Yesterday was just as mental as possible. I left my Chelsea apartment at 3pm and headed up to Borehamwood to meet with John my manager who would be driving me to Birmingham for my gig there at 9pm.
As soon as I got off the train at Kings Cross I saw the message posted on the wall explaining that the train I wanted had been cancelled and I had to go through Kentish Town instead. So I dragged my tired arse up to Kentish Town, came out of the station and was crushed by around 8 million drunk pissed antipodeans who were mostly all wearing a sweater that said “Church”.
That confused as me as what Sunday Church serves that amount of alcohol? A turn out Church was a club! Silly old me.
I managed to get to the right platform to get the train up to Borehamwood and came upon a very young boy, spectacles hanging off his faces, wearing a Railway uniform, cheap tie askew shouting through a megaphone some mumbled words as hundreds of people jostled and shoved him around trying to find out where the replacement train was.
A big baldy headed man dragging a giant awkward Alsatian on a thick chain ran towards the young befuddled train boy. The dogs nails were skidding and its legs scattering all over the concrete walkway, its tongue hanging out and breathing madly – it managed to mount the young man’s leg as he tried to cope with multitude of frustrated commuters. The place was chaos.
I gave up and called John to come collect me from Kentish town and drive straight to Birmingham from there. We hit the road at 5pm and even before we got to Milton Keynes the traffic had slowed to a complete standstill. The dark skies were full of magnificent fireworks bursting over the beautiful red slashed sunset that fell over London. Still the cars never moved.
I started to panic, time was ticking, and we were doing 3 miles an hour for over two hours. I was due on stage at 9pm and it was now 8.50pm. We could not work out why the traffic was so slow then we came upon four huge lorries lying on their side, windows smashed, glass everywhere mixed with blood on the dented windscreen and suddenly my anxiousness to get to the gig was replaced with utter horror at the gnarled machines that had crashed on that road ahead of us. It really did put my petty stress at being late into perspective!
The gig was really cool, a lovely gay gig at the Nightingale bar. The audience were such good people and had waited patiently for me to arrive. I appreciate that.
After the gig I was off to be a guest at Kerrang! Radio, live in the studio, Tim Shaw is an amazing shock jock, yet he handled the interview about my past life and my comedy with amazing sensitivity and asked me outright questions no other live radio presenter had dared…..and whilst we were discussing child abuse, my mothers murder..Etc….the two glamour girls in the studio stripped naked! It was so very funny.
I was sitting with naked girls and having the best laugh ever.
Then Tim and I decided to tell the audience that I was going to go topless…I called husband live and asked him what he thought of my tit shot on radio and he just hung up laughing (he was annoyed that I even needed his opinion on this! If I wanna strip for another man then that’s my prerogative!)
Anyway Tim set it up for the listeners and I pretended to get my baps out…of course I didn’t it was a joke….but my brother was listening in back in Scotland and called me this morning horrified that I had got my boobs out on radio!
My daughter Ashley is mortified yet again, she loves Kerrang! And can’t believe I spoke about my breasts and even suggested getting them out with her fav DJ.
I am never going to grow old gracefully am I?_