Peggy broke down on Saturday.
We thought it was because we put Super Unleaded into her (if you didn't know, Peggy is our beetle, I'm not some kind of sicko who inserts petrol into unsuspecting ladies) but it turns out it's probably the battery.
We had to be rescued by the rescue man.
I didn't get to meet the rescue man, because I went home to get the rescue man's telephone number while Nick waited with Peggy, but I'm hoping he looked something like this:

Although what I appear to have drawn there is Elvis holding a spanner. Still, you never know - it was the anniversary of his death - maybe he came back to help us get Peggy home.

I'm a bit sad at the moment. Trying to fight against an irritatingly persistent low self esteem that continues to tell me I'm utterly crap.
I wish I didn't get so nervous around people. Why do I panic and say the first stupid thing that pops into my head?
The acting industry seems to be all about bravado and PR and giving an impression that you're much more confident than you really are. I still don't think I've got the hang of it. Darling.

But at least I now have a pair of high-waisted trousers, so if all else fails I could pursue a career as a Simon Cowell impressionist.

I like lemons
They are small
Like eggs
I can’t think of anything else that’s small
Apart from lots of people’s brains
Especially people who don’t like me
They are the worst kind of people
Apart from paedophiles.

Lemons are small
Not like dragons
Dragons aren’t even real
But they are big.
How can they be big if they aren’t real?
Surely if they aren’t real they have no size
Because they aren’t real
So they could be anything
Because they aren’t real
Or are they?

Lemons are very philanthropic
They are always organising
Lemon Aid
which, by the way
is a pun
which, apparently
Are very unfashionable.

My name is not Lemon
I am glad of this
Is anyone called Lemon?
Maybe I’ll Google it
There’s bound to be someone in America.
There’s always someone in America.

If I were French I would pronounce it
Le Mon
Which means ‘The My”
Which doesn’t even make sense.
Silly French.
They like onions.
Onions are a bit like lemons
Only with an oni
Instead of a lem
And layers
Instead of lemon coloured stuff.

If I were a lemon
I wouldn’t like Mr Onion
He would be my enemy
And we would have verbal
Slanging matches
I’d say
“Smelly old onion”
And he’d say
“Bitter old lemon”
And then eventually we’d get drunk
And forget our differences
And just enjoy
Being a lemon and an onion.
Before fading away
Into compost.

I continue to be of the opinion that the Edfringe.com forum is the most pointless, irritating breeding ground for opinionated halfwits ever to be invented (apart from possibly Big Brother). It is so insufferable that even thinking about it makes me almost speechless with rage. Problems I have with it are not limited to the following:

1) You don't have to register or display your name or email with your 'opinion' - which of course allows idiotic cowardly imbeciles to vent their frustration at the almost complete failure of their own lives without anyone being able to find them and throw a variety of rotting items at them.

2) The majority of normal, nice people aren't going to bother to write a negative review of a show, even if they really didn't like it, as they are too busy having an actual life or telling real friends what they did with their day. This means that the majority of people who leave an unpleasant review are socially inept, clueless bitter morons who have nothing better to do with their time than pick apart the efforts of someone who has actually bothered to attempt to do something with their lives.

3) It's totally unproductive, particularly for performers. Let's face it, the majority of people who check the forums are performers. And it's so very difficult not to look - most people like a bit of reassurance that someone out there might have enjoyed their show. But really, what good is it going to do anyone to have 6 months effort dismissed as "the worst thing I have ever seen...this person has absolutely no talent" by an online community obsessed officer worker from Dudley who's idea of a good joke is Bernard Manning reenacting a rape?

No matter how great your self-esteem (and most performers' isn't exactly amazing) one horrible comment sticks in your mind more easily than 10 good ones - and what's the point of that? Unless there is a universal consensus that a performer is terrible and should get a different job (and there very rarely is if the performer has achieved any level of success thus far) why should it matter what Boris from Slough thinks, unless Boris from Slough has bothered to make a career for himself as a comedy reviewer who actually knows what he's talking about?

If that dreadful forum was scrapped I do think the fringe would be a very slightly nicer place.

Some of the things I had said about me last year were horrendous; genuinely abusive. It literally took me about 6 months to stop being depressed after my show - and the edfringe comments had more than a little to do with it. Maybe I'm unusually sensitive. I don't know. I just don't see what it achieves. It's a bit like people choosing which West End show to go and see based on whether some people who wrote into Sun reader's opinion column liked it.
Sun reader: "I liked that play where Harry Potter got his wand out"
Mum of three: "Ooh, let's go and see that one kids".

Most people should be able to tell what they'll like or won't like based on the publicity and professional reviews; isn't that what they're for? Who needs some opinionated twat using the internet as a unregulated medium for their otherwise intolerable views?

Ok, so that's pretty much what I'm doing right now.
But that isn't the point.
That's definitely not the point.

Oh, why is life so very impossible?

I love my new Beetle. She is the shiniest bestest thing ever.
Hooray for Peggy!



I love Peggy
Shiny and so red
If I didn't have Peggy
I might as well be dead.

