Those Crazy Russians

Those Crazy Russians….
Was up visiting my sister Ann on Boxing day, my sister has four kids and four grand kids (the famous Abi from previous Blogs is the youngest grand daughter), my sister had a full house of kids including Abi who was screaming “The Robert frightens me” as she pointed at her brother Shaun’s’ remote controlled ‘robot’. There were teenagers arguing over MP3 players, dogs barking, people trying to watch TV too loud and a knock at the door which I answered.
There on my sister’s door step stood a lanky geeky looking dude with a big smile and a Santa scarf.

“Hello I am Russian student” he smiled and for some obscure reason clicked his heels in a Nazi type ‘spring time for Hitler dance way’.

I looked at him and said “Really? Where in Russia?”

His eyes got bigger he smiled more and stuttered “Erm Russia”

“Where in Russia?” I asked again. At that moment Abi decided to squeeze her wee blonde ringlet fat head through my thighs, between my legs and stare at him, it must have looked like I had just popped a curly headed small Gene Wilder from my crotch.

“I am selling these pictures” he ignored the small Willy Wonka type girl and carried on regardless.

In his hand was a shiny, metallic kitsch illustration of Jesus, he held it up for full effect.

“That’s Jebus” Abi giggled as I shoved her back through my legs and pushed her into the small hall that led directly into the living room where every one now was watching me and the strange Russian picture seller.

“No thanks we have pictures of Jesus” I told him….he tried quickly to come back and flashed a new shiny picture of a unicorn.

“I also have fantasy” he smiled.

“Jesus is fantasy, we have enough of both here thanks, listen mate we are stocked up on crazy in here go sell that shit else where” I laughed and shut the door.

My sister gasped and giggled “Janey that was rude”

“He wasn’t a Russian, selling fucking strange shiny foil pictures, that’s shit” I spat.
“That’s shit” Abi repeated. Then I gasped and sat for a whole hour telling her Aunty Janey says bad words that must never be repeated.

“Is mental patient a bad word?” her big brown eyes looked at me over my sister’s kitchen table, her wee innocent pouting mouth smiling at me.
“No, but Aunty Janey was wrong for teaching you that and you must stop calling everyone it as its not nice” I explained…I forgot I told her that ages ago and she remembered it clearly.
“But that man at the door with shiny pictures is actually a mental patient!” I giggled.
I know I was wrong, but he was nuts.
Well tomorrow is New Years Eve, or later on today actually as this is now after 1am! I am on stage tonight at Jongleurs, hope it all goes well.

Have fun all Janey.

Here comes the snow

Here comes the snow…
I had a good day today, went out for lunch with my old school pals Janette and Jean. It’s always nice to catch up with them both.
We went for lunch and walked around town and by the time we left the restaurant the snow had started to come down heavily and the town looks awesome with the twinkling lights and drifting snow flakes.
I love the snow, although I know it does kill people…well mostly old people and bad drivers, I still think it makes the city look clean and nice.
Tonight I sat at the window watching for my husband to come back from the supermarket (I hate shopping, I eat it but hate doing the hunter gatherer thing with the credit card…it bores me) anyway out in the car park people were playing snowball fights and making snow men, so I decided to get on my wellies and go join them. Ashley was screaming “Mum please get off those old velvet leggings and those wellies, you like the nutty old woman who smells of piss and cats and scares the kids”

I merely smiled and ran down the stairs….can you believe my daughter thinks there is a certain clothing etiquette for snow ball fights? How strange!
I sat beside the snow man and was unsure if he needed a snow man penis and snow balls, then husband arrived in the car and asked me why I was sitting beside a snowman.

I smiled at him and said “He loves me and I melt his heart”

“Please help me with the shopping, I have chicken” was his romantic answer.

So there we have it, there are some pictures of this I will post or go to

http://uk.photos.yahoo.com/janeygodley/
Check them out!

The Rush is over

The Rush is over…
Thank God we all ‘survived’ Christmas…I was sick of reading articles in magazines shouting’ How to Survive Christmas’ as if it was some ordeal, well in some countries it is, but that’s not really what the article was aiming at. It was writing some crud on how to prepare a mammoth eating feast, how to buy a glittery black dress, how to set a table and yadda yadda other stuff about other shit.

We bought ‘ready to eat food’ and some cold drinks and sat, ate dinner and watched TV in between working on stage and my daughter doing DJ work (she is working as a DJ whilst studying, she reckons pressing a button every three minutes is infinitely easier than serving cooked greasy chips at £4 an hour).
I had a fun morning, AGAIN a radio show BBC Radio 5 live called me early to see if I would take part in a call in show about ‘Scot’s who live abroad and Scot’s who wont leave Scotland’.
I said ‘yes’ then fell back asleep, then an hour later the call came and I was groggy and talked for ages on stuff I wasn’t sure about until the host of the show asked me live on air ‘Janey sell me Scotland in ten seconds’.

I took a deep breath, tried to clear my dreamy head (that incidentally was still having sex with Cachi from happy Days) and said really loudly
‘We have water, good food, we don’t deep fry mars bars, we have lovely scenery, we love people and we like to chat and we have water’
When I had finished I could hear my husband laughing in the other room, he was listening live to the show on the radio.

The host said ‘We have water? Janey we have water in England as well’
My brain kicked in and I realised I just said the shit about water and I then I explained ‘We have clean good water’ and then he said goodbye live on air.

I switched off the phone and fell back asleep and went onto to dream about a crazy jaggy nailed cat that was stuck fast to the back of my thighs and no amount of pulling could get it off my flesh, then I had was kissing Boutros Boutros Galle as we both tried to remove the blood sucking evil flesh scratching cat. That’s my life, all pussy and no fun.

I love being a Poste

                                                                                                                
I love being a Poster Girl…
My daughter went out last night, she doesn’t often go drinking ( that always worries me as I have an issue with booze, but must never make her paranoid about it, even though I never had problems with alcohol, I come from people who did and still do).

Anyway, she was up Curlers bar and was out partying with some guys. In the background was my face on just about every poster she could see, Curlers do comedy and she was surrounded by me from every angle. She told me that as a guy was being dirty mouthed and chatty with her…over his shoulder was my face staring at her from the comedy advertising! How cool?

I love that and am now going to insist she can only go drinking where I am the poster girl in the background.

I was looking after baby Abi last night, she stayed over and is only two years old but her rendition of Kaiser Chiefs ‘I Predict a Riot’  whilst she played with my nativity set was tear jerkingly funny.
She told me that the Blackman in the nativity set was scaring the wee ‘lady in Blue’ (Jesus’ mammy), she then made the blonde man who carries a sheep on his shoulder (who is this guy? What Blonde Swedish porn star made it to Jerusalem?) Kiss baby Jesus, who Abi declared was a girl. ‘Ith a baby girl, yeth it is” she lisped as she made Holy Mary lie beside the black man and then tried to prise the small gifts out of the hands of the King.

I laughed till my eyes hurt, her Pee Wee Herman version of the Nativity was hysterical and all set to the tunes of Kaiser Chiefs…who needs more than that? Fucking gig of the century in my eyes. We went round to the Bistro to see some mates and Dante was there, it was good to see him as he has been on tour with his rock band El Presidente, he laughed out loud at Abi singing Greenday and Kaiser Chiefs as well and declared the baby one of the best lead rock singers under three and we cheered and Abi took a bow! How professional of her…hang on she was getting too much attention and to be honest that’s my job.

Unfortunately she had to go home as her mummy wants her back, to be honest she made me laugh so much I wanted to keep her.

Today I am just getting Christmas presents put away and the house organised.

A Christmas Miracle

A Christmas Miracle..
So its Christmas Eve, I am lying in bed at 5pm for a wee pre festive nap, my bed head is directly beneath my window and in my light slumber I can hear…tap tap tap tap…what the hell is going on? Who is hammering in the back car park on fucking Christmas Eve?

