Saturday, 25 February 2012

Gregg Jevin.

What can I say about Gregg Jevin that hasn't already been said? Nothing. Yesterday morning, Gregg Jevin, a man I had just made up sadly died and the worldwide outpouring of grief was as vast as it was unexpected. But that's Gregg all over. Even death and the fact he never existed could stop him from making a splash.

I think it's fair to say that I am the only person that was ever intimate with Gregg. Just before I tweeted the news of his death there was a brief moment, a fleeting second, where I was the only person in the world who knew him and no one on this earth knew that I knew him. For just one beautiful instant Gregg and I were alone. Together. He made me smile during that moment and I was happy having him around. That was when I knew I had to give him up. Gregg was too...beautiful to keep to myself and when the tributes started trickling in I quickly realised that other people saw the same beauty in Gregg that I did. Plus I realised that I had no idea who Gregg Jevin was at all.

If reports are to be believed, and they shouldn't be after all, Gregg had hundreds of jobs. He was a tightrope walker, a spy, a singer, a former Prime Minister, a priest...the list goes on and all this information was given to me by regular people around the UK who had been touched by Gregg's phenomenal and staggeringly brief life. Most people agreed that Gregg was a comedian despite me never once saying that he was. Even The Guardian claimed that Gregg was a comic ( and why wouldn't The Guardian want to get involved? Thousands of other people were. Yes, tedious ordinary people loved Gregg but soon our beloved celebrities would be showing how much Gregg meant to them. Danny Baker said "Imagine the band Gregg is playing with in Heaven now!", Charlie Brooker was "Devastated by the loss of Gregg Jevin", 6Music discus jockey Lauren Laverne said "Wondering if I should play some of Gregg Jevin's band's music in his memory as well. Any suggestions?" and actor Hugh Bonneville cried "So long, Gregg Jevin. I always believed in you". Even the Radio Times itself, so wracked with grief and confusion, stopped everything to announce a change in our television schedule: "And we know you all be watching tribute programme Oh Well, Never Mind: The Gregg Jevin Story, 9:30pm, BBC2".

The list of names went on and on but not on and on and on. Danny Wallace, Dara O Briain, The Royal Albert Hall, Peter Serafinowicz, Huey Morgan, Waterstones Bookshop, Tim Burgess from The Charlatans, Rebecca Front, sport man Colin Jackson, Ian Rankin....the names were just lining up to give their thoughts on this great and fabricated man. It was overwhelming. Certainly by the time Graeme Garden posted "His performances I saw were effortless. I wish he'd tried at least a bit" I was overjoyed, so happy that Gregg meant so much to so many. I think, if you know me, you can imagine how filled with emotion I was when Colin Baker, the 6th Doctor, revealed this: "I got down to the last 2 for the double of The Ghost/Osric on tour in 1972. Gregg Jevin got it. I could have had his career".

But it was the ordinary folk who really made it all special. Although nowhere near as important as Colin Baker, they managed to make yesterday a celebration rather than a bereavement. Half an hour after I broke the news, Gregg Jevin was the 2nd most trending topic on Twitter in the UK. Within an hour Gregg was number one and number three worldwide at the same time. Message after message revealing stories of how Gregg changed people's lives. People were writing poems about him, making t-shirts with his name on it, writing songs about him. Someone even set up a Mrs Gregg Jevin Twitter account, a joke that will never stop no matter how unfunny it clearly is. And why? Because people loved Gregg and they wanted the world to know. Perhaps it was because they just realised they knew him, perhaps it was because some of us think that when someone dies it's a time for quiet relection rather than an excuse to post a sad face and retweet YouTube clips constantly? Who can tell? Whatever it was one thing was clear: Gregg inspired us all yesterday. I think that's what I like about the man most. Unlike characters like Mr Darcy or Chief Brody from Jaws, Gregg Jevin wasn't content with being fictional. Yes, I could have easily just not tweeted that Gregg Jevin had sat on his keys to death and he'd just have stayed locked in my mind but I knew that wasn't right as soon as I invented him. I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I guess I just miss my friend.

What I'm trying to say is, thanks for yesterday. You restored some faith. There are now loads of links to Gregg. Just Google him and find out more.

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Friday, 10 February 2012

Chunks of Hope.

It's been a tough few weeks. My boiler completely died just as the snow arrives, Griff Rhys Jones annoyed me personally (the fucking never been funny, arrogant, completely unlikeable prick) and I was called a sectarian by someone on Twitter just because I don't like Ian Paisley. That's a bit like being called a racist for not liking Jim Davidson or a cunt for not liking Griff Rhys Jones. Sometimes I just think "Why does bad stuff only ever happen to me?" Like last week, I was out for the night with Bennett Arron. As if that wasn't bad enough, a total dick spilled an entire tray of booze all over me. You don't know low until you're cold, wet, stinking of sherry and listening to "of course, if I was a woman they'd have commissioned it" for the millionth time.

