When I say I loved Marillion, I mean they were all I talked about, read about, watched and listened to. I bought every single. In every format. 7", 12", picture disc. And every album on vinyl, picture disc and cassette. I couldn't get enough of lengthy widdly-widdly keyboard solos and "bad stuff is going to happen" guitar riffs and beautiful lyrics about being completely lost. When I was 16 and heard Fish singing about fucking in the flickering shadows of candlelight with a Berlin prostitute who fell in love with him, I just knew what he meant. I mean, I didn't at all but I really wanted to. Fish was just everything that I wanted to be: anti-establishment, anti-war, a poet, a fighter, a lover and tall. Growing up, the only other non-Northern Irish band singing about Northern Ireland was Boney M. And the only other band singing about how alone I am and how much I'd love a girlfriend was...well, there were loads but none as good as Marillion.

Fish was already on stage when I got to the venue. He was performing his forthcoming album, A Feast of Consequences, and I could hear his voice as I walked up the stairs to the hall. I've known that voice for ages. Immediately, I could see the six foot tall posters in my 80's bedroom. One of a scary man hiding behind a mask (the cover of Market Square Heroes, Marillion's first single) and one of a scary man tearing his face in two (the cover of He Knows, You Know). I remembered going out of my mind with joy when they got on Top of the Pops for the first time. GARDEN PARTY IS ON TOP OF THE POPS! I don't think I saw much of it because of all the jumping I was doing. I remembered the crappy paper that The Web, Marillion's fan club newsletter, was printed on. I remembered my Marillion coat. I HAD A MARILLION COAT! I remembered running after Fish in Belfast, drawing the Marillion logo on everything and tracing my hand over their autographs on their 1986 calendar. And I remembered how excited that brilliant music made me feel. Going to Zepplin Records in Newtownards and buying the record the day it came out and studying it. Every note, every drum beat, every lyric. Then trying to draw the record's cover art in my school sketch pad. The artwork almost as important to me as the music. Twisted, frightening, depressing images that suited me perfectly. I'm still proud of my school report after I handed my sketch pad in at the end of 5th year: "It's clear that Michael is possessed by the devil".

After the new album, Fish performed the classics. Assassing, Fugazi, Freaks. Songs clearly loved by everyone in that room, none more than me. And when he sang White Feather...my eyes were not dry. What an exciting time 1985 was when my favourite band became popstars. A number 2 hit single that EVERYONE knew, a number 1 million selling album and finally the band themselves got the chance to perform live in front of me. A friend asked me recently what my favourite gigs were but my memory failed. I couldn't really think of any. Well, I've remembered. Marillion at Maysfield Leisure centre, Belfast in September 1985. Of course, it's the best gig ever. Script For a Jester's Tear, Chelsea Monday, The Web, all of Misplaced Childhood in one go and Forgotten Sons IN BELFAST. I had a job interview the next day and all I talked about was the previous night's gig. I didn't get the job (bloody Bon Jovi fan). I even remembered the moment during that gig when I became the biggest, most contemptable cunt in the whole world. During Steve Rothery's guitar solo in Forgotten Sons I shouted "Tell it like it is, Steve". I actually want to punch me for that right now. "Tell. It. Like. It is. Steve". Fucking, fucking cunt.

Not all memories are good, I suppose. But clearly this gig had given me a rush of pure joy. I even talked to complete strangers, something I NEVER do, just because they were wearing t-shirts of Marillion's 1986 festival gig in Milton Keynes, "Welcome to the Garden Party". I went to that. It was the same day as Wham!'s The Final gig in Wembley and I remembered us all throwing as much shit as we could at their fan's buses as they past ours. It's the closest I will ever come to being in Bad News.

I had a couple of drinks with Fish afterwards (yeah, we're BFF's, OK? Get over it. Whatever) and even the sound of his speaking voice sparks a billion memories with me. His between song banter, him telling a fan off for shouting out Marillion song titles during his first solo tour in 1990, him being locked out of the venue in Belfast in '85 and booming "Open the fucking door". And it reminded me of the time I heard he'd left Marillion. I was listening to Tommy Vance's Friday Rock Show and the news broke that Fish was going solo and Marillion would go ahead with a new singer. I ran downstairs and told my parents, like they'd be genuinely concerned, and my Dad said something that has meant that it would be stupid for me to ever become a father. "Well, now you have two favourite bands". See? I could never be that clever or nice a Dad.