So I finally get up and drag my knees onto my pillows, pull open the curtain and look into the circular car park at the back of my house. I am four floors up and have a great panoramic view of the whole grounds.

There between parked cars is one tall guy clapping his hands and stamping his feet and five other well built dark haired guys dancing some Spanish Flamenco type moves, with twirls and short cracking heel movements.

I thought to myself ‘What the fuck?’ and called on my daughter to come see in case I was having a pre menopausal flush hallucination or something.
She leaned onto my bed lifted up the curtains and gaped at the dancing men below.

I mean this is Glasgow…we expect glue sniffers and junkies not the fucking Jets and the Sharks to be having a dance off beside my blue Renault. You always see dance movies where people burst into dance moves and skip round cars…but you don’t expect it to actually happen…only in my life guys!

So I opened my window and shouted down to them “Well done”.

They all stopped looked up at my face from four floors away and smiled “Come down” they shouted.

“I can’t its cold” I laughed and shook my head.

Immediately they all started to take off their coats to offer me warmth (how cute!).

“No, ok I will come down” I shut the window and pulled off my pyjama top and put on bra (I didn’t want to scare them) and some warm clothes.

When I got down into the car park and they saw me close up they put their jackets back on (I kid you not, from a distance I look ok, close up Rapunzel turned into repulsive!).

They told me they were Spanish dancer (that figured) they are rehearsing for a show in Paris next week and cannot rehearse in a flat as the noise makes other Glaswegians want to stab them, so the best place is the car park!
I stood and watched and took some pictures, here is a link to them


http://www.flickr.com/photos/janeygodley/

So today I awoke to 27 text messages wishing me a Merry Christmas, I was so tired and so not ready to eat turkey or do any that stuff. I am not a good cook but I have to tell you all, I managed to make a full on traditional turkey dinner complete with warm cranberry sauce, apricot stuffed turkey, honey roasted parsnips and wild berry panacotta….Marks and Spencer’s really do good ready to heat meals.
Have fun all…am off to watch young hot Spaniards dance in the fog beside my car.

Christmas is what??

I realised today as I struggled through the city centre and into Marks and Spencer’s to do some food shopping that Christmas is a bit fake.
Now before you think I am about to launch into a ‘bah humbug’ situation hear me out ok?
My reasoning for this opinion is quite easy, in the shops there was absolutely no seasonal cheer, people were almost punching pensioners to get the last batch of honey glazed parsnips (like roasting fresh ones with a dash of honey was so fucking difficult?).
The second point I want to make is that there were so many goods on sale that helped the public ‘Create the ambience of Christmas’.
Now here’s the rub, has anyone reading this EVER walked into a home in the last thirty years and been greeted by the smell of roasting chestnuts, fresh pine cones, aromatic spices mixed with the tangy fragrance of mistletoe, home baked mincemeat pies or logs crackling on an open fire?
I think the answer is NO…well not me anyhow.
All my Christmases from at least aged four that I recall had the smell of debt ridden parents trying to smoke them selves to death over the stench of cheap beer and burnt chicken. In the background were four unruly kids snapping each other with elastic bands to see who could get the last tangerine whilst a mangy dog ripped the last piece of foil from a greasy roasting tin as he licked the hardened chicken fat.
Yet in Marks and Spencer’s you can buy a room ‘fragrance’ of ‘Spicy Holly and Fresh Christmas Berries’ …why? I have never smelt that in my life?
It means nothing to me and reminds me of the cheap air fresheners that permeate every fancy hotel elevator that I have had the unfortunate occasion to sniff and choke on.
Yet we are told that we aren’t really taking part unless we peel apples and soak them in mulled wine and offer the hot fruity drinks to our friendly neighbours who come round in hand knitted jumpers and cheery rosy cheeks!
My neighbours are mostly Muslim and have pissed off to Oman for the Holidays and some have even gone to Palestine; one or two of the other people in the street spat racist comments and called them heathens as they packed up a huge car with kids and boxes as they flew out of Glasgow. How ironic, as my neighbours were actually going to the place Christ was apparently born! I bet there is no smell of pine cones there, but the smell of fighting and gunfire will always be associated with Christmas to the wee kids that live in that city.
Merry Christmas one and all.

Nigerian Scam

Hello Dear Bloggers here is a genuine correspondence between me and some dude calling himself Doctor Steven Igho, it’s a Nigerian scam letter but I got bored and answered it, here is the replies. My writing is in RED or/and bold.


-----Original Message-----
From: Steven Igho [mailto:stevenigho@egyptdentists.com]
Sent: 20 December 2005 22:17
To: pairdentistry@suwaneedental.com
Subject: Kindly assist.

From: Dr. Steven Igho. I too am a docktor

Dear Friend, Yes we are friends…

My Compliment to you, yes tell me more I lick it when you talk sexy, I fink we are destined to be together, do you like fire?

I guess this letter may come to you as a surprise since I had no previous correspondence with you. No not at all, I always get letters from unusually familiar Nigerian folks bring it on big guy

I am sending you this mail on behalf of the tender board of Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) Chairman, MR. ABEL D.GUOBADIA. Really? What a fucking surprise? Wow I must be really important that you wrote me! We came across your contact in our search for a reliable person me reliable? I have been in prison for possessing guns…you really don’t know me do you? person to handle a very confidential transaction involving the transfer of Eighteen Million, Five Hundred and Seventy Thousand United States Dollars (US$18.570m). Wow you have that kind of money and you need my help? Get over here sexy! Can we marry? How can I help?
The above fund is not connected with arms, drugs or money laundering, My money is…fuck I love selling crack and arms…well we call them limbs here in Scotland it is the product of an over invoiced contract awarded in 2003 by INEC Sure whatever…carry on tell me more I am so interested to a foreign company for the construction of high rise estate in the federal capital territory. This is odd, as this has happened to FOURTEEN other people who have emailed me from Nigeria…how odd is that?

The contract has long been executed and payment of the actual contract amount has been paid to the foreign contractor. Yes I believe that…I also know that the IRA talk to me through my toaster and there is a hedgehog called Tammy who used to be Neil Armstrong, he lives on my roof
The balance of the actual contract, which my colleague and I now want to transfer out of Nigeria into a reliable foreign account for our personal use. Yes use me…I will look after your money…send me your account details now dusky boy
As civil servants we are not allowed to run foreign accounts.
Really??... What a cunt? Hence we have chosen you to front and support us as the beneficiary to be paid. Whoopee?? Me???
If you are interested in the proposal kindly get back to me by sending me your letter of acceptance along with your direct telephone and fax numbers. For your support and partnership, please reply me to negotiate your fees or the percentage you wish to be paid when the funds are transferred into your bank account. Can I get paid in biscuits?

Further details about this transaction will be discussed in the subsequent correspondence. Note also that the particular nature of your business is irrelevant to this transaction and all local contacts and arrangements are in place for a smooth and successful conclusion of this transaction. Yes I understand coz I am special
Be informed that we are aware of the way email proposals of this type are being sent from this part of africa. Regarding this email, you should treat this proposal with utmost attentionas knowing fully well that you cannot and will not be compelled to assist us if you are not disposed to. I am treating it as a proposal, I want to marry you, I marry lots of men from Nigeria, but they all died now and am so lonely…they died by fire…all of them.
I will be in United Kingdom on official assignment probably in a week time, Lets meet up; I have one eye and piss myself a lot.
You may contact me on this Fax: +44-709-287-3843 or via this email account steven_igho1@yahoo.co.uk, forward me with your contact telephone and fax numbers on response, I will call you for a discussion.

