Janey's Blogs - January 2007
Tuesday the 2nd
of January 2007
06:58:18 PM
I nearly got
killed and Ashley hit a man with a shoe….
We had to drive
through the horrific New Year storms to get to Edinburgh to perform
at Jongleurs.
New Years Eve is
a strange thing in Scotland, we are World Famous for being ‘great’
at it…but in all honesty, we are just people who have parties in
each others homes and can be very choosy about who attends these gatherings.
Despite this people come from all over the world to enjoy our Hogmanay
celebrations…cities host ‘street parties’ to accommodate
this tourist event. When I was young and my family had huge Hogmanay
parties…people who ended up in the street were there because no
one wanted them in their house!
Lets look at this in perspective- Scotland is FREEZING in December,
the last place anyone wants to go is the fucking street! The rain becomes
horizontal, the wind would blow your kidneys out and the temperature
is the stuff that killed explorers.
Yet, street parties are advertised in Scotland and tickets are sold
and people come from ALL OVER THE WORLD to stand beside a drunken Englishman
in a squinty Kilt who will probably throw up on them as soon as the
New Years bells chime!
The real Scottish Hogmanay-ers are tucked up in their warm homes with
a fire roaring in the grate, warm food is being served and welcomed
guests are sipping the really good malt whisky that is kept for such
occasions, family that they despise are standing in the street singing
“Auld Lang Syne” to three Japanese people holding an umbrella.
Does no one else
know this shit?
So anyway there we were, husband and I trying to force the car to reach
60 miles an hour in driving hurricane winds with sea lashing of rain
battering us dangerously near other cars that were trying to cheat nature
and stay on the M8 towards Edinburgh.
I was fucking terrified.
Husband suggested
we switch on the radio to distract me, but I refused in case we crashed
and I died to the sound of ‘Girls Aloud’ singing their shite.
I was so scared, we finally made it into Edinburgh, we parked the car
and I had to pull on a huge snowboarding coat to stop the howling wind
and rain lashing me to death as we ran to the venue.
The gig was sold
out, about 400 people were packed into the biggest comedy venue in Edinburgh,
I was the MC. The comics went on and I was having a great night, we
heard that the street party outside at the famous Princes Street and
Castle was cancelled due to high winds and normal Scottish December
weather.
Just as the last comic walked on stage the lights went up, the mic stopped
and a fire alarm announcement came on…..the crowd went crazy, the
comic came off and in my job as MC I ran on to let them know what was
going on (I may die in fire sometime)
I knew the mic wouldn’t
work, so I shouted really loudly over the chairs being pulled back and
people starting to leave “Everyone sit down, there is NO fire,
its just a false alarm, now the street party has been cancelled and
we are NOT going to cancel this night!”
The whole place went quiet, people sat back down and I ran about the
stage shouting “Ok, let’s have a game of inappropriate questions!”
I knew the mic and lights would work in five minutes as the management
told me so from the side of the stage. We just had to wait for the false
fire alarm to reset.
The crowd laughed, we even played a game of ‘pretend bingo’
and a sing a long of Donald Where’s your Trousers! Finally the
lights clicked down and the mic came back on, we got the final comic
back on to rapturous applause and the night finished perfectly. I was
exhausted and knew we had to drive back through the gales to get home
to Glasgow.
Husband stood at the side of the stage when I came off he said “Well
that was great Godley, you worked for your cash tonight, I never knew
you knew the words to Donald Where’s your Trousers!”
I didn’t I
made the words up…I can improvise…thank fuck.
The journey home was worse than the one going, and due to all the set
backs, we were late getting home…and on the M8 coming into Glasgow
we clicked on the radio and heard Big Ben in London chime in the New
Year. We wished each other a happy New Year and kept on trying to drive
through the hurricane…it was romantic and deadly at the same time.
That’s my life all over!
Husband and I finally got home and finally got to bed, Ashley had called
to tell me that her Dee Jay job went great and after she finished her
Hogmanay job (we Godley Girls work our asses off) she was going to a
party (see…NO street standing for the connected).
I was lying in bed all warm and always slightly worried as Ashley was
out late (when do I get over that she is 20 years old?).
At around 4am the door opened and I heard Ashley come into the hall.
I jumped up to see if she was ok and made it through the storm…she
was stood there in a fancy dress but wearing trainers, in her two hands
were two spiky looking high heels, her handbag was on the floor and
she moaned “Mum please help me out of this dress I am going to
be sick”
Ashley is like me, two drinks and we vomit like bulimics….I quickly
pulled her dress of and tried to drag up her masses of hair as she threw
her head over the toilet pan. I noticed she was still clutching her
high heels shoes.
“Honey, why
are you holding your shoes?” I enquired as she made those vomitty
noises.
