Will Sing For Beer

It's Monday lunchtime, and I am working from home. I am wearing a pair of ancient leggings (a dubious Christmas gift about five years ago) and a hoody (origins unknown) (probably some long-ditched boyfriend of me or one of my sisters, circa 1997). The hoody in turn is wearing a little bit of toothpaste. My head is slowly thudding due to a heady mix of frustrating chats with the bank and too much coffee.

I was planning to go for a run this morning, but then accidentally didn't. I have been trudging through forests of admin instead, chopping and sweeping, feeling depressed by the knowledge that as soon as I have taken my scythe to one bit, another will leap up in its place, all tangled and needy. (I have probably rinsed this admin/vegetation analogy. In fact, if I was the sort of person who edited their blog posts I would probably delete it. Oh well.)

I am counting down. Fifteen days before the sharing of my show.

On Saturday night my friends Nicki and Ro had a party at their flat to celebrate Nicki's birthday, and they asked Geddes Loom to do a performance. We said yes, of course, and, despite being a little late due to a fish and chip-related mishap, went along. It was delightful. We sat in a little corner and played all our songs to an audience of friends and charming strangers, and I just couldn't stop smiling. They had even provided us with a rider. "Is it kittens dressed as Charlie Chaplin?" was my first question, naturally, but it wasn't. It was lovelier even than that:

That's right. Personalized beer. Get those mustachioed felines out of here, we have a winner.

I had such a gorgeous time, playing for this delightful couple and their friends:

In exchange for Saturday night, Nicki is coming to work with me for two days on my show.

Not getting any funding was a blow to me, at first. It all felt a bit impossible without being able to pay people to come in and help me. As time went on, however, it became clearer that maybe it has been a blessing in disguise. I mean, it is a pretty heavy disguise. A disguise that makes me poorer, obviously, and means that I have no set or interesting technology, but perhaps a blessing nevertheless.

Sara, one of Eggs Collective, has come to the studio a few times, and we have sat and picked apart the story I want to tell. Analyzed it and ironed it out. The fact that we're friends and we work together in Eggs Collective means that she knows me, knows my sense of humour and what makes me shudder with horror. I haven't had to explain anything to her. I sometimes suspect that I am quite easily influenced by other people, particularly when I am feeling uncertain about my own opinions and instincts. Perhaps if I had worked with people with whom I didn't have quite such a well-formed relationship it would have been harder for me to work out what I want.

I don't know, really. Perhaps I'm wrong. I am open to that possibility (mostly). I suppose I'm just trying to make the best of it, being the relentlessly sunny and chipper person that I am. There is a loud part of me that sneers at what I am doing, tells me it is narcissistic and stupid. (Incidentally, that is also the part of me that tells me to lose weight/get a haircut/do pilates/generally be better.)

Nicki is coming in tomorrow, and I'm excited about it. She is brilliant, and helped me with my Edinburgh show. One day I will pay my friends back for helping me, possibly with money but more likely in personalized beer or living room gigs (only when requested).

If you want to come to the sharing, please do. And then tell me what you think, even if it isn't WOW YOU ARE AMAZING CAN I GAZE AT YOU DREAMILY IN YOUR SHABBY LEGGINGS AND TOOTHPASTE-SMEARED HOODY. It is on the 3rd November, 6.30pm at Contact Theatre. Book here.

(Oh, and I wrote some marketing copy about it. Look:

It's Léonie's last day. Tomorrow she escapes office drudgery to fulfill her ambition of becoming a wildly-successful, internationally-renowned vocal artist. As philosopher R. Kelly once said: "if you can dream it, then you can do it". Well, she's dreamt it, and now she's ready to do it.

With looped vocals and percussive stationery, Léonie creates music live on stage as she tells a comic, irreverent and touching story of disappointment, triumph, and things never quite working out the way you might expect.

I May Not Be Where Intended To Go is an antidote to the ever-looming spectre of Simon Cowell. Told with warmth and wit, this is a story of stepping away from familiar comforts into the horrifying potential of the unknown.)