Thank you as I await your response. My name is Mangofandango, I live in a seashell and like to lick small penguins, please be my friend?----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Steven Igho [mailto:steven_igho1@yahoo.co.uk]
Sent: 22 December 2005 06:56
To: Janey Godley
Subject: Re: . Fake letters from Nigeria...I answered it...my way

YOU'RE VERY FUNNY I LIKE IT...................GOOD
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Janey Godley wrote:
I am glad you liked it Dr Steven, I don’t like it and posted it to my entire address book and read it out on stage and have mentioned it in the media. What kind of doctor are you? One of female circumcision or one of small cattle prodding perhaps?
Now from all of that you must know that we know its all shit, you are not even Nigerian…Russian perhaps?? We thought that from the investigations we did.
Stop sending me your pleady shit; I have a life to lead and so must you. Go bother someone else.
Janey

________________________________________
From: Steven Igho [mailto:steven_igho1@yahoo.co.uk]
Sent: 22 December 2005 15:17
To: Janey Godley
Subject: RE: . Fake letters from Nigeria...I answered it...my way

DONT EVER WRITE ME AGAIN, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?

Janey Godley wrote:
Dr. Steven Igho.
I think you will find YOU wrote to me skanky boy…not the other way round…you established this relationship, your scam has been spread all over the media…MY FAULT??? I don’t think so, be very careful who you send spam scam to mate…be careful what you wish for. THAT IS MY PROBLEM…whats wrong? You have no sense of Humour Dr Steven? You were hoping I was a mental patient and would send you my bank details? Go fuck yourself and try to find someone else to annoy.
I like biscuits and am posting this on my blog sites that gets around 7000 hits a day and is syndicated to 60 sites. Bite my ass!


So far there has been no answer my blogger friends, but I urge you all to ignore these letters if you get them as the people may be dangerous and nuts enough to come look for you, but let’s be honest here, how many banks in Nigeria are with holding important people’s cash? NONE! Have fun! Janey

Am Home for Christmas!

Yes… I am back. The gig went fantastic at Cochrane Theatre, nice people turned up, people who had read my book, blog or newspaper articles. I had decided on a surprise start to the show, I came on dancing to Madonna’s latest single, except I am old and nearly broke a hip bone trying to impersonate a 48 year old woman…get that? Go figure? Madonna does three hours exercise a day and lives on a macrobiotic diet, I lose my breath climbing stairs and live on Pot Noodles and chocolate, that’s why it didn’t work well, but people laughed and that’s my point.
The whole show was taped on mini disc so I may learn top podcast and let you all hear it soon.
I was so happy to see people there who have come to see me before, except I cant believe these people come and see me often, trust me if you can imagine what my following would be like, its not a lovely Middle Class, Middle England family with three kids who are all lovely and well fed and mild mannered YET that is who comes to see me…I know because there is a nice family who come to see me in Edinburgh, Soho Theatre and Cochrane Theatre! I know they are reading this so THANKS but fucksake WHY? Don’t stop coming to see me…I just can’t figure out why…but I am so grateful. You are nice people; maybe you like to hear me swearing????
I was on stage last night at Glasgow Jongleurs, the crowd was heaving and they love a good Christmas party in Glasgow.
Tonight is back onstage at Jongleurs…sorry I am blogging way too late but do keep coming back, I promise no more swearing…but I will always fight authority!

Today is the Day

I am up and ready for my big show tonight at Cochrane Theatre, I am worried a bit as I don’t ever seem to have a format for my show and it’s a big two hour show! I have had period pains and horrid stomach problems but I am good to go.
Last night was good fun, I went to the 606 jazz club in Chelsea and the music was amazing! The old guy from the Average White Band was on stage and afterwards he came over for a quick chat, turns out he is from Glasgow and he asked me “Where are you from?”

“The Calton in Glasgow” I replied.
“The Calton? Tongs Ya Bass!” he laughed.

Now that made me laugh out loud, as Tongs Ya Bass, is the gang war cry from the Calton, my part of the East end of Glasgow! It was really funny to hear this older man say it out loud in Chelsea! Especially after he had been playing the most sensuous slow jazz!

My life is good, I got to hear great music again and last week of course I heard Courtney Pine and Roachford play in a studio at BBC…I am so lucky.
I am a bit stressed today and complained to husband for breathing loudly…that’s not a good sign this early in the day.
We leave tomorrow at 10am as I have a show in Glasgow tomorrow night, I cannot even begin to worry about packing, and that usually stresses me no end, but I will manage, I am so relieved that the people at Crown Lawn gave me this apartment, I owe them so much I may have to donate my eggs to them. Thanks all you people at Crown Lawn for the amazing stay; I am in your debt. Normally I have to stay in shitty smelly hotels, but a marble palace with an indoor swimming pool? I am a princess! The Christmas tree downstairs in the reception hall is beautiful and cheered me up every time I walked into this building.
I will try to write more tonight after the show and we can see how it all went, if it was shit I will tell you all trust me…the truth is always here with Godley.

Sexy Headaches and radio shows

Today has been good fun so far. I had a great gig last night at Edcomedy up in Foresthill. Lovely wee room and run by good people, the only problem is I had the start of my legendary ‘only in London’ migraine that lasted all night and most of today. Today was good publicity wise, I got a great mention in the Guardian Guide as the pick of the month comedy for my show at Cochrane Theatre on Tuesday night and today on Open Book Radio 4 my autobiography ‘Handstands in the Dark’ was mentioned on the list of ‘Best books of the Year’, then tonight on Channel 4 I was on ‘The 100 Greatest Christmas Moments’…so all in all it was good!

All that stuff is good. The weird thing is when I saw my fat face on TV I recall thinking at the time that my hair was nice but wow it looked fucking horrible! Why is that? It’s the same when you look back on old photo’s from the 1980’s, I thought I was terribly sexy but now I see a strange woman in a tight red dress with packed footballers shoulders, wearing a sharp red pillbox hat teetering about in black stiletto’s…what was I thinking? Joan Collins of Glasgow?

I went to see my husband’s lovely old aunty Nellie today; she is 93 years old and lives near London though she is 100% Glaswegian. It was so very funny, she has reached an age where being diplomatic means zilch, that combined with a history of ‘Who gives a fuck what I think’ mixed with a small does of forgetfulness and the results are near legendary.
When she saw me her first words were “Your fat, do you know that you are fat and by fuck you’re old as well”.
I laughed loudly at this as she meant it and I loved her sharpness, I had mates calling me to say that they had just heard my book being praised on the radio and in the background aunty Nelly was shouting (she is deaf) “You would think you would stop eating and maybe run a comb through that messy hair”…my mates were pissing themselves laughing, so if at any point all this publicity goes to my head aunty Nellie will be there to remind me of my life time of failure in the weight and hair department! Classic!

Tomorrow I am up early to get everything ready for Tuesdays show, I need to sit down and work out what I am doing as it’s a two hour one woman show, to be honest I kinda wing it most of the way, but I need to prepare some stuff I suppose.

I also want you people to know that I do get your comments, but as my blog is syndicated to nearly 40 different blog sites, it isn’t easy to collect your comments as I have blogsites that don’t have ‘comments alerts’ on them and so I have to actively go through every site that I belong to and search for your comments to reply to them. So please don’t think I am ignoring you. If you ever want to contact me you can email me at janey@janeygodley.co.uk
Have a good night all!

Police and protestor

See Blog below to get the story

Spies and Strange Men in suits

Its been an odd day all round, I was standing at the bus stop outside the Home Office down near my flat at Marsham Street, waiting patiently on a bus. I heard a small commotion behind me and on the grass verge outside of the Home Office; a big black man had erected a small tent, and put up peace protest notice stating that he was being harassed by the Government. I stopped to read his notice and immediately police starting mounting the grass and pulled his tent apart. The big man started shouting and I reached for my mobile phone and started taking photo’s on my camera (Which I will post soon).