“A man shouted
at my pal in the street, so I clubbed him with my heel” she told
me as of I needed to know that. Still she clutched her shoes like a
security blanket and kept being sick.
“You hit a
man with a shoe?” I asked with incredulity.
“Yes, he was
fat and French and wearing a kilt, he called my pal fat, so I clubbed
him” she spoke angrily. Her right eye had black makeup dragged
down to her cheek, like a dirty black tear had fallen from her eyes.
“Are you ok?
Do I need to do anything?” I started to worry.
“No, he fell, but we got a cab and left him in the street, he shouldn’t
have slagged my pal off” she said and threw herself into bed.
I sat for a while
and watched her in case she was sick and choked, which is a huge obsession
of mine….vomiting and choking is my favourite fear. So I waited
until I heard her breathe steadily before I crawled back to my own bed.
Ashley got back
up the next morning, still clutching a high heel in each fist; she had
slept like that all night!
Street parties were
cancelled, people died in the storm, the wind blew trees down, the rain
flooded roads and tourists sat in a thousand hotels and B&Bs wondering
why they bothered and somewhere in Glasgow a French man in a kilt woke
up with a stiletto mark on his scalp and made a New Year Resolution
never to call a Scottish Girl fat.
Welcome to 2007
Friday the 5th of
January 2007
01:48:00 PM
Trains and drunks!
I was booked to
do comedy at Leeds Jongleurs from Thursday to Saturday this weekend,
the gig was booked in ages ago, and so I bought a cheap rail ticket
for Thursday morning at 9am.
I realised I hadn’t
had a confirmation call from the comedy company, so I called them and
thus ensued a mix up. They told me that Leeds might not be on but they
would let me know later that night on the Wednesday. I waited….no
call….I waited some more…no call… then on Wednesday late
I packed a case just to be sure, my train was 9am the following morning.
I text and called
the company…to no avail.
I assumed the gig wasn’t on Thursdays, but just to be sure I got
up at 8am and sat in my pyjamas and waited for the call….none came.
Then at exactly
8-35am I got a text telling me the gig was on.
I rushed to the
train station, dragging a laptop and a suitcase. Luckily I live near
Glasgow Central…
I found a four seater
with table free and plonked my stuff down and settled in. I was really
tired and stressed from all the last minute rushing and the last thing
I wanted was company.
Lo and behold, a
hippy, long haired couple sat beside me.
They proceeded to
pull out two bottles of wine and a half bottle of vodka from their bag!
It was 9am for fuck sake…I could barely get down coffee!
The smell was making me heave, I hate drunks….after 15 years of
owning a bar in Glasgow’s East End, the last thing I wanted was
two lushes sitting with me.
“We are from Bath, we own an organic farm” slurred the woman.
Great- I thought! Drunken snobs into free fresh farming, yippee fucking
dippee for me!
“What do you do?” the slow blinking smelly woman asked.
“I am a comedian, I am really tired and to be honest I don’t
want to talk” I said.
I shouldn’t have told them what I do for a living, obviously everything
else I added to that meant nothing and she wanted to interview me on
my life….it was my own fault, I should have said “ I am an
office cleaner” which I usually do but I was tired and the words
came out.
She sat there and he dragged his dirty fingers through his lank dirty
blond hair and in his deep weird sounding English accent said “We
love Scotland, tell me what kind of comedy do you do? I know comedy
so well, I love Benny Hill, come on girl give us a laugh” he then
turned to his female companion and added “This will be great she
will entertain us all the way home!” and he actually snapped his
drunk fingers.
I thought I was going to stab them right there and then and it was only
9-30am.
I sneered and tried not to breathe the stench of organic sandals and
wheatmeal cardigans and said “Look, I really can't be fucking arsed
listening to you two talking shite, I don’t want to talk about
comedy, I want to sleep and can you please stop slopping vodka everywhere,
I am quite grumpy ok?”
Now this would have made normal people balk….but oh no…not
the two organic drunks from Bath, they thought I was just ‘joking’
with them.
Other Glaswegians who sat near could tell from the tone of my voice
that I may just get up and beat them to death.
“She is so funny, isn’t she Ralf” the drunk woman barked
and snorted as she threw down another plastic glass of vodka into her
mouth.
“Listen I am not joking, I am very fucking volatile, get away from
me and find another seat NOW!” I stood up and screamed. At that
point the ticket man entered and even he walked back the other way!
The drunks laughed again, I just grabbed my things and I moved seats.
I finally got to Leeds at 1pm-ish and checked into the hotel to find
YET again….another hotel with dodgy internet connection. (This
is the fucking bane of my life) but I am finally online at £10
a day for the connection charge. (I hate that as well, I am very grumpy)
The good news is Leeds Jongleurs is a fantastic gig, the people are
awesome and I love that club. I even got to meet a lovely couple who
read this very blog! How awesome?
