Janey's Blogs - April 2007
Sunday the 1st
of April 2007
06:04:47 PM
Life in Sunny London…
London is cold and
bright, I am tired and husband is so bloody efficient that I may enter
him not physically but for Husband of the Week.
He has packed, moved and organised our trip to London.
We are down for three weeks and I have gigs all over the south of England.
Mostly London but
I do have three nights in Birmingham. I have meeting and radio stuff
to do.
Usually when we both go on these wee mini tours together all we end
up doing is arguing, but this time we seem to have cracked it. Ok that
may be a premature statement as we are only into day 3 of the trip but
I have devised a new way to stop bickering fights.
Every time husband says something that really irritates me, like when
he singsongs an answer to a question (he does this a lot) OR when he
starts to find fault in the little things that I do….I just sing
a really good song in my head and ignore him totally.
It works! But it does freak him out slightly as he knows that when he
does something he expects a reaction, whereas I just smile and hug him.
This is making him scared...but at least we ain't fighting like fuck
every five minutes. The down side is…my brain is becoming a West
End Musical and husband is walking around bewildered.
The answer to a happy marriage is not to understand each other but to
devise ways to ignore every word that comes out of each others mouth.
Monday the 2nd of
April 2007
05:39:17 PM
Tales from London…
“There is a
Scottish pub in Fulham, lets go round and watch the Celtic match,”
Husband suggested as we walked through Chelsea in the sunshine.
“I hate football pubs and hate anything Scottish in another country,
it’s all too patriotic for me,” I moaned.
So we went there,
as my words mean nothing.
It was a tiny wee bar. On entering we saw loads of small fat people
in Celtic football colours and we knew they were Scottish as that’s
our national shape and sport.
We got crushed up
against the bar and I stared at the screen that took up the whole wall
as I was quite into the football.
I do love football
as a sport but, being raised in sectarian Glasgow, it always makes me
feel anxious, due the violence that it caused over the years.
Catholics and Protestants, Green and Blue, Celtic and Rangers all hating
each other….that shit never goes away.
I was five minutes in the place when an Oriental man came in with big
bag and scrambled his way through the crush.
“Oh! -Chinky Chonker, come here!” the wee fat man with a big
stretchy green and white hooped Celtic shirt shouted and clawed his
way through the throng to get to the Oriental man.
I was aghast…I looked at husband and we both gawped at each other
with huge astonished eyes…who speaks like that to people nowadays?
Clearly Glaswegians
in London is the answer.
The Oriental chap merely smiled and pulled out of his bag a bunch of
bootleg DVDs. It can seem a stereotyped view, but in the UK the majority
of bootleg DVD sellers that go round bars selling their goods are from
The Far East.
Fair enough, but
to call him a Chinky Chonker man is hideously insulting.
The Oriental man chatted to the fat bloke and they swapped cash and
DVDs.
“This better work better than the last shite you sold me, Gonga
Din ya Chinky Bastard,” the wee fat man laughed and the Oriental
man smiled and stuffed the cash into his pocket. “You
Japs need a good talking to, my man,” the Scottish bloke added.
He was clearly unsure
of the other man’s nationality and went for every pop at his roots.
The man could have been an Eskimo for all he knew.
I sat there ashamed at my fellow Scot and really wanted to scream.
Then the irony of the situation kicked in because there on the football
screen was the wonderful Celtic player Shunsuke Nakamura who scored
a goal for the Glasgow team and the whole place went crazy.
“The Man from Japan is a genius,” a woman screamed as the
people jumped up and down in the crowded bar in joyous celebration.
The DVD seller threw up both his arms and shouted in the best English
accent I heard that day (including mine)
“Yes! Go Nakamura!
Show the British how to play football!”
He hopped around in excitement and said to the gathered and now astonished
crowd: “That’s how you win games - Hire
a Chinky to score for your team.”
The man left the bar yelling with happiness that his countryman had
scored for a Glasgow team; the Glaswegians in the bar had no idea how
to deal with that information and I thought I was going to piss the
seat with laughter.
Now that’s a result - a football match that will take years to
beat in my opinion.
Thursday the 5th
of April 2007
08:47:14 PM
Falling Down…
Am I the only person
in the world who bought MBT trainers that hates them?