Before I could even get saving them to file a few men in suits surrounded me out from nowhere! I am not joking; it was sinister to say the least. I watched as the police got the big black guy to the ground and started moving him along the grass towards the police van. I pulled out a piece of paper and shouted to the black guy “What’s your name?” he looked at me and shouted “Fredrick Kamera”. “Is that with a K, I asked?”
The man was now on the ground with the policemen on top of him and he yelled back “Yes”.

Just then, a very handsome guy in a sharp grey suit and bright yellow tie appeared at my side, he touched my arm to get my attention, I turned and he made serious eye contact “You cant take pictures of the Home Office, its against the law” He smiled and leaned towards me “Can I see your phone?”
“No fuck off, if you try to take it I will scream, take your hands off me and quit with the charm, I will stop taking photos of the office building but I will continue to take photo’s of the dude who now has a police man standing on his neck” I sneered. I ran around to the other side and kept taking pictures, it was making the men very uncomfortable.

“What’s your name and who are you from, you know you need to stop shouting to that man and you need to stop this behaviour” Yellow tie smiley boy said.
“Fuck off, make me” I challenged him “This is a city that wont recognise Scottish Sterling as legal tender and you are telling me I have to shut up and stop being me, I have freedom of speech, what will you do? Stab my arse with a poisoned umbrella on Waterloo Bridge? You are the smallest James Bond ever, now get fucked mate or those builders across the road will witness you harassing me”

By now they were dragging Fredrick Kamera into a waiting police van. I watched and the suited man spoke again “Do you have a website?”
“Yes…why?” I asked.
“What’s it called? He continued. By now the place was crawling with office workers leaving the building who were now casually watching the fracas.
“I am not telling you shit, there will be forty cameras on me now, you look at them and work out who I am and do your job” I snapped. The black man was now in the police van and huckled away, no trace of him being on the grass existed.

“Its best if you just stop being a nuisance and move on now, that man had mental problems” the tiny James Bond spoke.
“What would happen if Jesus turned up here and stood on that ground and tried to tell the world he was here to save everyone and was appalled at the way people were treated, would you stand on his neck and throw him in a police van? You people say everyone is mentally retarded who speak out” I said.
“So you are a Christian?” he asked me.
“No I am not, I am just making a point you annoying man, look there is my bus” I ran off and caught the bus into town.

I had meetings and friends to catch up with and things to do all day…but if I suddenly drop off the radar and no longer blog…then you know what will have happened to me…the old syringe in the neck trick!
I will post the pics as soon as I work out how!

Near Death in Soho

I have had such fun in London so far, had good meetings with TV people, and had a great gig last night at Comedy Camp, got to meet up with Jay who is an old mate…and shopping eating and fun.
Yesterday I was at BBC television centre pitching a sketch show and screenplay. I got out at White City and was amazed to find that there is no bar or café local to the station, so people going to BBC for meeting etc…cant have a sit down or anything before they go. There are a few upmarket coffee places across the road and up to the new BBC centre which is not far but hardly near enough, so I thought about ditching the TV idea and buying a bar! Hold on…did that before for 15 years, why do I keep going back to that idea?

Last night coming home (did I just call the luxury apartment home...I wish) from Comedy Camp on the 88 bus through Westminster, Clare Short the politician got on, I stood up to give her my seat and she said “Its not necessary” I smiled and said ‘Listen you are an old burd and I am off at the next stop” she wasn’t that happy, but I was too busy listening to Doobie Brothers on the IPOD to care.

So today after another meeting with lovely telly person about various projects, I made my way to Bar Italia in Frith street, its my favourite coffee house in all of London Town. The whole shop front is covered in scaffolding, the building is being renovated.
After a good hot latte, I stood up and plugged in my earphones so that Steely Dan could carry me through Soho, when debris and lumps of masonry from above came crashing down on my head. It was fucking sore; the café manageress came out and was helpful in dusting me down and checking I wasn’t bleeding. She got the building manager to come to see me…this is where the fun began.

Now any man who wears jogging bottoms and shiny smooth loafers, with a Union Jack Jumper stretched to the limits over the big fat belly and a deep Cockney Accent with a slight lisp has got to be funny when your skull is sore. It was like trying to listen to verbal Sudoku!

He asked me where I was from.
“Glasgow” I replied whilst rubbing my scalp.
“Where about in Glasgow?” he mumbled, “east end” I said.
“Yea, we could be family, I am from Clerkenwell” he said.
I looked at him, wondering where this was going.
“Great” I sniggered “you know mate, where I from means nothing, that building site is unsafe, what are you going to do about it?”
“I know gangster Arthur Thompson” he smiled, as I still waited on the answer to my near skull smashing experience.
“He’s dead; listen mate, my head hurts who owns the building?” I snapped.
“Don’t threaten me” he hissed at me in his twisted strong cockney accent. It was like being harassed by a badly dressed Kray Brother.
“Ok, you need to stop the whole jellied eels, oi oi oi thing and tell me who I am supposed to call about this”
The upshot was he gave me the wrong phone number for Soho Estates who own the building; luckily I have the internet and called them direct.

I then spoke to the poshest man in the whole wide world, he apologised and urged me to go to hospital and reassured me they would do anything possible to help, but in fact they own the property but the sub contractor is responsible for the scaffolding and safety issues. I doubt that very much, ultimately it is the responsibility of the people who hire the people of the safety of the site…but in any case, I am not badly injured and am not suing.

So it is true I am the epicentre of disaster…maybe I will get a free coffee from Bar Italia?

London is great...

I am finally rested; today I went up to Unique studio’s to record a show with John Ronson for his radio programme that airs next year. It was good fun and he is a very interesting man, he made me think a few times about my personality during the show!

Apparently pretending to have a sore kidney to get a free queue jumping pass at Disneyworld is not normal! The show was about how people cope with ‘waiting’…and in case you didn’t know I am shit at waiting, I cause chaos when forced to wait…see my blog about me sitting three hours on tarmac in Glasgow on Friday!

I sat on four tube trains today, it was relatively quite for this time of year in London, maybe its because of the time I travelled (lunchtime) or maybe people are still worried about tube travel…but it was enjoyable to have a seat in December in London on a train!

It was weird because I noticed that people watched every Asian or Middle Eastern person who were carrying a backpack…I sat beside the dark skinned man I saw, uncharacteristically for a London traveller, he showed me all the photo’s he had taken on his digital camera and we chatted. He had taken good photos of London’s landmarks.
There was a smelly/drunk/homeless man sitting near us and I always have compassion for the homeless and underprivileged (I was one for a time in my childhood) but this man STANK so badly I had my scarf around my head covering most of my face and certainly my mouth. I was sitting there dressed in black with a black scarf wrapped around me revealing only my eyes, speaking in a loud Scottish accent chatting with an Arab bloke who showed me his pictures. Everyone was looking at me!

I have a meeting tomorrow and a gig tomorrow night. So tonight I am sitting on my fat ass watching TV and chilling out.
Husband is walking around doing ‘things’. I do feel for him slightly, he really must feel out of place, being taken from his home comforts in Glasgow and travelling around the UK with me staying in hotels and swish London pads.
I think he wonders what happened to the barmaid he married, that wee girl who was going to settle in a Glasgow tenement and raise kids and keep a cat.

If someone had told me ten years ago that we would no longer be in the pub we ran for 15 years, him being my boss and me being the best sausage and chips fryer ever and that in the future he would not be working, I would be a writer and stand up comic/playwright and we would be living half our lives in hotels or in London, I would have thrown them out of my pub for being mentally disturbed…yet here we are! Strange the way things work out. I am happy though, I was never that good at frying and I fucking hated drunks.

London fights and fun part two…

Well it’s now Sunday, I am exhausted as when I landed in London on Friday, I literally hit the ground running and finally I can breathe!
After Ashley and I did the photo shoot and interview with the lovely man from the Sunday Times (we are the Magazine’s ‘Relative Values’ subjects) we went across to the local Soho newsagent for some bits and pieces, after we presented our purchases, he REFUSED to take our Scottish money…for people outside UK reading this let me explain.