I have been thinking about tattoos lately. I have always disliked them, but since hanging with the 50's crowd I've noticed all the cool kids have them.
I'm thinking about having a very large sailor tatooed all the way across my back, with little ships all the way down my arms, and then a big pirate on my front.
Then I could spin about naked and pretend the pirate and the sailor are battling it out for supremacy on the high seas.

Not really of course (don't worry mum). I get bored much too easily to ever get a tattoo. The boy has a very small one on his back; it's a little chinese symbol that he thought (when he got it done) meant 'courage'. Then a while later he was on a beach and a chinese guy nearby started chuckling. He asked why he was laughing, and it turned out the symbol actually meant 'monkey'.

Brilliant. Accidentally branded as a monkey by an incompetent tattooist. Let that be a lesson to all you tattoo fans.

I encountered the most hideous species of man the other day. I think one that actually evolved from a rat, and not long ago either. In fact I think it might actually have been a rat, dressed up in a baseball cap and some jogging bottoms.

I was in the post office, spending a fun hour queuing because the royal mail HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO RUN A BUSINESS... the man in question was standing in front of me - one of those clearly unhinged withered wisping types who absolutely stank and had seen fit to display his witch-like long and pointy blackened toenails in a rotting old pair of sandals. At one point he kindly rolled up his trouser leg reveal a festering sore.

What bothered me was not so much the fact that he was clearly drugged to the hilt and collecting benefit (I won't get into a daily mail style rant about that lest you should mistake me for Jim Davidson) as the fact that he just couldn't be bothered to wash. It doesn't take too much effort to have a shower once in a while and cut your toenails, does it? Or at least just not wear sandals if you do insist on growing them so long that you look like an extra from the Dark Crystal.
Is that dreadfully condescending?
I know it probably is, but I'm pretty sure if you'd had to endure an hour of standing next to him you might be more inclined to sympathise with me.

Imagine a decaying rat, with flies swarming round it.
Then imagine it in sportswear.
Then imagine it being next to you for an hour.

Please don't send me hate mail, I do mean well.

The producer from Project V sent me a Jessica Simpson single the other day. He was sending me something else at the time and said sending the single as well was "the quickest way to get it out of the office". Quite funny, but at the same time pretty much the musical equivalent of sending someone a turd in a jiffy bag. Maybe posting it from person to person could be the new chain-hate-mail.
Although of course it would never work as it would probably just get lost in RUBBISH POSTAL SYSTEM straight away.
I hate to admit it, but I did actually listen to it.
"With nothing but a t-shirt on
I never felt so beautiful".
Damn it, I may as well give up now; I'll never top lyrics like that.
Although I might top myself if I have to listen to lyrics like that again.

Gosh, I can't believe it's August.
It's funny that some words mean differnt things if you pronounce them differently (like August the month and august, the adjective) - it's as if the language making people just couldn't be bothered to think of a new word.
"Right, we need another word for posh. aumatican? mensamalonting? Oh, sod it, let's just pronounce one of the other words slightly differently".

WHY? WHY WON'T THE JESSICA SIMPSON SONG LEAVE MY POOR LITTLE BRAIN ALONE?!!!

I'd better go, before this blog gets too mensamalonting.

I entirely failed to mention, of course, that my fiance is big into football (I believe that's the turn of phrase the kids are using these days) and I love him for it. Well, apart from the fact that he continues to lie to me about the length of 'Match of the Day'. Half an hour my arse! It's an hour and a half at least!

But the lovely boy used to be a very good footballer and has a (quite unususal, I believe) appreciation of the game that involves a somewhat intricate knowledge of the way they pass, and formations and all that business, rather than being overly concerned with pies and shouting.
Today he likened it to going to watch an amazing play - it's beautiful to see someone skilled put on a show for you. And I must admit, that's a nice way of putting it.
But I still think most people are in it for the pies and shouting.

Oh, he's cross with me now. He's read it and he thinks I've made him sound gay.

Hello to everyone in Edinburgh. Hope you're enjoying a month of being wet, drunk, ill and hopelessly self-involved.

R x

People are very concerned with winning.

I noticed this a long while ago, when, aged 12, no wanted me on their netball team because I was 'crap' and would make them 'lose'.

(I realise there was no real need for the inverted commas in that last sentence, but I liked them as they made me sound cynical and annoyed in an intelligent 'but of course, I know better' way. In reality I am not particularly cynical and definitely don't think I know better, but for some reason liked sounding that way.OH WHY MUST I ANALYSE EVERYTHING I SAY?...Usually these unhelpful self-analyses are an ongoing commentary in my head, but in the dangerous Land of Blog quickly become an embarrassingly public demonstration of my complete lack of ability to just STOP AND BREATHE).

I couldn't get to sleep last night. I can't even remember what I was worrying about, but at the time it seemed very concerning.