MBT trainers are
these weird curved sole shoes that apparently make you walk like a barefoot
Masia Warrior. It is supposed to make you feel better and your legs
get more exercise…I walk like a drunken heroin addicted warrior
because I keep falling over.
Outside Gloucester
Road tube station, for instance, I slightly went over on my ankle but
the shape of the MBT trainers meant that I could not regain my composure
and I landed flat on my face on the concrete.
No injuries, just embarrassment.
Then in Bond Street, again, smack on the concrete…this time a big
tall cute black man picked me off the ground and offered to take me
for a cold drink to settle me ( I was all shaky) so I may develop a
falling strategy where I drop when I see good looking men.
No I am just joking
the shoes are in the bin. Fuck them.
Went gigging in Cambridge the other night and the journey there was
horrific, just fucking miles and miles of traffic problems…so horrible.
I never actually
got to see Cambridge as it was really really dark. The gig was small,
but a really nice wee club and the audience were just amazing.
Getting home to bed that night after being in the car forever was a
blessed relief.
Crown Lawn who arranges my flat really deserves the gold star for best-est
people in the world. Yet again my luxurious apartment is the one thing
that keeps me sane in crazy London. I love it here.
I miss Ashley like hell and I am sure most of you know that her 21st
birthday is coming up and I will not be with her for that occasion.
I wish she would come down to London for a few days so I can see her
again. I hate not seeing her.
Husband is behaving himself and not irritating me too much.
Last night big Reginald D Hunter came over to the flat and we all stayed
up till 4am and I had to get up early for BBC Radio 4 Loose Ends show…am
tired.
Sunday the 8th of
April 2007
12:58:53 PM
Tube tales
I am still in London
and will be for a while. I am missing Ashley my daughter so much and
yesterday she called and told me she had all her hair cut into a mullet!
What the fuck is
that? My beautiful girl had thick long dark amazing hair down her back….what
has she done?
On another note she is almost 21 and has every right to ‘mullet’
her own hair, when I was her age I was married a few years.
I was her age when
my mammy died, I was such a wee woman at that age, so why do I keep
assuming she is still 10 years old in bunches?
I know she so loves having the house in Glasgow to herself. I hope she
hasn’t re painted the place black and started a Rabbit sanctuary
or a heroin rehab whilst she has the freedom to do so!
I am so busy in London and so far have met at least six tube loonies,
normally these fuckers don’t speak on the tube that’s until
I GET ON then people want to chit chat shit…how fucked is that?
Here’s one example…
Two young women got on the District Line very late, one was very thin
and dressed in a really short skirt, another with pink luminous netting
finger-less gloves and gaudy pink netting adornments clipped into her
greasy hair and hanging off her earrings.
The pink adorned girl put a dirty finger behind her ear (I have no idea
where exactly) and pulled out a small tissue wrap.
I thought she was going to show the other girl some drugs, but as she
carefully un-wrapped the tiny bundle… I was agog.
Her thick dirty
fingers gingery revealed a wee sapphire stone and over the noise of
the rattling tube she explained that it was her grandmother’s stone
and passed to her.
She then smiled over at me and held out her hand to show me this amazing
beautiful tiny blue glittering jewel “That’s my insurance,
my granny gave it me” she grinned.
I leaned over and stared at it “That’s so amazing” I
added.
Then she went into her purse and pulled out a small rubber ring with
a bullet shaped plastic thing that was stuck in the middle of the ring.
I looked at it with interest.
“That’s a vibrating cock ring” She laughed loudly and
added “You slip it on his cock and it makes sex better”
I smiled and wondered
what else she could possibly have secreted on her body.
“Nice”
I laughed back.
The dark haired skinny young woman had dark very greasy thin hair and
I am sure I saw blood encrusted in her scalp.
I got the feeling
that the two females were ‘working girls’ they both looked
stoned or smacked out if their heads and I felt so sorry for them.
“We work the streets” the thin dark haired one spoke to me
in a conspiratorial whisper.
I have no idea why
she told me, I wasn’t judging or assuming anything, but I guess
I have that face.
“Well stay safe” I spoke.
“We will thanks, I am getting married” she added as if this
information was related to her last comment.