Britain use a currency called sterling or British Pound if you want the loose terminology for it. In Scotland we have our own design of Sterling/British pound and it’s just a different design, not a different monetary value, we are British.

Some English cities mainly London do have shops and services that refuse Scottish ‘money’ on the grounds’ we may have printed it out of a computer and coloured it in with ink markers or something…I suppose they assume it’s fake.

Anyway, the man refused and I got annoyed and called the police, they explained that the man can refuse to take it and I said to the police person
“So if I walk out of this shop with the goods and leave him the ten pounds sterling, then I would be arrested for shoplifting?”

She said “Yes, if you take goods and don’t pay that illegal”

I added, “But I am paying with sterling, so how can that be, he has my legal British money and I have goods”

She then told me “ Get off the line, I have better things to worry about”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Terrorism and bombs” she snapped at me.

“That’s better? Don’t you mean you have more important things to worry about? For someone who is English, you would think you would have a better grasp of your own language and grammar”

She hung up.

We walked out of the shop, I wasn’t going to give him any cash if he wouldn’t take my Scottish cash.

First night in London….
Next morning I was off to BBC to be part of Loose Ends, the lovable Ned Sherrin’s show. It was so awesome, I got to sit in a studio and listen to Courtney Pine and Roachford (two of the worlds best musicians) play just for me…well me and the other seven people in the room…oh and the millions who listen in ever week to Ned’s show.

By the way you can go to this link and listen to the show I was on.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/comedy/looseends.shtml

Then click ‘listen to latest edition’

Later on that night I was off to Battersea to be on stand by at Jongleurs comedy club, it means I sit around and see if an act fails to make it due to doubling up on other gigs, then I go on stage there or any one of the London Jongleurs and fill in. Its good fun and you get paid whether you gig or not!

This morning (Sunday, British ‘Sterling’ time) I awoke, knowing I did not have to work today, hurrah! Lazy day for me and my best mate Monica came round to see me, we had a good chat and then husband took our daughter to Heathrow as she goes home today.

I will miss her, but she really is a grumpy evil mare in the mornings, she turns into some awful snappy fire breathing dragon and poor husband always forgets that and will mistakenly ask her a simple question or make a silly remark as he passes her in the hallway as she stumbles about with her cloven hooves, clawed mitts and red slitty eyes that seem to be the norm if she is awoken before midday!

“Good morning happy girl” he smiles, forgetting she is possessed.

She turns her head, the hair flaps wildly, she opens her mouth and fiery evil flames come shooting out in his direction, I fully expect him to come back into the bedroom with blackened hair and singed eyebrows as the dragon child flaps her fleshy sharp backwings, draws in her blood sharpened claws and goes hobbling awkwardly on her stumpy hooves back into her messy Kingdom, leaving a trail of black smoke and burnt daddy in her wake.

I won’t miss that!

British Airways and Comedy pitching….Friday the dark day…

So we were all packed last night to go to London, just some small bits and bobs to go in last minute. I fell asleep knowing that I had to get up at 8am to have a shower and get ready for 10.30am flight from Glasgow to London.
I was in a lovely deep sleep, when my mobile registered two text messages at 5am! I stumbled out of bed and with bleary annoyed eyes I read them. Both were the same message from British Airways telling me that my flight had been CANCELLED!
I screamed! I had to get to London for midday as Ashley and I had to do a photo shoot and interview with the Sunday Times, I had work in London and meetings…fucking what do they mean cancelled????
Husband had been up all night and I ran into the living room hysterical yelling “BA has cancelled the flights!”
He jumped into action and got me the flight documents, I called at 5.07am and was greeted by an automated voice telling me the company doesn’t open till 6am…well who the fuck sent me the text then?
I sat and waited till 6am struck the clock and I promptly dialled up, EVENTUALLY I was put through to someone who told me the only way I would get to London today was to get to the airport NOW and be on the 7am flight as fog had backlogged most of the flights.
Daughter was dragged out of a sleep, husband began throwing stuff into the case, and Ashley was wandering about the hall in her pyjamas trying to find shoes with mascara’d stuck eyelashes and bewilderment.
Finally we were dressed and out the door into a cab at 6.20am!
At the airport we made the check in on time, we were ushered up to the Club Class lounge…finally we breathed and sat down. Then were told to quickly board the plane as the 7am flight was ready to go.
We found our seats, sat down and waited…and waited and the flight was so delayed it never actually took off until 10am! Yes three hours on a fucking domestic flight sat on a runway in Glasgow.
I thought I was going to take the pilot hostage and start killing the women and children first. Ashley…meanwhile, who HATES mornings, had turned into Myra Hydley/Ted Bundy/cloven hoofed spawn of the devil. She snapped and bitched, the crew had NO drinks on board, so I argued and argued until they let me off the plane that was NEVER going to move for 3 whole hours to go get some cold drinks.
The good news is, I spotted Gary who used to be a producer of comedy for BBC and now works for Endemol, sitting up the back. I went up to see him and after three minutes telling him what I am up to and stuff Ashley and I pitched our sketch show right there on the plane in front of a bunch of strangers, ok bored strangers. Gary responded well to our idea and we have a meeting arranged for next week! Never an opportunity wasted with eth Godley /Storrie girls.
We eventually got moving and soon London was near!
Finally after 5 hours of travel/non travel, we were back in the city of Westminster, back to the most luxurious flat for a Scottish girl this side of Sheena Easton!
I have to say, stepping into that under floor heated en suite marble bathroom was divine.
I love this place and have decided this is how I should live forever.
The stress was not over…not be a long chalk!
Part two tomorrow or later on as this is posted a day late.

Photo Shoot and TV…

I had to get up early and get dressed, suited and lipsticked all ready for the STV recording for the Hogmanay Show. I was to comment on various Scottish news headlines that occurred in 2005.

The venue was Hampden Football Park, I was almost late and panicked slightly, but they got me straight in and quickly seated in front of the camera.

I was quietly horrified because just as I had got ready to leave the car; I spotted this bushy black mouser on my top lip, HOLY FUCK!
My brother wasn’t actually joking when he ribbed me about having a moustache when I had visited him last Saturday.

The camera man asked me was I ready and I blurted out “Excuse me can you see my moustache on camera, honestly I saw it moments ago in the car and I am so paranoid!”
“No you can’t see it Janey” he laughed.( I would have preferred him to say it wasn’t actually there!)

I was totally sweating beneath the strong lights with the football museum displays behind me, I spotted an ancient picture on the wall behind the interviewer and it was one of those football legends from the 1920’s and he was sporting a full handlebar job and I slowly thought “That’s what I am growing, a fuck off Lee Van Cleef job”

The interview went well, I managed to be funny on demand (well I hope it was funny, they laughed…maybe at my moustache come to think of it).

If that wasn’t a bad enough experience, the camera man for the Glasgow Herald turned up immediately after the filming (no time to run to shop, buy cheap razor and shave in a toilet).
I quickly asked my husband if he could see my moustache and he looked very closely and said
“It’s not a proper moustache, when did you start growing that?”

His face was all distorted and disgusted, like he had just seen it for the first time and now wanted a divorce from the strange man/woman he was married to.

I was having photos taken for the article that is going in the Glasgow Herald piece that is running next Tuesday regarding my prison comedy and how other comics have worked in prisons.

The photographer had me in a pair of handcuffs that I supplied (they were remnants of the gun and explosives haul at my father in laws house in 1994, the police missed the cuffs!)

Anyway before long he had me driven up to Barlinnie High Security Prison for more pictures. So there I was in the freezing cold, in a pair of handcuffs with a scary prison in the background, smiling as my moustache trailed in the cold wind, like bicycle streamers flapping from under my red drippy nose….cant wait to see the pictures!