Fish is a very warm, welcoming and engaging man. Charming. But what he doesn't realise is that being in his company is overwhelming. He wrote everything that was important to me as a teenager, his first solo album is an underrated classic and his last album, 13th Star, is utterly beautiful. I sort of forget how brilliant he is but that's because my memory is bad. But at least now I know how to improve my memory. Simply all I need to remember anything is a rock concert filled with songs I love and to spend some time with my teenage idol who I love and who makes me want to be on my best behaviour.

Afterwards, I remembered that that bird shit was still on my coat.

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. 

Fool and the Gang.

The older I get the more aware I am of my own immortality. You see, I know that you're going to die but I'm also aware that my luck is so bad that I bet I will live forever. You're lucky. This upsetting blip between oblivions will be over for you in decades but I'm just going to get older and older and survive long enough to see how worse the human race will become. I will see people I love die (my family, friends, Richard Osman) while I just get older and sicker but every cloud has a silver lining. Being immortal means that I can continue to do what I do best: telling dicks that they're dicks. I hope that knowledge will bring some comfort to you on your death bed. You will be long gone and I will still be around, hobbling on crutches and throwing up vomit and blood on to my surgical gown, telling dicks that they're dicks.

You see, there's a reason why I like to tell dicks that they're dicks. When I was younger, I wouldn't have said anything to a dick because I was just too scared. It wasn't always easy growing up in my part of Northern Ireland when you're Catholic and a bit of an annoying twat. I got beaten up a few times for no other reason than I was a different religion to them and I was a bit of an annoying twat. Even at school I got bullied and beaten up simply for being Catholic and a bit of an annoying twat. Harsh, considering I went to a Catholic school. But that's how Northern Ireland is and everything that you think you've read in the newspapers is true. There is 24 hour violence everywhere and the whole country is constantly on fire. 75% of Northern Irish people die every day. That's almost everyone. 

But I'm older now and I feel sad for the younger Michael Legge. He occasionally had to take a small amount of shit and, as a result, I am now standing up for him.

Last night I was walking down a street in Lewisham when I saw a large group of youths skating along towards me. There were about 10 of them, they all looked to be somewhere between 18 and 20 years old and they were all going pretty fast on roller skates. Thanks to cars being half-parked on the pavement, there wasn't much room for them and me to pass one another but if I just took one step in to my right, they could pass easily and I was more than happy to do that until the one at the front shouted "Get the fuck out of the way".

Now, I was going to get out of the way but I was NEVER going to get THE FUCK out of the way. 

He said "Get the fuck out of the way again" and I just kept walking towards him and blocking their way. They skated off the pavement and onto the road. Brilliant. He was rude, I stood my ground and they all skated off. A small victory but it's the little things that count, dear reader. We can't have gangs of young people swearing at us and thinking they can get away with it. Especially if they they get back on the pavement, skate up behind you and start shouting right into your face. Oh.

To be fair, I knew that there was a chance that they'd be upset that I hadn't moved. I know it's best to just keep quiet when confronted by horrible people but why should I take any shit from them when they've been rude, aggressive and...they're on roller skates.

That's IT. I know I'm immortal and I've got a chip on my shoulder but the reason I didn't get out of their way is because I just can't take a gang seriously if they're on roller skates. It looks pathetic. But, I had to agree with myself, this whole thing is very me: I'm getting confronted by a gang! A really crap gang! And, as a result, I just couldn't keep my big mouth shut.

"What the fuck is your problem?", one of the youths enquired.

"It's not me that has a problem. I'm not on roller skates".

"You saw us coming. Are you blind?"

"I'm not blind. I saw your roller skates".

"I'll kick your fucking arse".

"What? In roller skates?"

This went on for ages (or 10 seconds) while others generally told me to fuck off while occasionally calling me "white boy". That's when I really got scared. I'm surrounded by not very convincing street-toughs in sleeveless t-shirts and roller skates. What shitty 80's movie am I in? Hang on....Am I Andrew McCarthy? Fuck! I don't want to be Andrew McCarthy. I CAN'T be Andrew McCarthy. I'm not going to turn up at the soda bar with a slightly bloodied nose and my tie even more slightly askew. I want to be the cool 80's guy. The one that gangs actually respect because he doesn't take shit and he always has a funny quip to put them down with. All I need is a quip. Something cool. I just need the right line at the right time and I'll practically be part of the gang. We'll fist-bump and we'll realise that, yeah, we're from different sides of the tracks but deep down we respect one another. All I need to do is be cool.