Saturday the 6th
of January 2007
03:43:56 PM
I caught my nipple
in the door…
Last night the comedy
gig in Leeds was awesome, it all went fabulously well. I came back to
the hotel, got stripped and had a great shower, I haven’t been
sleeping good, so I thought this would make me nice and sleepy and maybe
I would get a full nights kip.
I came out of the
bathroom naked (as you do) and then managed to crack my left tit off
the door lock and scratch a gash into my nipple. The pain was fucking
horrible, I jumped on the bed holding my giant boob that was now bleeding
and was terrified to look at it in case I had actually ripped off my
nipple! I look like I was the victim of a sex attack from Fu Manchu.
It wasn’t that
bad - I have a deep scratch, yet still I managed to sleep.
Got up this morning
and decided to go out for breakfast and book myself a back and neck
massage.
The massage place
was nice, the young girl showed me into the room and told me to lie
face down on the bed which has a big hole for your face to go into,
so you can breathe and get rid of your tension at the same time (seems
reasonable).
The only problem
is, if I lie face down my humongous boobs get squashed and there is
no hole for them to fall into and remember ONE OF THEM has a cut on
it!
So - much to the
embarrassment of the young masseuse, I fashioned a bolster for my upper
breast area to lie on from a big rolled up towel, it takes the pressure
of my tits getting flattened. The girl was being professional at ignoring
me and my scratched boobs.
So my last night at Leeds Jongleurs can only go well, I hope….and maybe just maybe I wont scar my other boob and go home to a very bemused husband who can only imagine what I get up to when I go on the road alone….and come home with tit injuries.
Sunday the 7th of
January 2007
04:42:56 PM
Will I have Empty
Nest Syndrome?
My daughter Ashley
is nearly 21 years old and still lives at home. She is at university
and commutes regularly and hangs out with her mates at the weekend.
Her room is a mish-mash
of relics that chart her growth from the eight year old girl that moved
in to the brand new flat we bought in 1995 to the film student/sketch
writer/DJ that she has become.
There are wee stickers of Beatrix Potter (that she hated but I managed
to paste to the wall) and posters of Eminem (that I drool over as well)
there are high heel shoes scattered around the carpet like land mines
and her wee teddy bear she has owned since she was two is tangled up
with Play Station wires.
I think I prevent
her from moving on to the next stage of her independent life by cosseting
her and keeping her emotionally needy. I convinced her that staying
here and not moving in with her friend was a great financial decision,
when in fact she should have gone and found out for herself!
I do realise that this is not really an expression of motherhood but
a selfish act on my part….what would happen if she left?
Would I be scared to face the void left behind? Would husband and I
sit there and stare into the abyss of the years left to fill it in with
comedy trips, comedy festivals and BBC Radio 4 sessions?
I don’t want to be 46 years old this month, I want to be twenty
one and live my life all over again, preferably with Ashley at my side,
forever 6 years old - wearing bunches and collecting Polly Pockets and
organising day trips to our favourite sea side towns in Scotland. That
can’t happen (unless I can get her hormonally injected and genetically
deformed to suit my selfish needs, it worked for that wee black guy
on US TV)
I spoke to the husbands of some of my friends who had kids at the same
time as me and the men were looking forward to getting their wives ‘back’
to just have some fun with the women who had dedicated the best part
of 20 years being mothers to broods of babies.
No more early morning
school runs, making jam cookies, holidays interrupted by screaming bored
teenagers, working extra hours to support students. These men were waiting
patiently for the fledglings to fly and get back to having sex on the
sofa with the sexy lass they married when Duran Duran were ‘Wild
Boys’ back then Adam Ant hadn’t went crazy and George Michael
was straight.
Those men may have
to wait that bit longer, as recent media articles reveal that young
adults are staying at home that bit longer and mostly the mothers are
holding them there. Poor husbands!
I don’t have that situation, as my husband raised our daughter
as much as I did.
I have been working
on the road as a comic for nearly ten years now. I was the one that
went away, he was the one who sat through the Nativity plays, the drama
club attempts, the teenage sleep-overs and the countless birthday parties.
Ashley is very territorial with her father's affection, in fact when
she leaves I will be looking forward to ‘getting him to myself’
in a funny sense. I cannot show him any affection in front of Ashley;
she gets her giant body wedged firmly between us and demands his full
attention!
We both raised her together for the first eight years as we were working
parents. We owned a bar together then and made sure she had plenty of
time and love from us both. My husband was very determined about being
a very good loving dad as he suffered from absent father syndrome as
did many kids of his generation where the father worked all hours and
was hardly seen except on Sundays! He
was a great dad and I tried to be a wonderful mum. Although one of the
best pieces of advice I was given when our daughter was born came from
an aging Aunt.