Today was filled with me getting packed and ready to go to London, I cannot believe the amount of stuff I have to take, I am nervous as Ashley and I go straight from the flight and straight into an interview with the Sunday Times. We are the Relative Value subjects.

So finally here is the good news…

My book is being reprinted

As it has actually sold out and there is now a waiting list for it!
I am so chuffed like you cannot believe! What a lovely Christmas gift for me…maybe I can afford wax strips for my bushy tash?

Happy Christmas, from Janey Godley

Dentists and Journal

Dentists and Journalists….
I was at the dentists this morning, he seemed pleased to see me and always laughs as I come in and then pin myself to a wall and scream!
I pretend to be scared but honestly I really am, but as you hit 40, you really have to stop being silly.
He is taking out the black amalgam fillings at the back, creating two crowns, fitting six veneers and whitening the bottom teeth. A big fucking job, I think it may be cheaper if I just paint tipex on my yellowed old choppers.
The drilling went of for hours, I am sure he eventually reached my eye socket when he stopped. I managed to swear loudly even with my mouth fully dilated.
I left the dentists and staggered home all floppy mouthed and numb when my mobile rang, it was a journalist asking me to talk about the day John Lennon died for a feature she is doing. I could hardly talk and I think I said stuff about me burning a Christmas cake as the news hit my wee newly wed kitchen back in 1980….it wasn’t till later I re thought what I had told her and blushed a bit…A fucking Christmas cake? John Lennon dies and I fail to bake?? What the fuck was going through my head? Probably a drill had penetrated it and gave me frontal lobotomy.
I am off tomorrow to do a piece to camera for STV regarding the countdown for the year on the Hogmanay show; I am hoping my brain is ok for the job.
I have finally compiled a list for all the stuff I need to take to London, scripts for the sketch show Ashley and I have written, the film synopsis I have written with a mate, DVD’s of the play and comedy and the mini discs of the shows I have done before. I am trying to be organised.
I have so much to do…best fuck off and do it then!

Glenochil Prison Gig

Glenochil Prison Gig!

What a day! I had to meet up with a journalist to discuss the article they are writing concerning me performing comedy for the lifers at Glenochil prison tonight.

But first I had to dash to the docs to show him a new wee lump on my breast, turns out its just a wee cyst and I need to get a new mammogram thingy…whoopee… lucky fucking me…lets get my tits squashed and flattened…my favourite.

I then have been booked for the Malcolm Hardee tribute gig in London in February at the Hammersmith theatre, on a huge fuck off star studded bill. I had to move a gig to accommodate it, but I did like Malcolm as he took me to Glastonbury and gave me a gig and had faith in me.

I still have problems with the Cochrane theatre which seems to have no record of me on their ticket selling website…not good!

Anyway the journo asked me how I felt performing comedy for rapists and murderers, I said “Well, I do a lot of gigs, how do I not know that rapists and killers are sitting in any audience, maybe they have not been caught yet?”

“Fair point” he answered.

“And, to be honest, they are in prison serving time for their crime and deserve to be treated with dignity” I added.

“Are you not scared?” He asked me.

“No, I am from the Calton” I smiled.

Getting to the prison was a fucking trauma, all dark and horrid but we got there eventually.
The hall was all set up for the gig as they took me through a whole series of big security doors, with the obligatory barred sliding door.

The guys all came in and sat quietly until the prison guard announced me.

It immediately struck me that they were all wearing either green or red tops and they cheered as I came on. I still don’t know what the colours mean.
I stood on the wee wooden box they called a stage and looked around the room, there seemed to be more prison guards and police than convicts.

I opened with “People worried about me coming here tonight, they were scared you would attack me, but I know you guys wont hurt me when you have all these coppers to beat up…I mean I have never pissed in your tea!”

They all cheered and we had great fun. I kept going into areas of comedy which I clearly hadn’t though about…for instance
“Do you like travelling? No…fuck I forgot, you are in here for while…ok let me tell you about my travels then!”

I then did material about how I want to go on TV show ‘Dragons Den’ where millionaires sit in a room with 150 grand in front of them and decide which entrepreneur will be funded.

I said I want to go in there, pull out a gun and shout “Right the fucking lot of you, money in the bag, NOW or I will fucking blast your face off” as soon as I had said that I added “Sorry if that was a wee flash back from your actual crime!” and they all just laughed their asses off!

I did some stuff about sex and pain and asked the inevitable question “Anyone here into sex and pain? Or is that a silly question coz you all already jam each others cocks in cell doors? Do you all do that fisting thing in between basket making and painting by numbers?”

I am telling you these guys and I laughed like fuck, they knew I kept going into slightly inappropriate subject matter and I ended up giggling and squirming trying to get out of that situation and they were egging me on to say more!

I asked them if they had any questions and quickly said “But not asking me on a date as that’s fucked, I will sitting in some fucked up smelly café for 15 years waiting on you turning up”

They all cheered at the end of the show, I was bemused as I recognised at least three faces in that crowd. As I was leaving one big guy looked me right in the eye and said, “Hey, you were funny, I laughed when you used to be Janey Storrie as well, good work!”

He did know me, and he had just used my married name which I changed legally to Godley 10 years ago.

So I am home and safe, it was good experience and would love to go back and do it again. Check this Wednesday’s Glasgow Herald, that when the article goes in.

Thoughts Shared

Thoughts Shared…

I was thinking today about the woman I met the other night at the Stop the War gig I performed at. Rose Gentle was the mother who was there to talk about the movement of Families against the war.

Rose is just an ordinary Glasgow woman but with an extraordinary mission. We sat at the same table as I was about to go on stage and she chatted away to me about just regular stuff. Her son Gordon joined the army at age 19, he got around thirty four weeks training and was promptly sent to Iraq where he died within weeks of being there.

She told me “Gordon had joined the Army 6 months before his death. He signed up for the army when he went to sign on for his benefits.He was a classical economic conscript.If he had access to a half decent job, then he and many other young soldiers like him, including another 5 from our local community, would not have considered joining the army. We now know that Gordon’s life could have been saved if the MOD had provided his regiment with the proper equipment. 2 hours after Gordon’s death, all RHF vehicles were fitted with a piece of equipment called the Bolterman (electronic jamming device).The Bolterman is designed to jam the remote signal that is used to detonate roadside bombs. The RHF were the only British battalion in Iraq that did not have the Bolterman fitted to their vehicles. The Bolterman units were sitting on a shelf in an MOD storeroom!”

I was horrified to hear this. I asked how she felt when people posed the question of ‘well he did wear the uniform, he was solider, and soldiers do die in combat’
She composed herself, put out a cigarette and spoke with conviction “Janey, if my son had died trying to stop the weapons of mass destruction from coming over here and killing us, I would have been sad and proud. The fact is, there were NO weapons of mass destruction, my son died for a lie, he died for oil and that’s a fact. There is Iraqi people dying on the streets, there are children being maimed and bombed for a myth. Those innocents don’t deserve to die like that, this is not a war, this is a propaganda machine. I was proud of my son trying to defend his country but I will not support a lie, they need to bring the troops home and stop defending their pretend war”
She told me she was labeled a thorn in Tony Blair’s side and added she wouldn’t rest until she was a thorn in his throat. That made me smile.
This woman, who married, grew up in Glasgow, who once was a cleaner at my daughters school, who worked hard to raise her kids, buy Christmas presents, went holidays was now standing up and facing our elected Prime Minster and all of that executed with ease.
I watched her speaking to the gathered crowd; she was clear, concise and succinct about her subject matter, never once letting the emotion betray her voice, never once nervously mumbling her words.
She was more believable as a public speaker than Tony Blair, I wanted to rally round this woman and fight her cause, and I was roused to the core!
I could only admire her gusto, I have a nineteen year old daughter, I have no idea how I could ever speak again if she were dead. I do know that Rose Gentle is a wee regular Glasgow wifie who will never be far from Tony Blair’s mind.
He will never meet her and avoids her gaze as she stands outside Downing street with placards and as she relentlessly campaigns for the rights of those soldiers in Iraq and to keep the memory alive of Gordon Gentle, a boy who died in a country his mammy never even knew existed till he lay dead on their dirt side roads.
Good on you Rose, take some of that Glasgow grit and make it stick on Blair’s lying face as he defends the decision for those soldiers to spend another year in country where no one knows who the real enemies are, Rose Gentle knows…apparently his name is Tony.

www.justice4gordongentle.org

My Home town

My Home town…
I like going back to Shettleston, I love getting to see my brother, David, he is two years older than me, and easiest the funniest man in the world.