The gang shouted fuck off at me several times but I was going that way anyway so it didn't seem threatening. You can't TELL someone to fuck off if they're leaving. So I stood there just staring at them, waiting for my moment. It's going to happen. My cool guy 80's movie moment. And when one of the gang said "You come back here and you're dead" I knew my moment had come. Time for a quip. Time for a put down. Time to be cool.

"Yeah, right, National Express".

That was my line. My cool 80's movie line. I said it and now just had to wait for their acceptance as a proper 80's cool movie guy. They looked baffled.

"Oh", I said. "I meant Starlight Express".

More "fuck off"'s were directed at me and I agreed that it was probably time for me to go. I had been given the perfect moment and I fucked it up. Typical. I turned up at the soda bar with a bloodied nose and an askew tie after giving myself the beating I clearly deserved. I am Andrew fucking McCarthy.

But never let it be said that I am a coward. I'm sure any gang reading this will think twice about being rude or aggressive ever again. I don't think anyone really wants the awkwardness of a middle aged man basically calling you a bus.




 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.

Lewsers.

Yesterday, it was announced by the UK Peace Index that Lewisham is the "most un-peaceful" place in the country. As a resident of Lewisham I thought, as I'm sure other residents of Lewisham did, that I'm delighted.

I've only had two homes. Northern Ireland and Lewisham, so when I read that Lewisham is the most un-peaceful part of the country I couldn't help but think that it must be me. I just clearly make people very violently upset. The Troubles and topping the Un-Peaceful charts is too much of a coincidence. Obviously wherever I lay my hat, that's an area soon to be cordoned off while a police helicopter beams it's light on it. But I like Northern Ireland. I'm only mentally coming to terms with how The Troubles effected me (and let's face it, NOTHING happened to me during The Troubles) and for the first time in my life I actually feel pretty patriotic. Not nuts like some Northern Irish patriots - I don't go around marching or crying about a missing flag - I'm much more quietly patriotic. Fewer things have made me happier recently than the film Good Vibrations, I'm delighted that David Holmes is producing the new Primal Scream album and I love that Belfast has a growing comedy scene made up of Northern Irish comedians avoiding hack Northern Irish topics. I'm that sort of patriot. I feel like I'm Northern Ireland's childless aunt, watching her nieces and nephews doing so well. Oh, some of them aren't perfect but I'm proud of a lot of them. As for Lewisham...well, I had to think about that one.

I found out that Lewisham is the most un-peaceful place in the country as soon as I woke up. I mean, it isn't perfect. Sure, Lewisham council is actively helping local businesses by actively offering them work (see: http://tinyurl.com/aqon6h5), the major regeneration of the area means that new shops, homes, a gym (meh) and a cinema (yay!) are close to being completed and it's incredibly handy to go anywhere in London but...it isn't perfect. It's too hard to think also because I haven't had breakfast yet. I'll eat and then think about it.

I walked to El's Kitchen in the lovely, hot sunshine. Now, I'm sure you had the exact same sunshine wherever you live yesterday but I just didn't want you thinking that the sun is too intimidated by Lewisham. It gets to us as much as it gets anywhere. There's been a surge of lovely new places to eat in my part of Lewisham. It's all patisseries as far as the eye can see but I decided I wanted to make breakfast. I bought a fresh, homemade sourdough loaf, some homemade houmous and some vegan chocolate because THAT'S WHAT I HAVE FOR BREAKFAST, OK? And I can buy all those things in Lewisham.

I had breakfast in the garden because I can sit there listening to my neighbour's Radio 4. I have neighbours that are always gardening or cleaning their kitchen with the windows open so I can just sit there listening to free Radio 4. Yes, that's right: I steal Radio 4. Look at me, UK Peace Index! I'm one of Lewisham's crime statistics. I know you might get a tiny feeling of excitement occasionally stealing your neighbour's wifi but you don't know what smug is until you've got your feet up on a lounger, eating houmous on toasted sourdough while nicking loads of Radio 4 from kind people who suspect NOTHING. In LEWISHAM! But Radio 4 was distracting me. Lewisham is the most un-peaceful place in the country. I need to think about that.