“Always look
after your man, because your kids will grow up and leave you soon enough
and you will be left with a stranger if you ignore him” she told
me as I cradled my new born to my breast.
I thought at the time she was being slightly cruel, but I do know what
she meant now and I did try to make sure I was a wife as well as a mother.
So I suppose the reason I persuade our daughter to stay at home is I
love her company.
Not many young people
share a passion and career with their parent, we both adore performing,
we did a sketch show together at last year's Edinburgh Fringe and we
went on tour together to New Zealand.
She gets me in the way no one else does, we write together and I love
being around her wacky sense of humour, we both like the same music
and love the same films and comedies.
I am not saying
she is my best friend because that would undermine the love we have
as mother and daughter.
She and her father
share a deep love of foreign films, TV cop shows, radio plays and really
enjoy each other's company, yet he is still her dad…not some delinquent
best pal who happens to have produced her in the mid 80s.
I want her to stay because I love having her in my life.
My husband doesn’t need to wait for me to come back to him after
motherhood; I never really left him in the first place.
I say all this just now but I am not sure how I will feel when her room
is stripped bare and no evidence of her shows on the carpet or the walls….maybe
then I will write something different?
Wednesday the 10th
of January 2007
11:03:00 PM
Recalling my trip
to LA…
Ashley, husband and
I were recalling the mental trip we took to LA, Las Vegas and San Diego.
It was Christmas and
New Year of 2001.
We thought we would
have loved to spend our holidays in the US, we flew first class over the
Atlantic but then when we landed we quickly realised that living in hotels
became really boring and we ended up fighting amongst each other. Husband
got cabin fever and Ashley and I took to riding the buses in LA for entertainment.
I have to tell you that public transport in LA is the fucking funniest
thing ever.
The first bus trip into down town LA was the best. Ashley and I sat together when a woman got on the bus, she sat opposite us. She had impetigo and the surrounds of her face was black and the inner part of this poor woman’s face was really white.
Bizarrely she looked
like Minnie Mouse. She sat quiet then five minutes into the journey she
started talking out of the side of her mouth, the whispering got louder
and before long she was screaming “Fucking bitch, you lesbian cunt”
to no one but the empty seat beside her.
Ashley and I sat clenched trying not to laugh, which is terrible I know
but to see this poor woman with the domino face screaming obscenities
made me giggle.
We managed to get
off the bus without causing any embarrassing situations and headed into
the fancy shops.
The journey home was
even better.
As we sat down on
the bus, a man got on dragging a huge black plastic bag of discarded hub
caps. They clattered and clanked against people’s knees and he didn’t
apologise at all. He was dressed in a woollen jumper as trousers - he
had managed to stuff his two legs through the arms, the hemline of the
jumper was tied together at his waist with a big bit of rope! His skinny
brown hairy legs were poking out of the cuffs of the jumper and on his
feet were a pair of mismatched tatty slippers.
His top half was dressed
in a newspaper that was stapled at the armpits.
I was agog at this
man; he stood there and started to scream about Vietnam, the poor man
was obviously mental.
If that wasn’t
enough the bus managed to crack its wing mirror off a passing truck. The
bus had a bit of a jolt but nothing bad, the noise was startling though.
This being America, and the culture of suing anything that makes you blink
hard, the bus halted and the driver looked up the aisle and asked loudly
“Is anyone hurt? If so I have compensation forms here”
Everyone looked at
each other and we all knew that no one had even been jolted badly. At
that point ‘hubcap man’ threw himself on the floor, his hubcaps
rolled all over the bus and he screamed “I have been injured, help
me now”
I burst out laughing as he faked a back injury and tried hard to gather
up his errant hubcaps. This is ENTERTAINMENT….why anyone bothered
to go to show in LA I will never know, as long as the public transport
exits we have full-on fun.
Hubcap Man then left
the bus limping like his leg had been sawn off, he couldn’t quite
decide if he was faking a leg injury or a back injury, he filled in his
form and then hobbled back on.
We sat tonight and
laughed about the various situations that we had encountered from that
trip. We recalled the night we attended a murder mystery dinner, the food
was so slow in coming, the actors were so fucking hammy that Ashley stood
up and shouted at one point “Who the hell do we have to kill to get
the next course!”
The show was dire,
Ashley and I heckled all the way through and annoyed everyone else at
the table, we were terribly behaved I do admit, but we were hungry and
the amateur dramatics was making us plot deaths in between the shit food.
LA was not as wonderful as we imagined but the free entertainment was
the highlight of the trip.
Sunday the 14th of
January 2007
01:18:42 AM
Sex…
Yes! I know what a
title for me…little miss housewife and mother, but there we have
it.
I was just thinking
today as I read a magazine about how women of a certain age perceive sex.
I am sick to fucking
death about the ‘we want sensitive men’ crap and here’s
the deal.