Their stop came and they both stood up and I noticed that they were
both pregnant. The one with the pink gloves saw me look, she patted
her tummy and said “It’s my fourth baby and she is on her
second”
I stared at them and kept smiling. My heart sank for them both, poor
women, poor fucking women…I kept thinking as they waved at me through
the tube window.
They were pregnant
drug fucked and off to have sex with strangers.
I am so blessed and lucky that my daughter is safe and well in Glasgow.
Thursday the 12th
of April 2007
12:56:16 AM
Too Much Sun…
I can’t believe
that London was so cold when I first arrived that I had to buy a sheepskin
jacket, now it’s too hot I had to go buy flip flops…that hurt
my wee scabby Scottish feet. Bring on global warming…
The gigs are going well and I am enjoying travelling all over London.
This weekend I am actually off up to Birmingham to work for three nights
and am leaving husband behind in London…his quirky habits (Aspergers
syndrome) means that he hates staying in so many different places so
soon. It drives him nuts.
Well I have finally had my new photo shoot done and I was aghast at
some shots of my boobies (are my tits really that big?) and the lovely
Steve Ullathorne who designs my stuff and takes the pics is wonderful.
We have a new style of poster for this year's Edinburgh Fringe and as
you may know I am doing two shows a day…last year I did three shows
a day…anyway I am excited about the new poster and image as my
fringe has grown out and I have more wrinkles than the old pics from
2004.
I am having a rare night off and Monica and I are off out on the town…well
I am limping as I have blisters on the soles of my feet as husband and
I went for a river side walk yesterday that took 4 hours…and I
was wearing flip flops.
Sunday the 15th
of April 2007
11:04:52 PM
What a time it’s
been…
I am still in London;
I was in Birmingham over the weekend doing Jongleurs. I left husband
in the fancy apartment in Chelsea, there was no reason he should have
to come up to Birmingham with me and Ashley is still in Glasgow.
I really no longer know where home is.
I miss my daughter and she will be 21 years old on 19th of April and
I will miss it, but she is happy she has her own space back in Glasgow.
There were Morris dancers in Birmingham; honestly a bunch of strangely
dressed men with bells on their toes waving hankies at each other…gay
isn’t even the best word to describe it all.
The Morris Dancing
Annual Event was on and there were at least 200 dancers of all shapes
and sizes yet none of them black or Asian which amazed me as the majority
of people watching the show in Birmingham were of some ethnic minority!
I wondered what
they made of the skippy- happy -clappy -hanky waving men with flowers
on their heads brandishing short ribbon clad sticks at their opposite
dance partner.
I cant really talk,
being Scottish: we have men dressed in skirts tiptoeing over a pair
of swords.
So I am back in Chelsea, husband has gone off to forage for food - or
go downstairs to the Supermarket next door to us - and I am going to
watch 13 episodes of a TV series that I am reviewing on a radio show
tomorrow…I need more time!
Thursday the 19th
of April 2007
01:18:41 AM
Today My Daughter
Ashley is 21 years old….
I really cannot
believe she is that old and it makes me quite sentimental.
Her dad and I spoke
to her minutes after midnight as she is in Glasgow and we are still
in London. I miss her and cried as I heard her voice and immediately
imagined her as a wee three year old with bunches in her hair opening
up her birthday gifts in our old living room in Glasgow’s Calton.
I can tell you every
year what she got for her birthdays and where we celebrated it.
I know that I was
away last year as well; as usual I was in London and I went to Aussie
comic Brendon Burns’ birthday meal as he celebrates the same day
as Ashley.
I wasn’t feeling well today and ended up vomiting yet again (I
really need to get that checked) but as I lay in bed I recalled 21 years
ago when I was in labour for four days and that little baby would not
come out of my womb.
I remember lying
on my own in the maternity ward quietly begging the wee fat baby to
just come out and stop hurting me this much; I mean what was it doing
in there that it didn’t want to come out? Four days was a long
labour.
Ashley was late
arriving and to this day she late for almost everything!
When Ashley was finally dragged and I do mean dragged out of my body,
she was very quiet and angry looking. She was also spectacularly clean;
every baby I ever saw being born on telly looked all gooey and slimy.