Jerk suggested we go for a walk in the park. It's a beautiful day, so that sounded like a great opportunity to stroll and ponder this un-peaceful problem. We went to Ladywell Fields. We could have gone to Hilly Fields which is almost as nearby and it has that new cool cafe that's dog-friendly and terribly middle-class but I fancied a walk by the river. That's right, I had a stroll in the sunshine along a river. In LEWISHAM! But what with watching Jerk swim and seeing bright green parakeets fly around and looking at Dutch Elms, I forgot about thinking about the un-peaceful thing.

I mean, I can't honestly say I consider Lewisham to be peaceful. I hear sirens a lot but I always take a bit of comfort from that. A siren? Good. Something's being done about that bad thing. And there's not that many times when I go to the park and don't meet a "colourful character"...but that's all they are. Characters. Surely they're just put there for me so I can write a blog? I wouldn't call those chaps peaceful. But un-peaceful? Maybe we need to look at the needs of young people here. Most of the crime statistics seem to be made up of 16-24 year olds but i don't know any of them. Are they all stealing Radio 4? I need to think about that. It got to about 5.30 and I decided that maybe a beer would help me think.

I went to The Ravensbourne Arms. I could just as easily have gone to The Fox & Firkin because both of those bars are my favourites. Not just in Lewisham but my favourites full-stop. They're excellent pubs that don't treat you like a dick by charging £5 a pint. Rare these days. I sat in The Arms and did a bit of work on my laptop. It's always got a friendly buzz going on at The Arms (and The Fox too). Lovely staff and there's always a lot of people but it's never a place you can't do a spot of work in. That's right. I worked in a crowded but civilised pub, using their wifi and having a relaxing drink. In LEWISHAM! But the pub's so lovely that it's putting me off thinking about the un-peaceful thing. Plus it's starting to get dark. Best get some dinner and head home.

I bought some Chinese food from a great take-away called Home (could have gone for Indian, Turkish, Greek, Italian, Irish, British, Lebanese...pretty much anything) and walked through the dark streets of Lewisham. The area of London that is the most un-peaceful place in the country and now I'm walking it's dark streets at night time. Safely.

I got home and ate and I finally got round to thinking. My feet were up on the sofa and I had a sleeping dog on me and I thought about Lewisham, the most un-peaceful place in the country. And I thought, as I'm sure other residents of Lewisham did, that I'm delighted. If we're in the most un-peaceful place in the country then just think how tranquil everywhere else is.



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.

Your Tworoscope 5.

OooooOOOooooOooooh, dear reader. Welcome to the unknown. I have seen YOUR future. Now let me reveal what the next 7 days have in store for you in Your Tworoscope....


ARIES: Things improve at work now that the fire brigade have arrived. Your 3rd degree burns grab attention from sexy doctors.
TAURUS: You win the lottery in your mind and dream of the mansion you live in and speedboat you shag in while wanking in your sleeping bag.
GEMINI: A new haircut gives you a lift, sadly so does a serial killer. Your funeral is tragically joyous on Monday.
CANCER: You've had a terrible innings.
LEO: You get sad that all you have to drink is Mr. Sheen and cry when you realise you quite like it. Your shoes are filthy. 
VIRGO: You had no idea how unpopular you are until right now. Are people talking behind your back? You're thinking that now. 
LIBRA: Your sister leaves you for another sibling and you're left to pick up the bills. Kick her head in.
SCORPIO: A recent bereavement gives you a fit of the giggles. Romance, employment and travel only happen to other people. 
SAGITTARIUS & CAPRICORN: Wankers.
AQUARIUS: Your boss gives you more free time and no money. A liaison with a stranger leads to love between him and your Dad. 
PISCES: You always say that running away from problems solves nothing, sadly your problem is a rhino. Konnie Huq blocks you on Twitter.


And that's your week, fellow mystic. Perhaps I will see you again....IN THE FUTURE!




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. 

Michael's Taste: Evil Dead (2013).