Anyway, winning.
As someone who has always been shit at sport, I am also someone who has absolutely no interest in sport, and no real comprehension of why anyone would be interested in sport. However, it's not so much the playing of sport I don't understand (although why anyone would choose to spend their time throwing, kicking or hitting a small object around a field for any reason other than having dementia is something I will never really comprehend) - but the supporting of professional sport that I don't get. And although I hate to join the 'girls don't like football' cliche brigade, football seems quite a pertinent example as it's the most widely supported sport in the world.

The thing I don't get is this: yes, it's nice to win. I get that. I imagine if you win in an ACTUAL game that YOU ACTUALLY PLAY it's particularly enjoyable (I wouldn't know, the only thing I ever won was a colouring competition when I was 7, and I just got bullied for that) but what I don't understand is millions of grown men and women getting inordinately excited because "they won" a football match.
Um, well, who won exactly?
11 ludicrously overpayed men. (Is it 11? You may be able to tell I'm not one of those girls who pretends to know something about football just so they can pull some sweating man in a pub when the world cup is on)
And how many people go about shouting 'Yeah, yeah, we won' (or whatever it is that football supporters shout...probably 'your mum's a whore, you didn't score' to an unsuspecting 5 year old who's been dragged along by his dad)?
Thousands. Millions in the case of national games.
WHAT EXACTLY DID THEY WIN? IN WHAT WAY, EXACTLY, DID THEY CONTRIBUTE TO THE WINNING? IN WHAT WAY WILL WINNING ACTUALLY AFFECT THEIR LIVES?

In no way.
In no way at all.

It seems to me to be a feeble attempt for people to
1) Perpetuate the notion that it is ok for warring groups of people to hate one another, and celebrate one another's downfall
2) Make themselves feel like they achieved something when they actually did nothing other than shout at some people running around a field
3) eat pies and drink beer whilst avoiding spending any real time with real people.
4) Pathetically live out a watered down dream that they could have been down there, playing that game - that could have been them.
NO IT COULDN'T! YOU'RE FAT AND OLD AND YOU WORK IN MARKETING!

But the problem that I really have with it is the obsession with winning.
Why is it so very important for us to pinpoint winners and losers? You get it at the Fringe with the Perry-comedia-halifxos or whatever they're called now.
I'm not saying it's not important to highlight and reward success - I'm just saying I don't think the idea of 'winners' and 'losers' is a particularly pleasant or helpful one. Particularly in artistic fields it implies that those who 'lose' are not just second best, they are completely worthless. Never mind the fact that they nearly won; that they spent years trying and training and working, that they got a 2.1 instead of a 1st; that they got to the final but lost on penalties - never mind all that. They didn't win and therefore they are useless. Pointless. Cast into the void of also-rans.
Not quite remembered.
Not quite there.

Maybe I don't like it because I don't believe I'll ever win anything.
Because secretly, I want to win too.
Everyone wants to win.
But only a few people do.
That's why life is so shit.

Words ending in min:

Admin
Bodmin
Moomin

Are there any more? That is a most feeble list. How many words are there in the English language? It's more than any other language, I know that. In fact I don't suppose there can be a definitive number, because even in the most comprehensive dictionary, they would miss out certain words that weren't deemed relevant or well-used enough, but were nevertheless English words that one might use in a list such as the above.
Ok, so let's say there are 300000 words (for ease of mathematics). That would mean, according to my list, that 1 in 100000 words ends in 'min'. And in fact Moomin and Bodmin are proper nouns, so wouldn't even be in a dictionary. Moomin might. In a dictionary of kitsch.

So, as you may be able to tell, I am depressed.

I just looked online and the approximate number of dictionaried words in English is currently around 450,000. So not a bad guess. But in fact there are more like 1 million. I don't think "dictionaried" made it in there for a start.
But French has less than 100,000.
Haha, what idiots.

11pm on Thursday. I am exhausted. I spent my entire day photocopying. Not out of a twisted love of photocopying, you understand, but because this was what was required of me in my current employment. By the end of the day I had a decidedly crazed look in my eye, and my brain almost certainly resembled a small piece of silly putty. I used to like silly putty. It came in that nice brightly coloured egg.
So squashy.
I wish I had silly putty now. So bright and squashy.

When I was a child, each week I used to buy 100 red strawberry laces with my £1 pocket money, tie them all together into one massive long strawberry lace, arrange it around my room and then sit on my bed and eat it all.
How long would 100 strawberry laces be? Each must have been about 15cm - so 1500cm in total, which is 15 metres. Multiply by 52 is 780 metres of strawberry lace each year. I only did it for a couple of years though. Then I realised I was fat and noone liked me.

Dude, I've just spotted that you can put YouTube links on here.

Do you think general usage of the phrase "that's the bomb" (meaning 'that's great') has declined with inverse proportion to the terrorist use of actual bombs?
If not it could lead to a terrible ruckus, particularly if people used the phrase whilst on public transport.
I like the word ruckus. I'm not sure I've spelt it right though.

My attempt to add a YouTube video failed entirely. I don't know if you actually can do that. I'll try and then come back and edit this if I work it out.
(...5 mins later: YES! I DID IT! I kick ass!)


R x