I don’t want a bath run for me, or a back massage, or a chat about
my day….I just want to go to bed and get jiggy. I know this makes
me sound awful and ‘not really what a woman should be’ but I
am fucking annoyed that today’s men are so scared of being demanding.
They have to cook a meal, burn countless tea lights over the bedroom and
put on some soft music.
I can do without steak,
I hate the smell of candles and I don’t need the noise of fucking
whales moaning in the background when I just want laid.
My husband, and I am sure countless other men get completely fucked up
by women and our constantly changing moods we go from ‘You only want
me for sex’ to ‘You never listen to me’ so it’s hardly
surprising that they worry and don’t know whether to rub scented
oils on your feet or rip off your bra.
I am nearly 46 (next week) and am now after 200 years of marriage still
not sure what it is I want and he will never fully work me out, I am a
complex of emotions….a Rubik's Cube of Demands if you will….if
you get all the colours matched up then I am yours. So far he hasn’t
worked out one side yet and I am sure that’s what keeps us together
so far.
As far as birthdays go….well last year I was in London alone on my
special day and he never sent a card, or did that spontaneous thing of
turning up at my door with a hard on and chocolates (which is my favourite
fantasy except the hard-on belongs to 50 Cent the black rapper) he merely
called me and told me that he had bought me LAVENDER….yes you read
that correctly fucking smelly Lavender…now as much as I like it washed
through my bed linen…I DO NOT expect it as a birthday present when
it is clearly a knock down Tesco special gift pack on sale after Christmas.
He has never really recovered from the lavender incident and probably
will die fretting about it. When I un-wrapped the gift, I was furious.
Imagine Coco Chanel being given beige stretch leggings and a pair of vinyl
beach shoes as an outfit and you get the picture or imagine Elton John
being given a plastic clock in the shape of Native American Indian’s
head for his sitting room wall and you really get the picture…I threw
the lavender off the living room wall and refused to speak to him until
he could give me three valid reasons why he thought I wanted lavender
as a gift.
He sat sheepishly in the bedroom and came out and said “It wasn’t
my idea Ashley picked it” which I knew was lie as my daughter is
way too classy to pick lavender, so not only could he not think of a reason….HE
LIED….it took till February before I kissed him again.
This year I want chocolate and sex and in that order….preferably
both from that black cutie 50 Cent…I am sure he could offer me more
than lavender.
Monday the 15th of January
2007
04:02:45 PM
Stress and more stress…
I woke up this morning like
a cloven hooved monster. Bad dreams plague me and I am not Doris Day at
the best of times, so you can imagine how I feel when I wake up groggy
and husband asked me thirty three different questions in a row like...
“Good morning do you want
tea? Did you know you have to make fifteen phone calls today, have you
thought of a new article to write for newspapers? Why does your hair look
like that? Do you know whose pants these are in the linen basket? Have
you decided when you are going to tackle your tax receipts?” and
many more like that...bullet words spattering my half dead brain…I
want him to die.
Ashley is worse, she wakes up like a mass child killer and you daren’t
ask her anything till she is at least awake for an hour, as the result
is a series of doors slamming and screaming…WOW! She makes totalitarian
dictators look like one of the Von Trapp family when she is in full flight.
Husband still hasn’t got this little detail into his daft brain yet…even
after 20 years he still meets her in the hall and shouts “hello pretty
girl, how are you this morning” to which Ashley sticks up two fingers
and shouts “Die you fucking madman!”
He really doesn’t know how to take a hint, he must have been raised
by people who get up at 6am and skip around the house collecting flowers
and singing pop tunes from the 1960s, which I know is untrue really as
he was raised in an all male dominated house where the men were either
involved in crime or involved in some scan or were in prison.
So I am a grumpy old woman today and its best if the world just fucks
off till I am fully awake and can have a shower.
Wednesday the 17th
of January 2007
06:33:34 PM
Are Wellington
boots sexy?
Ashley asked me to
go shopping for some mayonnaise, so I pulled on a pair of bright green
welly boots, dragged my bushy hair up into a tufty ponytail and scrubbed
my blotchy face and got ready to go out into the rain. I topped the look
off with a giant overly big snow boarding coat that is too long and makes
me look like a scary dwarf.
I went off in the
slashing rain and headed towards the supermarket that is inside the petrol
station.
The aisles are so
narrow but I headed for the vegetable rack and decided to pick some red
onions, as I did this some onions fell from the box, hit my toe and went
hurtling under the display. I sighed and turned to walk away when this
young guy stopped me “Did you drop something there?” he asked
in his American accent, his teeth were the bright white that young Americans
have by sheer DNA. He looked like a student, he had a bag slung over his
shoulder and he raked his hand through his spiky dark hair. He didn’t
move, he stood there and stared at me.