Being evil and dead seems to be very topical at the moment and, although we don't like to admit it, some good things did happen while Thatcher was throttling us in the 1980's. The Smiths, I snogged someone for a while and The Evil Dead are the main three things we all remember from that otherwise dreary decade. Well, The Smiths are never going to reform and I heard that girl took her own life in 1987 so that just leaves The Evil Dead. And it's BACK!

When I heard that Sam Raimi, the creator of the 1981 original Evil Dead, was producing a remake of his classic horror comedy, I lost my mind with excitement. I mean, I like SOME people but I really LOVE The Evil Dead. When you're growing up in the midst of Northern Ireland's background of hate and violence there was no better escape for a young teen than that of the 1980's video nasty boom. Basket Case, Reanimator and Cannibal Holocaust all took me under their protective wings when life just got too scary. That escape is still so appreciated. Those films are frightening, weird and, above all else, really funny. And as much as I got so incredibly excited about sneaking any of those three films into my house and then bunking off school the next day to watch them, it was always The Evil Dead that I completely adored. My parents went out for the night and I was delighted to tell my sister that I had The Evil Dead under my bed (she always suspected I did). We put it on and stopped it every two minutes so she could calm down and get her breath back and then we'd press play again and the laughs of joy and screams of terror began all over again. You see, that's really what reviewers should mean when they say a film is a "real rollercoaster ride". It's terrifying! Let me have another go!!

Of course, today it might not be that scary to some people but it's still brilliantly funny. That's why I feel really sorry for poor Mary Whitehouse. She died before she ever got the chance to laugh.

So, the brand new remake of The Evil Dead was released in America over a week ago and it went straight to number one in the box office. Of course it did. The Evil Dead and it's two excellent sequels (ED2 is even better) are loved so a remake was bound to be a hit. It was so frustrating to think that I had to wait for over a week before I'd get the chance to see it. One of my all time favourite films remade. With a huge budget. And proper glossy looking hot teens playing it seriously. And CGI special effects....and...Why am I going to see this?

Seriously. What was wrong with The Evil Dead? Was something that is perfect not good enough? It wasn't the lack of budget that was a problem, THAT was what was amazing about it. Creative minds conjuring genius with a couple of dollars. Why do these rich men do what they do? Raimi, Lucas, Spielberg. They look at what they once loved and in their ridiculous, selfish, soulless minds they think "I don't like what ageing has done to my once great love. I know what will cure MY hatred of looking at what I once considered to be great beauty: Plastic surgery".  Can't they see that ageing is part of the wonder of life? The Evil Dead has crows feet (it really does) and it doesn't get out as much as it did but look how brightly its eyes still shine. It's STILL the same film, Sam. It hasn't changed. YOU have. Good for you. You've got a new film, Sam. Well, your new film is a fucking idiot. Your friends can't relate to it and they hate it when you show up with it. They're still friends with your original.

What a fucking insult to your own talent. The Evil Dead had no budget, it got banned and it never won an Oscar. It has no right to be even remembered yet it completely won. The King's Speech did well three years ago. Or maybe it was two. Remember that? No, not really.

So, yesterday I got up early to go to the cinema to see the new Evil Dead. And the thought of actually seeing it made me sick. So, I made a really lovely coconut curry, poured a nice glass of wine and watched The Evil Dead 2 instead. By all means go to see The Evil Dead (2013) but you're a fucking idiot and that's my review.

Groovy.



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. 

Michael's Taste: Wine.

Hi, everyone. I've decided to give my blog a bit of a shake by introducing an occasional review section that I've decided to call Michael's Taste. In it I'll be reviewing anything and everything from films and movies to your fucked up parents and what's on at the cinema. But today I'm going to be looking at....wine.

Vigne Lourac Mauzac Sauvignon £7.99

Vegan wine to be precise. It's harder than it looks to find any vegan wine when you're out and about, never mind decent vegan wine, so I thought I'd search around and find three bottles to try. They all sound good but, of course, it's "Michael's Taste" you're interested in. 