Ashley was all clean
and dry, I secretly thought that maybe there was some type of drive
through car wash system down there at my vag. Maybe the doc gave her
a quick rub down before he showed her to me…I am not quite sure
but that detail stuck in my memory.
I went straight to intensive care after the birth as I lost too much
blood. I lay there all night exhausted and wondered what my baby looked
like as the nurses took her away after the birth to let me rest and
recover.
I do know that the next day when I woke up, my brain immediately shouted
into my consciousness “You have a baby!”
I called on the
nurse to come unhook me from the drip and let me go see my child, but
no one came. So I pulled out the drip myself, dragged my shaky legs
over the side of the bed, shoved on a dressing gown and headed for the
nursery wing.
Walking into the ward I could hear loads of babies crying and whingeing.
I scanned to look through cots but I couldn’t quite see the names
and didn’t want to go to close to another mother’s child.
Then I saw the crown
of dark sticky up hair and instinctively knew that was my baby. I just
knew, I can’t explain how, but every part of my senses told me
it was her, even though I had only briefly met her yesterday for a few
moments.
I crept round to the front of her and the card said ‘Baby Storrie’
and I smiled.
I looked down expecting
her to be asleep as she was very quiet, but when I peered at her face
she simply lay there all trussed up in tight sheets and her wee fat
face looked content and her big eyes just stared at me, as though she
were actually looking into my eyes.
She never took that gaze off me and I leaned over and gingerly picked
her up.
I could feel her
warmth and breathed in that unmistakable smell babies have.
I lifted her close
and put her soft downy cheek against mine and she made a wee squeaking
sound, so I held back her head to see her and those eyes were still
staring straight at me.
I laughed out loud and just then the nurse came cannoning down the ward
shouting “Mrs Storrie, you should not be out alone and you must
never take out a drip” she came right up to me ready to give me
a right bollocking and stopped in her tracks stared at my daughter and
said “Isn’t she ridiculously perfect?”
“Yes, she is and I can’t wait to be her mummy” I added.
“You already are her mummy,” the woman smiled and added, “Let’s
get your baby over to your ward now that you are up and about”
I am so very proud to be her mum; she is ridiculously perfect and I
cannot believe her father and I made her. Her dad is so very proud of
her and tells her every time they speak how much he loves her.
Ashley made him
the man he always wanted to be, a good father and someone who will always
be there for her no matter what.
My daughter is 21 today and I feel we did a good job.
Saturday the 21st
of April 2007
06:15:39 PM
Whitstable and Beyond…
Sorry I have been
late with the blog again! I write a weekly column for The Scotsman newspaper
and invariably it is a page and takes up heaps of my time.
I worry that my
blog is suffering - although being a ‘proper journalist’ is
a real job and being a blogger is just fun, I have a huge responsibility
to my blog.
This week in London, I went off to the BBC to do a radio show with Robin
Ince called ‘Serious About Comedy’ where he hosts and other
guests like myself review various TV and radio shows.
The sun was bursting
out of the sky as I flip flopped in my summer shoes from Broadcasting
House and there was husband sitting outside a coffee shop waiting on
me! It was such a surprise and a lovely one to be honest.
“Lets jump
on a train and get out of London and go to the beach,” he said,
as we tried to walk along the crowded hot streets of London.
“Yes!”
I laughed and we headed along to Victoria Station. We literally got
there and saw the next train out of London was to Whitstable so we jumped
on that one.
We haven’t been that impulsive since we decided to get married
at 18 years old.
Anyway the journey was so pretty, though the train ticket was expensive.
It was £18
a return ticket.
If the government wants us all to get out of cars and onto public transport
then they should encourage us by making the ticket price lower.
The train pulled into Whitstable and we meandered down through the leafy
suburbs to get into town, well I say town as it’s a very old Victorian
small town to be honest but it’s charming. Really old wee shops
and pretty cafes, tiny winding streets and ancient walls and buildings,
all so very cool as I love architecture.
Then we got to the stony beach. It's awesome. The sun made the whole
place hazy and we just sat at the beachside and took in the view. I
love these moments.
Whitstable is famous for its oysters and seafood, but I am off shellfish
since I had an allergic reaction a few years back, so we decided to
eat later and go for more walking.
After a while, we walked back towards the station to get to the Castle.
I never knew there was a castle, but signs kept telling us there was.
