There are about 15 kids who run around outside my back court who do fuck all but constantly scream like Ian Huntly is on their wee heels every single minute of the day. There is a wee boy who lives through the wall and the screamy kids yell up at his window for hours, his name is undecipherable to me but I think it Rizwall, he never answers and I think he is either dead or moved away. I wish someone would tell them – I can’t shout down at them as they are all Asian and I will look like a scary racist. But the poor wee kids take turns screeching ‘Rizwahhhll” every hour until their throats hurt and they give in or their mums come out and take them all up to their beds.
They are all as cute as hell, but they never stop screaming and it echoes all the way round the car park and bounces off the circular architecture and the noise is deafening. I want a tea time nap without it sounding like kids are chained to a radiator and screaming for their God Rizwall to come rescue them.
Maybe I was a screamy annoying kid when I was a young and probably I annoyed all my neighbours with my incessant yelling but payback is in my way.
Husband and I finally fall asleep (despite the screaming kids); we lie beneath the wide open window at the head board of our bed and husband managed to lay his heavy arm on my face and almost suffocate me. He then wrapped his body around mine and snored into my one good ear. It was cute when he did this when he was 16 years old, when both of us used to sleep in a single bed (IT WAS AGES AGO!) and we used to tangle each other up like pretzels and sleep sound. Now we need acres of space and room to spread out and I don’t need a tree trunk on my face cutting off the air supply.
I loved my gig at Ironworks venue last week in Inverness, which is really cool and the people look after you lovely. Inverness is actually a lovely town and I really enjoy being there. The train journey back was rather gruelling as it took 5 hours. I paid the £5 to get a decent seat in first class and it was cool, except there was a father who turned up with an adorable wee boy aged about 18 months. The baby was great but the dad gave us a constant running commentary of everything the baby did.
“ Oh Thomas, look at your face, look at the mess, look at your hands, now Thomas, don’t touch that, Thomas give that back to me, Thomas, why are you touching that? Thomas now pull your jumper down, Thomas; give me that back, why are you touching that Thomas?”
Thomas never made a bloody sound the whole time, ‘daddy talks out loud’ never fucking shut up! He was a nice man but for goodness sake a full constant running commentary of every single thing that happens is annoying. I thought about doing it as well. Imagine I sat there talking to myself?
“Janey, what the hell are you doing tangling your IPod up like that? Now come on Janey, really? Do you really need another chocolate biscuit? That’s a good girl, now turn your phone off and put it in your bag, get your tickets ready for the inspector, well done!” Folk would think I was mental.
The dad did this talking out loud thing for nearly four hours until the baby finally got grizzly and tired. Probably bored to death of hearing his dad talking constantly, I managed to plug in my IPod and could just about hear him in the distance as Steely Dan banged out in my sore ears. I then decided to help the dad get the baby to sleep.
Just as we got near Glasgow, I made a wee bed on the seat, tucked down my pillow and wrapped baby Thomas into my jacket and he fell asleep happily.
The journey went quiet after that and I saw Glasgow come into view. Home at last. My next journey is to Dunoon this coming Saturday; I think I know people in Dunoon. Though I can’t quite recall who it is I know in Dunoon, maybe it’s an old aunt or something? Who knows?
This week my fight with PRS continues. PRS are a great agency that makes sure artistes get their dues if people use their music etc…Now I don’t have music in my past Edinburgh Fringe Show’s, so therefore I don’t owe them any money. Yet in 2007 and 2008 they took 3% of my over all takings without my permission. Finally after many emails, phone calls and mail offs they have managed to reimburse 08 cash. Of course they didn’t send the cash to me, it went to the fringe office and who still didn’t send it to me, the fringe office sent it to Pleasance office, who still didn’t send it to me, they have yet to let me know they have received it! I HATE paper chases…I fucking hate it and now I have to go back to PRS and now chase them for the cash from 07 show and hope they eventually find it for me and refund me soon as possible.
Ok, here’s something that just made me laugh, I just saw the Ladbrokes gambling advert and it depicts a big grey monkey chasing people through city streets crashing cars and destroying lives as it goes. Don’t Ladbrokes know the symbolism of a ‘monkey on your back’ when it relates to having an addiction problem? That was funny and awful at the same time.
Ok, am off to watch The Unit, I am in love with all of those sexy hard men in that series.
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