Let's start with a sauvignon. I'm a big fan of dry white wines so I was really looking forward to trying this and I wasn't disappointed. It's incredibly crisp and full of vibrant fruit flavours that leave such a fresh sensation on the tongue. In fact, the first thing I noticed was that beautiful burst of gooseberry as I let the wine slosh around my mouth. And after I swallowed, was that elderflower? I think it was. Lovely. Basically, what I discovered was the exciting, fresh taste of Spring. Then, by the end of the second glass, I really loved how this appealing tipple made me feel gently numb. I really felt it in my arms at first but near the end of the bottle I could feel my face getting happily numb and warm at the same time. And at just £7.99, I think finishing the bottle and getting that feeling of confidence is well worth it. Confident or not though, I won't be texting her. I don't need to because she's not important anymore. In fact, I don't know why I brought her up. There's still a mouthful left.

Navarrsotillo Rioja Crianza £9.99

Now. Red I'm not always so keen on but I'm certainly not opposed to giving it a try. I have to say straight away that this rioja has a wonderful nose. Smells fucking great. Like Christmas or...I dunno. It's definitely a nice wine with a very strong, warm feeling brought to the face almost immediately but by the second glass it's making my mouth feel dry and chalky, if I'm honest. Hey, speaking of being honest, are we allowed to say what we think of It's Kevin yet? No. No, it is good. It IS good. Love him. Who doesn't love Kevin Eldon? Fucking about time he got a series. I think that's more important than putting on something funny. It is funny. IT IS FUNNY. I didn't mean it wasn't fun. funny. I mean, I just. Ha haaaa! I just think...I just think...I just think that Anna and Katy wouldn't never have gotten a series if it wasn't for the FACT that all accents, apart from theirs, are funny. Don't know why they don't just fucking black up. That's what Lee Nelson does. Yeah, you can black up on the BBC again. Getting on TV and performing is so hard but don't worry, black people, Lee Nelson will do it for you. Fuck's sake. My Radio 4 series got turned down, did I tell you that? Oh, I bet she loved that. I bet she fucking did.

De La Tour Gard Rose £8.99

Thirteen fucking years ago I loaned Rob Rouse £40. That's completely true, that is. We did a gig together in Brighton and I gave him £40 that he said he'd pay back the next day. Has he paid it back? Has he fuck. Thinks I've forgotten? The cunt. He's on the radio now. Why ams I not on the radio?

Carlsberg Special Brew £0.99

I fucking texted her and I fucking told her. I fucking told her straight. Ha ha. Why is my face wet and heart all sore? I shouldn't of drank this.




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. 

Stinking Badges.

I am a dickhead. An unbelievable dickhead. You know that really stupid person you know? That person is Professor Brainy McUniversitychallenge compared to me. I am constantly amazed at my lack of knowledge but then there are those times, those phenomenal times, when something so simple and straightforward just passes me by. On Thursday, I walked out of the tube station and it hit me: I just realised what those "Baby On Board" badges mean.

I never got it until just now. I just saw them for sale in the Transport Museum and thought they were a tourist thing. And I hated every tourist who wore one. I'd see them all the time on the tube. Standing there, sweating and looking flustered and red-faced. God, I hated them. I used to sit there on the train looking at these tourists with their stupid "Baby On Board" badges and just seethe. They made NO SENSE. It has a London Underground sign on it. It doesn't work. "Baby On Board" signs go on cars, not trains. It's a stupid tourist joke that tourists find funny and IT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE. I must have seen people wearing those badges a thousand times and on each and every occasion I hated them with every fibre of my being and wished I could destroy their heads with my mind. A THOUSAND TIMES.

Yes, so that means that I have basically loathed 1000 pregnant women for NO REASON WHATSOEVER. And I've watched them stand. I have never, ever offered my seat to someone wearing a "Baby On Board" badge. I have sat there and judged them and damned them. Like a big, thick fucking idiot. There I was thinking I've simply been hating a thousand tourists when really I've been hating a thousand pregnant women and AT LEAST a thousand babies. All that time I'd been hating for two. 

But you know what? Fuck them. Here's a badge idea: "I Am Pregnant". There. That's pretty fucking clear, isn't it? You must KNOW that there are thick people out there (I'm one of them. Hi.) so why put the life of your child at risk because you wanted to be cute and very mildly amusing? "How did you lose your baby?" "Unclear badge". "You fucking bastard". DO YOU WANT THAT CONVERSATION TO HAPPEN TO YOU IN REAL LIFE? No. 

Look. I'm out there. Walking around and being incredibly unintelligent. There may or may not be people just as stupid as me out there too. Children are our future? Then fucking sort your badges out.










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.