We met in a small local bar full of wee old men and football fans of all ages. David kept teasing me saying I had a full moustache going on, I was horrified and decided I need to slip into the toilet just to quickly check I hadn’t turned into Hitler in the short time I had left home.

I giggled and decided to pull out my wee black eyeliner and drew a big curly moustache under my nose that curled up round my cheeks, it was really comical looking in the mirror in the loo.

I then slammed open the toilet door that led into the bar, I threw my arms open and shouted “YMCA” as I pointed to my funny face.

My brother wasn’t there, but his teenage son was, the poor boy just stared at me, the locals displayed faces of concern and my big nephew just looked at me as if to say “My auntie draws on her own face”.

Just then David came out of the gent’s loo and laughed his ass off and then when I told him I came out with a big entrance and he wasn’t there we pissed ourselves laughing. You had to be there I know…but funny as fuck.

He makes me laugh like no one else, I wish he did comedy, he would be a star!

I got a cab home and watched Shettleston fade behind me, the streets I grew up in, the church I got married in, the bar I met my husband in, the place my mammy met her murderer….My home town.

New Photo Link

New Photo Link…
Hi All, here is some updated information regarding ‘My Photo Gallery’.
I have a new photo gallery which can be accessed through ‘My links’, ‘External links’ or ‘favourite’s links’ depending on the format of the blog site that you are viewing.

If none of those options are available, you can click on the link below.

http://uk.photos.yahoo.com/janeygodley/
I love sharing my photos with you, comments are welcome as always and normal blog will resume later.
I am off to Shettleston (my old home ground) and no doubt I will have a tale or two to tell!

Panic and stress

Panic and stress…

I had a lovely time today; I went to the Community Awards down in Whiteinch. The people and drug support workers down there have been great at supporting me develop my play ‘Smack-the Point of Yes’.

I performed there in the community halls a few times and really enjoyed it and have put the play on also for charity.
I watched all the people who contribute to their community get awards and was heartening to see, there was one woman who had worked with the kids for over forty years! That is some going.
They gave me a special mention and I was very overwhelmed, it was amazing, I feel they have helped and supported me more than anything I have done for them to be honest.

Later on I went out shopping with Ashley and we meandered through the throng of mental Christmas shoppers, it was quite stressful but we carried on casually. I was in a shop looking at trousers and trying to find my size when my phone went.
It was a call to say that a journalist had called the theatre that I am gigging at in London and they insisted that my gig was not the 20th of December but the 21st.

My heart missed a beat and sweat trickled down my back as Christmas shoppers were now bashing into me in the rush to get the perfect set of holiday novelty sox. I panicked and explained that it was definitely the 20th as I am not even in London on the 21st!

I could hardly breathe….NO NO; I can’t even begin to cope with this if there has been a date change I didn’t know. I have loads of industry people and friends coming along on the 20th of December and the press releases have gone out! I now wanted to stick a fork in the skull of every screaming baby in that store….fuck when ‘The snow man brings the snow’ I want to scream.

I quickly called home and got the contract pulled up in the email for me to check and sure enough it is the 20th of December, what is the theatre thinking of giving a journalist the fucking wrong date?

I called the theatre myself and they assured me it was just a wrong date in the system and the press will be informed that it is the 20th. Panic over, but I was still incredibly stressed to the point of vomiting.
Ashley and I made it home.
I went straight to bed and tried to sleep off the worry as I had a gig tonight.

By this time it was 7pm, but I wasn’t needed until 10pm, and the gig was local. My heart was thudding in my chest as I lay in the dark. I don’t normally get so stressed but this week has been a bit full on. I lay there thinking I was going to have a stroke…what the fuck is wrong with me? It’s all sorted!

So, I finally got up out bed and fixed me make up grabbed a sausage roll and headed for the underground to take me up to Byres road. On the tube, I munched at my wee snack, just as I was about to swallow, my throat felt tight and I couldn’t get the pastry down. The tube trundled and plunged through the dark tunnel….my heart started to beat faster, I was starting to choke and for the longest time I couldn’t swallow that fucking sausage roll. The tube screeched and the piercing sound hurt the back of my eyes, I felt claustrophobic for a few seconds and thought I was having a panic attack….I wouldn’t know as I have never had one before….but this feeling was escalating and for a brief second I thought I was going to jump up and get off at the next stop.

I managed to swallow, I breathed slowly and was fine…it was over.

What had just happened? Was it stress?
I went to the gig, watched the acts and went on and actually had a fine gig despite the circumstances.
Maybe I am going to have a stroke. When did I stop coping well in life?
What is wrong with me?

I will feel better, I will stop letting everything get to me.
I have coped all my life with issues, I am no stranger to dealing with shit and I will get better at it…maybe I am just old!

And maybe I will do it without eating my hair.

Good Gigs and Good People…

I had a good night performing for Shawhead Nursery, all the money went straight to the kids Christmas presents. It wasn’t a Cherie Blair charity gig either; expenses were paid by me, I hate when people say they do charity and then charge rail fare and taxi’s etc… They are good people up at Shawhead and they really do care for their local school and nursery.

We drove straight from there to JoJo Sutherland’s gig in South Queensferry, what an amazing wee picturesque place! The beautiful big Forth Rail Bridge as a backdrop to the lovely wee harbour village was just eye popping.

JoJo Sutherland is such a good female comic, she really has come on leaps and bounds, mind you she worked extensively with the likes of Susan Morrison, one of Scotland’s brilliant stand up comics and you can only watch and learn from the likes of her. Scotland really has produced some great female comics; Susan is a good example of that.

The Christmas lights were up and twinkled over the Victorian buildings, it was so cute! Sometimes I wish I lived in a small place instead of a big heaving city. I do love the city though.

I love being able to walk outside my front door and be in the heart of the city centre in five minutes! I have the whole of Glasgow to walk around, access to all the museums, shops, galleries and best restaurants on my door step.
When we live in London it is right behind Westminster Abbey, an awesome beautiful building with a swimming pool down stairs and the Thames at the bottom of the back garden. I am so very very lucky.

I am so looking forward to doing my stint on the Ned Sherrin show on Radio 4; he is a truly wonderful man who makes broadcasting look so easy. What a consummate professional he is, being in that studio with him watching him interview, gives me the optimum opportunity to learn from the best.

Life goes on…I need to get some Christmas shopping done. Talk tomorrow.

News update…

Thanks to all who are still buying my book ‘Handstands in the Dark’, I love it when people meet me and give me their opinion on it!

I know many of you have been voting and I SO pleased, thanks.

If you still want a chance to vote for my book. Here are the details.

It’s ‘Best New Book’ this year on Radio 4 Open Book show.

If you feel like voting for me and have read my book Handstands in the Dark then feel free to do so, I would be chuffed!
PLEASE don’t write in as an obligation, just if you have read the book and feel you would like to vote. I am drawing attention not scamming for votes!

In the form you put your name email address and then write in the comments bit....

Handstands in the Dark by Janey Godley and then write what you thought of the book if you want to.
Here is the link, if it doesn’t open, just copy paste it into your browser.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/openbook/openbook_form.shtml

Thanks normal blog will resume tonight if I get back from doing a double gig and I don’t die on the busy roads.

