Recently I have had to get up at 7am on a cold winter morning. I know this is nothing new or wildly awesome but to me it’s insane. Am a comedian I sleep till midday, then stagger about the house with slippers on the wrong feet and start to wake up around 2pm.
The last time I had to get up early on a regular basis is when Ashley was about 11 years old, then I got her up for school and watched her from my window as she skipped off to the underground and went to school herself. Even then I was only awake for 30 minutes maximum.
Before that I was awake really early when she was a tiny baby and we lived in the east end above the pub and you see a different world at 5am. I used to sit beside the window in spring time feeding her watching The Calton wake up. There were the early risers off to work from the flats across the road, that woman with the purple dyed hair whom I didn’t know, off in a cab in a fur coat with sexy shoes, the wee widow in the brown coat with her slow ancient Alsatian both hobbling on cracked hips on the grass and the junkie who hadn’t slept and looked like he was on his knees in pain sitting on the red fence across from the bar watching for ….I don’t know really. His jittery jumpy agitated behaviour made me feel stressed. Back then if the sun was up and Ashley was happy to get dressed after a feed, I would get her in the stroller and walk her into town at 6am!
Glasgow city centre was empty at that time, save for a few commuters and homeless wanderers. It gave me time to be with her for as soon as 11am hit I would be behind the bar and Ashley would be with her dad and I wouldn’t see her till teatime and then it would be my turn to be parent and his turn to be barman. So I enjoyed early mornings in those hazy crazy days of the mid 80s!
Now, I practically scream if I have to be up before 9am, it’s like some type of torture!
Anyways Christmas is almost here and am not really that fussed. Ashley is going to stay with mates and husband and I are planning a steak dinner, some cheap wine and a BAFTA screener DVD session on the box. My dad hasn’t been great and may end up in hospital over the season, so we have to be prepared for that.
I love my dad, he is funny and witty. I told him me and Ashley were going to Australia and husband is staying behind to look after him (not that he needs much to be honest).
“Dad if you die when am away in Oz, I won’t be coming back for a funeral as it will be really hard to get a quick flight and to be honest I don’t want to come back to look at a dead body, are you cool with that?” I asked him.
Dad and I talk a lot about how we will both deal with his death, we have that kind of relationship. “Oh don’t come back, but don’t let your husband organise the funeral as much as I love him he will probably organise a shit singer with an accordion or a balloon animal guy or something odd like letting Glasgow pigeons flap into the air as my coffin gets burned” he laughed.
“no, he is not that imaginative, he will have a dull funeral with no booze and cheap sausage rolls” I replied.
“That’s what I want, no booze and your husband dishing out cheap meat” he giggled.
Although I joke about it, I really don’t know how I will feel when he goes. I am lucky to have a great daddy and I adore him as much as he loves me.
Am off, am crying for no good bloody reason now._