But that's at least partly why anyone would read this blog. My constant mishaps can only make other people feel better about themselves. I may have lost the use of my limbs, my house is on fire and my own children are currently kicking me to death but at least I'm not Michael Legge. That's the point of my blog. It's basically a public service and you're very welcome. Well, just a few weeks ago something happened to me that was so "Why does this only ever happen to me?" that it was the most "Why does this only ever happen to me?" moment of my life. It felt like destiny. It smelled awful.

I needed a haircut. Barbers cut hair so I went to one of them. It was 10am so I was pretty confident I wouldn't have to wait what with it being so early and, as I was about to find out, this barber is the worst barber since Sweeney Todd or that one that blew up the space shuttle. Firstly, he was young. I understand hairdressers being young but not barbers. No matter what age you are, your barber should always be older than you. Even if I live to be 100 I'd feel more comfortable and confident with an urn with a pair of scissors than a barber under the age of 25. It's just not natural. This guy, sadly, was about 20. He was young and cool and wicked. I would have hated him even if he was fictional but there he was right in front of me and preparing to cut my hair.

I sat down and as he began he decided to chat. It was frightening. He said "How are you?" What a prick. He knows exactly how I am. I'm letting a baby, whose only experience in haircraft is the Play-Doh Barbershop Activity Playset, fuck about with my skull while brandishing a really sharp object. I'm hardly fucking well, am I? "How are you?" What a total bastard. Of course I said "Fine, thanks" but then I did something that you must never ever do. I said "How are you?" back. WHY? Why did I do this? Why did I ask a young person how they are? Firstly, I don't care and secondly, I'm not going to understand when they tell me. Yes, I'm sure it really was "boss" being "fly" with the "bitches" at the "Then Jericho pop concert" but the fact is I just feel uncomfortable with youth culture despite the fact that I'm clearly good at keeping up with it. Or "bad" as they say nowadays. But I made my bed so I had to lie in it. I asked him how he was and now he was going to tell me. Sigh...

"I am wrecked, bruv. Seriously. I got the shakes".

Right. It's just that you're cutting my hair. With scissors. Near my ear. This was a terrible decision.

"I'm telling you. I was wasted last night, you know what I'm saying?"

No but I am dying to find out more.

"I was at the casino? Yeah? And I won £700? On the roulette?"

Well, that's good. By the way, why is everything you say a question? I mean, you're not really asking anything.

"It was not good, yeah? I drank the lot. The whole lot? I didn't get to bed until 7? I got two cabs home? That's how drunk I was. I don't know how I made it to work, you know what I'm saying?"

I do know what you're saying. I really, really do. You're saying that YOU'RE HOLDING A PAIR OF SCISSORS NEXT TO MY HEAD WHILE GIGGLING YOUR WAY OUT OF A HANGOVER. I mean, really, why? Why does this happen to me? Why does this ALWAYS happen to me? Why does this only happen to me?

It was then that he was sick on me.

I don't ask for much when I go to get my hair cut. In fact, getting my hair cut is pretty much all I want when I go to get my hair cut. I don't expect chatting or tea or details of how much was won at the casino last night but there is one thing that I really insist on: don't be sick on me. But he was sick on me. He was sick and I sat there while he went into another room and was sick again in a sink. There I was alone in a barber shop, looking at my reflection and the long streak of sick down my side. I thought, good. This is really good. It can't get worse than this. The only way is up. When that good Samaritan threw up on me what he was really doing, from the goodness of his own stomach, was saving me. Every bad occurance from this moment on will seem like a joyous event next to that one time that I sat alone in a barber's shop while covered in sick. Today's a new day, a brand new beginning. That young man has given me what I could never give myself; a second chance. To move upwards, to look positively, to learn new things. For starters, now I know why barbers make you wear a cape.

His boss arrived and took over my haircut. He was embarrassed and apologetic. Of course, he didn't know who he was messing with. I'm big on complaining and if a service is not up to scratch then I'm not paying and, let's face it, his employee had been sick on me. This might be the very worst part of the story. I, I INSISTED on i gave him a tip. You might think that ridiculous but look again. When a man shows you what's inside him and you now see that life can only get better, don't you think he deserves your thanks?

Yes. It's the feel good story of 2012.

If you're too lazy to read my blog or are in fact blind then why not subscribe to Blogging For The Blind at 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.