‘Holy Fuck’
I thought, I must look so much like a mad crazy bag lady that he can’t
bear to look away.
“I dropped some
onions and then kicked them under the display” I mumbled.
He stood there and
still hadn’t moved. I began to feel uncomfortable, I knew how I looked,
I had caught one of those scary side glances as I leaned into the fridge
to get some cheese and the mirror reflected back a witchy hag in wellies
with piggy wee eyes and blotchy skin.
“Excuse me I
am staring” the young American spoke “Can I ask you a question?”
I thought he knew I was a comic and that explained the staring and he
was going to ask me a comedy related question, so I finally relaxed about
how I looked, I smiled and turned to him and replied “Yes please
ask away”
People behind me started to push past as we were blocking up the aisle,
the guy raked his hand through his hair again, and he smiled, looked me
right in the eye and said
“Can I have your
number and maybe we can go out sometime?”
I was absolutely gobsmacked; I really didn’t think he was going to
say that to me. I flushed from my toes up and the man behind pushed at
my back to get past.
I simply looked at
the guy and said “No” then stumbled off soaked in embarrassment
and clumsily battered my plastic basket against the legs of poor shoppers.
It was hard to ignore the guy in the shop, it really is a small supermarket
and every time we crossed paths, he smiled and would stand at the side,
throw out his arms in a gentlemanly gesture and let me pass him every
time. I sloshed past him, welly boots smacking off the backs of my legs
making big clappy noises that made me wish a robber held up the petrol
station and shot me by accident and I never had to endure the ‘clappy
slappy wellies’ and face the young American in the frozen food aisle.
I was leaving the shop when the guy came back up to me and said “Goodbye,
you know if you change your mind, we can swap numbers”
I looked at him and
finally faced the situation I took a big deep breath and blurted out “Listen
mate, I am 46 years old next week, I am old, grumpy, I have skin that
no longer fits me properly, I need 12 hours of sleep just to make me feel
ok on a daily basis, I have grey hair on my eyebrows and I am scared to
see where else I am grey, I haven’t had to be nice to a man to get
a fuck in 27 years, I am not going to play out your Mrs Robinson fantasy,
find someone else who does, and thanks for the compliment, I do appreciate
it”
The guy merely spread open his arms and walked off, I hauled my bags up
further to stop them from banging off the wellies that were banging off
my legs and walked straight into my husband who had been standing watching
me chat to the American boy who fancied old women.
“Why were you
yelling at that boy? I could hear you as I came round the corner”
husband asked me as he took my bags from me and tried to turn his face
away from the driving rain.
“He was asking me for a date, look at me… do I look like a woman
who picks up young guys in a supermarket?” I asked him with frustration.
“You look sexy,
the wellies are really dirty and I am sure that’s what enticed him,
I am horny just looking at those rubber boots, you bad woman making young
men sexy at your funny boots” he joked and put his hand and took
it mine as we walked against the rain.
All I could hear was
the noise of those fucking rubber boots slapping off the backs of my jeans
all the way home.
I am quite touched now, that some young guy fancied me so much or maybe
he is one of those evil men that murder woman he meets randomly and I
looked like the perfect victim?
‘So here’s to me Mrs Robinson’
Saturday the 20th
of January 2007
09:47:35 PM
Inverness, my birthday and Big Brother…
The train journey
up through those beautiful snow capped hills was awesome and Inverness
is just beautiful. I was doing a one woman show at the Eden Theatre and
I was really concerned that on that frozen rainy night - no one would
turn up to hear a Scottish woman gab about her life!
I was also quite worried that the showdown between the Big Brother contestants
Shilpa and Jade would make people stay at home.
The good news was that LOADS of people turned up, it was wonderful.
I also got some great
press in Inverness and the people are so friendly, for instance I arrived
at a small pizza joint at 5pm.
There was only one
wee guy there and I assumed the place was closed but I was starving. He
was so lovely, he sat me down made me a cup of tea and baked me a great
pizza within minutes. I loved him! What service!
What I did love about Inverness was the people who sat after the show
and chatted to me at length, they were so supportive and interesting.
The down side was I had a really bad reception on my phone and no internet
connection whatsoever.
I was really pleased that the article I wrote about Jade Goody’s
attitude and behaviour in Celeb Big Brother that has been making international
news got printed in today’s Scotsman newspaper.
I was disgusted with
her bullish-ness.
This year’s Celebrity Big Brother was losing ratings as the interesting
guests started walking out, and had been the worst ratings for the show
since its conception.
Now that there is racial tension, the ratings have gone through the roof.
What does that say about us as a nation of viewers? The pack mentality
being exercised in the Big Brother House is unacceptable yet it has been
proved to be a huge success for Endemol.
The political repercussions are resonating throughout the world.