We eventually got up to the ‘castle’ and it isn’t really
a castle but a big fancy house built in the 1800s and it’s now
the council offices. That was a let down, but we headed back into town
and bought fish and chips and we sat on the beach and ate our delicious
food.
It was a magical, amazing day and we both finally got tired enough to
head off to catch the train back to London.
When we finally got back to our flat, I was so tired I actually fell
asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
A beautiful day. One to remember when my life goes all wrong.
Wednesday the 25th
of April 2007
04:05:39 PM
Back Home and
Yes I know I am late with this blog…
Glasgow is rainy
and cold and my flip flops aren’t working well in the weather.
Ashley was so happy
to see us and looks great! She has a wonderful haircut and looks even
more beautiful since we last saw her.
Our flat has suspicious marks here and there, like in the toilet there
is a stain on the carpet that I can’t figure out and my kitchen
units are grubby and it’s strange as all the finger marks are down
very low.
Either she had a very drunk dirty dwarf in my flat in my absence OR
her mates were all so drunk they went around on their hands and knees!
She has the remains of her wonderful big pink fairy castle birthday
cake that was ordered for her 21st birthday party that happened when
we were away.
The icing is so
thick that one slice would induce a heart attack on swallowing!
I think about 18
kilos of sugar went into the making of that confectionery cake.
I did a gig last night at the Edinburgh Stand comedy club for the Green
Party political benefit. I am not sure I agree with all their policies
but we have elections coming up and I am still unsure as to where my
loyalties actually lie.
I really don’t
trust politicians and Tony Blair is the Devil as far as I am concerned.
To think in Britain we hated Margaret Thatcher and now she is the Myra
Hindley to Blair’s Fred West…Thatcher looks mildly palatable
in the light of Blair. I really hate him.
So that’s my politics for today!
I am neither green nor blue and certainly not quite red yet.
Saturday the 28th
of April 2007
04:03:51 AM
Baby Abi and her visit to Paradise…
I went to visit
my great niece Abi; she is three and half years old now and is funnier
by the minute.
Abi has all the
DNA of my performing gene and loves nothing better than getting on her
wee ‘stage’ or footstool that she carries around and does
a show for us.
This particular show was incredibly hysterical.
Abi stood on the
stage and announced in her ‘American’ accent that she was
Sally.
It’s strange
that Scottish kids speak in this American accent when play acting but
due to the overload of American kids show this is the voice they assume
when playing.
“Hello there my name is Sally and I live in paradise,” Abi
theatrically announced to her mum and me as we sat at the kitchen table.
Her wee, funny, over-exaggerated American accent made us giggle.
“Well hello Sally,” I impersonated her accent and started
the conversation: “So where is paradise then?” I asked.
“Paradise is America and I live there with my five children,”
she answered, stroking her curly hair and coyly swirling her body in
a disturbingly odd way.
“What does your husband do then Miss Sally” I asked her.
“My husband is a vet and, when dead animals come to him for help,
he makes them alive,” she drawled.
Her mum and I made eyes at each other and smiled. Abi always has to
have some element of death come into every situation and this often
bewilders us, but we carried on with the show.
“What is your job then Sally?” I asked her.
She took the hem of her sundress and twirled about and said with a flourish:
“I work on stage; this is my work; I am an actress.”
“Oh that's wonderful - what show do you work on then?” I carried
on.
“It's called Bunnies in the Field,” she answered with an air
of authority, like we should have known that world famous show she works
on!
“How does this show go then Miss Sally?” I continued.
“Well, all the bunnies come on stage and they lick the ladies,”
she answered as she smiled and batted her big curly eyelashes.
“OK, that sounds like Hugh Heffner production,” I laughed.
Her mum and I sat there with eyes agog at this bizarre statement, neither
of us trying to picture bunnies licking women! We ended up laughing
out loud.
Abi got annoyed at us laughing and added: “Well, only the bunnies
that are alive lick all the ladies; the dead ones just lie around the
floor and the dancers sometimes stand on them and they squish,”
she pouted.
I couldn’t stop laughing at dead bunnies being squished and live
ones licking women. I sat on the bus home giggling.
I love Abi. Her wee Scottish head and wild American accent will delight
me forever.