Friday, February 18, 2011

Lucy My Albatross

Dear Lucy Porter,

I don't really know how to begin this letter. I feel like a young Bennett sister, anxiously scratching away at the parchment with my quill in a desperate attempt to put my pent up feelings onto paper. In my case I don't have a pen and quill, I have a keyboard and unlimited access to the internet. Which is almost a shame really because people keep getting subjected to mind numbingly inconsequential blog posts.

I'm already off topic. But you see, that's your're just so easy to talk to. You're just so friendly and kind, and pretty and petite, and funny and bubbly.

What I need you to do is just to please fuck off.

In the nicest possible way, I need you to just leave now please. I do appreciate your recent efforts to make room for me on the comedy scene. I appreciate you went to great effort to go and have that baby and take a few years out. I am so grateful - really, I am. I will happily babysit any night I'm not gigging myself it'll help keep you away.

I do apologise for contacting you out of the blue, it's just that I've grown tired of our constant comparisons. You won't know this, but apparently I'm just like you. Every joke I tell seems to sound like something you've already said. In fact, you've probably already written this blog so I don't really understand why I'm bothering. All the funny things that a happy, small brunette could want to say, you've already done it. You've beaten me to everything that makes up my personality.

So, could you stop? I mean, you've been hogging the limelight for people like us for some time now. I'm not asking that you stop doing comedy (but I can set you up on Monster if you need). But maybe you could have some kind of epiphany whereby you realise your persona just isn't working for you? Aren't you sulky and angry about stuff? Why use the nervous energy thing still when you're clearly a success and have nothing to be nervous about?

Perhaps you could come and see me gig. Then you'd know just how similar we apparently are and you might be willing to give me a chance. I, for one, don't see a problem with us both being around...but you are making it increasingly difficult for me to get better bookings. Largely because you exist.

Lucy, I'm not saying we can't be friends. Maybe we just need to come to some sort of compromise? Like, I'll gig Monday, Wednesday, Friday and you can have Saturday and Sunday? Tuesday and Thursday are going to depend on what's on TV and whether you can get a sitter. As for Edinburgh, well...we'll sort that out when we get there. Surely there's some kind of double act one of us can do with Jimmy Carr?

I would just appreciate it if you could get back to me with, maybe just some kind of apology for having been born before me? You see, I'm not mad at you - I'm just disappointed. It's very harrowing to learn that there's nothing unique about you at the age of 24. And I think the healthy option was to write to you and explain my feelings rather than do something rash like make a doll of you and make people heckle it. Besides, the doll looked scarily like me and I didn't have enough come backs to rescue us.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Kind Regards,

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