Gordon Brown is currently
in India and it’s a bad day when our Chancellor of the Exchequer
has to defend a chav in our International community. He is battling to
preserve the British image over the fuming accusations of racism.
MP Tessa Jowell made
a statement saying “This is racism being presented as entertainment”
Who would have imagined
a few media hungry, fake tanned, foul mouthed young women could cause
such a stir?
I assume that now the errant bully and racist Ms Goody is out of the reality
TV show and has realised her carefully constructed image had been shattered,
she will have to rethink her strategy in PR.
Let’s hope she
doesn’t do the obvious and go for public sympathy and do a ‘fake
attempt on her life’ and end up in hospital citing exhaustion. It’s
too obvious but seems inevitable. I hope she is strong enough to resist
that path of attention.
So I am lying here on the sofa and having fun, the good news is my husband
NEVER got me LAVENDER for my birthday as he did last year!
That’s the best news for me!
Sunday the 21st of
January 2007
10:07:20 PM
I am Middle aged…
I am now 46 years
old as of yesterday. This means a host of things.
1- My womb will slowly fall apart and hormones will start to flood my
system till I kill an owl or shag a teenage boy.
2- I will start to wear jumpers with shiny sequins and appliqué
butterflies.
3- I may buy a small fluffy dog and call it my ‘baby’.
4- My hair will get cut into a manageable bob so that when I take up hill
walking it won’t get bothersome.
5- I will start collecting miniature ballerinas made of porcelain and
attend conventions where other old women talk about porcelain.
6- Water colour painting classes will fill my days and I will start visiting
small towns to capture the features of the charming cobble stoned streets.
7- I will stop dyeing my grey hair and embrace my age, I will stop wearing
a bra and let my moustache grow into a full on Magnum job!
So that’s what I have to look forward to.
Monday the 22nd of
January 2007
02:07:59 PM
Jade Goody, suicide
attempt!
Well as predicted
in my blog two days ago, Jade Goody is reported in the press as being
‘suicidal’ I did say that her next step at attention and retribution
would be her threatening an attempt on her life.
The Scottish Sun screams the headline today January 22nd - ‘Jade
on The Brink’ and reports that the Big Brother star is on the brink
of taking her own life.
This can only be a
reflection on society yet again.
This woman was originally feted by the British Press since her first release
from Big Brother in 2002.
She never won Big
Brother back then, so why is this woman worth so much to the media?
I assume that Miss
Goody was famous for being ‘fat, common and ignorant’ and for
that reason the public took her to their hearts. She wouldn’t change
for no one!
If Jade is happy about
who she is and honest about how she looks then why did she get so much
liposuction and surgery to change her appearance?
She could have spent
the cash on expanding her vocabulary and learning more about other cultures.
She left the Big Brother house and embarked on a spate of reality type
shows including ‘What Jade Did Next’ then subsequently released
her autobiography and launched a perfume called ‘Shh’. It has
been recently withdrawn from the Perfume Shop, due to the racism outcry.
She was so popular with young girls all over the UK and treated to Celeb
status within the industry. Is this really what we want young people to
emulate?
Who now wants to be
like Jade Goody?
Now since her very public tumble from grace, she has no where to turn.
She is reported as saying “I have no career after this, I have ruined
my career entirely”
I have no idea what that career was…I admire people who come from
talent shows and make it in the big bad world of entertainment but when
that person has no actual talent I get angry.
Jade talking on various chat shows, shagging men who then equally become
famous for bedding her, her mum becomes famous for being a bad parent
…the list goes on!
When it all comes down to it, Jade being Jade is an awfully frightening
reality in itself.
Endemol the production company that is responsible for Big Brother had
invested so much in Jade that it too is now reviewing its future with
the big mouthed bully.
She is no longer ‘hot’
she is in fact suicidal and frightened for her kids life.
This is a terrible turn around for any woman to bear and I do sympathise
BUT…talent and integrity should be the reason people become famous
and rich.
The one person who will shine throughout this experience is Shilpa Shetty,
the graceful Indian actress.
Her intelligence,
beauty and class overcame the guttersnipes and that is a wonderful lesson
to every young girl who studies hard, behaves with honour and is true
to herself.
That is something I want young women to look up to.
Sunday the 28th of
January 2007
11:46:26 AM
London and Late
Nights
Sorry I have been
missing in action, been here in London and doing stuff!
I am staying in a wonderful apartment over looking West London, but I
do get lonely here at times and wander around room to room talking to
myself!
The people at Crown
Lawn serviced apartments really look after me, the place is awesome.
I am out tonight helping at the Malcolm Hardee Tribute Show.
Tonight at the Hackney Empire there is an amazing show in honour of the
late Great Malcolm Hardee. Big comedy hitters like Jo Brand, Norman Lovett
and Phil Kay will tread the funny boards to celebrate Malcolm’s life.
For those unaware
of the fabulous man, he was the Father of Alternative comics in UK, he
was to comedy what John Peel was to music and he died in his beloved River
Thames in January 2005.
He was a great comic
promoter and anarchic prankster; he was there at the forefront of the
stand up comedy boom in the late 70s and early 80s.
He started and managed
many of the household names in UK comedy today, like Paul Merton and Jo
Brand.
Last night I went out for a quick drink at the Groucho club and met the
fabulous Sophie Ellis –Bextor, she is spectacularly beautiful and
her boyfriend is the bass player in the group The Feeling. Turns out Sophie
has seen me on stage and told me she loved the comedy stuff I do….I
was astounded! A lovely pop star likes me comedy! I felt famous for two
minutes! I loved her song ‘Murder on The Dance Floor’ as I recall
days in Glasgow when there was a murder on the dance floor! (Joking….kinda!)
Other good news is my one woman show at East Kilbride Theatre has SOLD
OUT!
So today I am sitting
here feeling a wee bit sick but not due to alcohol or anything as I don’t
drink much, I think I ate something dodgy and that’s horrid.
I am off home to Glasgow tomorrow and can’t wait to see my own house
and my own telly and my own sofa and…..of course husband!
Monday the 29th of
January 2007
10:36:15 PM
Malcolm Hardee’s
Tribute Show…
The Hackney Empire
was full of crazy comics last night. The show was to pay tribute to the
amazing Malcolm Hardee and loads of lovely comics turned up to do their
stuff.
I was there in attendance
as hostess in the green room and I really dislike alcohol and people who
drink alcohol! Not really the ideal job for me….especially as I ran
a bar for 15 years….you would think I would have gotten over that
shit eh?
The celebrity gangster Dave Courtney was one of the comperes of the night
and he is so fucking funny and over the top I can’t begin to tell
you how hilarious he is…
He dresses so fancy
and dandy he looks like Elton John! I swear he had three dress changes,
one outfit was a cream brocade suit, the other was a blue shiny jacket
and at one point he was clad in vivid purple…he had more dress changes
than Shirley Bassey on a Bond Sing a long!
I was in the kitchen pouring drinks at one point and Dave came in made
a mess with cheese that scattered all over the floor, I stood there and
shouted “For fucksake Dave, I just cleaned that floor”
He smiled and said
in front of everyone there “Babes clean it up darlin’, that’s
what women do, that’s how I treat my women” I knew he was being
funny and he isn’t really that rude, he was playing up for his mates.
Everyone there stared at me; I looked at him, held out the wee dustpan
and brush and said quietly “Please brush that”
He leaned down in
his bright cream brocade suit and started to clean and I put my feet on
his back and said “And that’s how I treat my men”
He laughed his ass off and we actually hit it off, he does like being
bossed around with women and with my old gangster connections I knew just
how to treat him right back. I did actually like him and he is irrepressibly
polite and funny to be with which did surprise me….so it just goes
to show you cannot judge people too quickly!
Jo Brand was also on the bill and she is wonderfully funny and nice to
chat to, there were some newer comics there and one young female called
Helen Keen was fucking awesome. Watch out for her name on the comedy scene,
she is just wickedly funny.
I had a great night and enjoyed the show even though I was supposed to
be working, John Fleming who helped on Malcolm’s autobiography “I
Stole Freddie Mercury’s Birthday Cake” organised the whole thing
and he did a great job pulling it all together.
So now I am home and husband made a big stew dinner which was lovely as
when I am away I live on chocolate!
Wednesday the 31st
of January 2007
07:40:49 PM
Janey’s World…
I have suddenly realised
that being me is dull…so why write a blog then? I hear you ask…well
sometimes exciting things happen.
Like last weekend
when I was in Groucho and the lovely sexy pop star Sophie Ellis-Bextor
came over and told me she loved my comedy work. Her boy friend nodded
in agreement, he is the bass player with the group ‘The Feeling’.
I was stunned that she has ever seen me on stage but she definitely had…I
told her I loved her work, especially that song ‘Murder on the Dance
Floor’ as me being from the rough part of Glasgow I had actually
seen a murder on a dance floor! She laughed…her man said he loved
my YOUTUBE comedy clips and I sat there amazed that they knew who I was!
The second funny weird thing that happened was I got an email from a woman
who told me that after reading my autobiography she and her mates had
gone on a ‘Janey Godley’ tour.
They went up to my
old home in Shettleston that is mentioned in the book and my old pub in
the Calton, so they could revisit all the places I had written about!
I was slightly shocked
and laughed (I couldn’t think what else to do when I read it)
So there we have it…some
weird stuff and some odd stuff at the same time.
Just to update, my show at East Kilbride Theatre has sold out but my one
woman show at Glasgow Comedy Festival at the Garage Venue on March 8th
has tickets still available.