Stop The War Gig…

Had good fun tonight doing the charity gig for the Stop the War gig. There was an amazing poet on called Tom Leonard; his poetry was so sharp and brilliant. I laughed my ass of at him.

Nice people and it was a worthy cause as far as I am concerned.

I am still negotiating the trip to NZ comedy festival. It takes place in Auckland and Wellington; hopefully it will all fall into place. I do love NZ, the scenery is just breathtaking.

I am over the moon as my BAFTA DVD’s have arrived, it means I get to see all the latest movies to view and judge for BAFTA awards, in the comfort of my own home and on the special DVD player that they send you from USA!
I viewed my first film called ‘North Country’. It was really good movie starring Charlize Theron, Frances McDormand and Sean Bean. The plot revolves around the sexual harassment case of the female miner in the 1980’s in USA. I enjoyed it.

Had a weird set of comments on my blog about me handing the cash back to the police (see previous blog entry). I understand that people consider me naïve, but I believe in Karma. I don’t want someone else’s cash and if the police steal it, then so be it…I didn’t!

I have been quite stressed lately for no good reason other than trying to organise everything. I have been in meetings all week making sure the tour for the play is in place, the workshops I am doing next year, my big theatre gig in London coming up and am planning next years Edinburgh Fringe as we speak.

I have been chewing my hair again, which is a bad sign and have taken to pulling bits out…I did this as a child when I was being sexually abused and that strange habit has never quite left me, I hate to admit.

I have a big gig coming up in Glenochil prison to loads of long term lifers. They only can seat 100 but 150 have requested to attend, so it may be a bit of a squash!
I can safely say that this is the gig where they may ‘Kill for a Ticket!’

Some of my mates are horrified and worry for my safety , but I have performed my play to lifers before and they were really nice to me…maybe not so nice to the people they killed…but who am I to judge?
I am there to make them laugh and maybe for the first time EVER I actually may look like a sex symbol!

The Policeman is an ASS!

I have a reason for that statement. Last week I played a gig at The Stand comedy Club Glasgow. Three things happened that were amazingly good and lead me onto this story.

Firstly, after the gig a TV producer asked me to audition for a movie as they were looking a good mouthy Scottish person!

Secondly a lovely woman emailed my manager and booked me for a corporate gig in February.

Thirdly, I found a wad of cash on the bar floor of the club!

I announced to the audience that I had found a substantial amount of money and to please check their purses and wallets, as it was a specific amount they could go to the bar and claim their lost money.
I did also point out that going to the bar and guessing “Was it ten pounds? Was it twenty pounds?” was not a good idea!

The upshot was NOBODY claimed the cash! I know… how strange?
I do suspect however, that as I was on first and about ten people left as soon as I came off (they only came to see me apparently!) maybe one of those people lost the money but did not really take my announcement seriously and just went off into the cold night.

The bar manager told me to hold onto the cash for a week then take it to the police office, as I found it…it was therefore my responsibility to take it and deal with it.

So today I marched up to a police office in the city. The main desk is situated in an open reception type set up. As I was about to be seen to, three skinny Glaswegians wearing white sports wear, but looked unlikely to be the people who actually take part in any form of track sports, stood behind me muttering to themselves. They smelled of methadone and cheap cider (I know the scent of both, I have a great nose), they managed to swear in the middle of words that made me laugh and reminded me of my mammy who was adept at the very same thing.
I could hear the black greasy haired one say-
“Its unbe-fucking- lievably cunty-fucking-ing cold out there”

I waited for the small skinny policeman, to approach me as I listened in to the conversation behind me.
I explained to the policeman who had a funny hissing speech impediment that I had found some cash. This quickly alerted the sweary methadone boys behind me to listen closer…they hushed and whispered to each other as I spoke.

The strange wee policeman asked me loudly “Where and when did you find the money, and then tell me how much and what notes they are in”

I looked at him with disbelief and replied “No, can I write it down?”
He stared at me, hissed a bit and said “It has to be my handwriting on the form actually, so tell me the details please?”

“Well to be honest there are people here who could hear me then pretend to be the people who have lost the cash and claim it, as they would now have all the details needed to prove they lost it…it is just me or are you the policeman from the kids show Balamory?” I snapped at him.

At this, the shell suited needs barked behind me “Excuse me missus, we urny here tae steal yir money, ya cheeky old cow”

The stupid desk policeman smirked and added with an air of authority “Well I would know it was them as I know who they are”

At this I laughed and said “Yes of course stupid me, and they wont have the brains to tell SOMEONE else to come in and claim this wad of cash…are you a special needs policeman?”

The copper went red, got angry, the Neds started swearing at me and I added “look, can you get me someone else to deal with this situation in confidence…maybe a real policeman?”

The young speech impedimented police type man spoke loudly with indignation “I think you should stop being abusive, I am trying to deal with this”
I looked him right in the eyes and spoke “I know someone who murdered someone, can you get me a detective now?”
He disappeared into the back office. The methadone mob called me a cheeky fat cow. I turned to face them and spoke “I am sorry I don’t understand poor” and faced the desk again.
An older detective came out and ushered me into the side room off the main reception.

“Ok what is going on here, you seem to have upset the desk officer” he said as he sat down in the beige brightly lit interview room.

“Listen I don’t know anyone who killed anyone, I am here to hand in money I found and PC Plum out there is insisting I give the details of the find out loudly in front of the ‘junkies in acrylic gang’, now I want this money to go to the rightful owner, not some fuckwit who
overheard how to claim it…is that wee guy with the funny hissing voice really a policeman?”

The older man laughed and quickly took down the details and gave me a receipt. Job done.

This whole episode reminded me of a situation ten years ago.
My husband had witnessed a young man being beaten half to death at cash point near our home by a couple of skanky bastards and became a vital witness in the case. The young boy was a local student innocently taking some cash and he was now in a coma.

We had to attend a meeting at the Pitt Street police office the next week and as we gathered in the main reception, I quickly realised that the two men beside me were actually the attacker’s family, as they were talking about him and openly wondered who the witnesses were and who the victim’s family were!

My husband was parking the car at this point when a young police woman came out and said “regarding the case of Justin McClellan” and then shouted my husband’s name, giving out OUR address and asking him to come forward, all this in front of the attackers family!

I stepped forward and quickly shut her up and demanded to speak to the most superior person in that building. After a short fuss, I was taken upstairs to big room, where I explained what had just happened.
It was a fucking atrocious thing to do, I am not scared of the would be student killers, but our child lived there and all it would take is for one of those cunts to figure out who she was and attack her on her way to school, THEY HAD OUR FAMILY NAME!

Apologies were spouted, I was still livid and demanded to know why they never bothered to use any kind of intelligence to figure who may be in that waiting area… They explained they didn’t know other people concerning the case were in the public area…this is why people DON’T come forward when the police need witnesses…suffice to say husband was unperturbed, he never did have to give evidence as the guy pled guilty.

I know there are many good policemen out there…but I seem to only know the stupid ones.

Why am I awake at 4am?...

I have no idea what is going on with me…I mean travelling from Manchester will not give anyone fucking jetlag will it?
Yet I cannot sleep, and really I should as I have an early meeting in the morning about the play going on tour.

Yet here I sit and stare at the PC wondering what to write.
I like daybreak and so I may sit and wait for it.

When Ashley was a tiny baby she used to wake up at 6am for her first feed, it was spring time and there was something infinitely magical about that time in the morning.

It was just me, her and the cat all sitting at my kitchen table at the old window in the East end watching the sky change over the roof tops and tenements.
The Glasgow Green across from my flat was in full bloom.

The daffodils were all open and greedy for light, like a bunch of yellow topped football hooligans vying for the best spot to see a goal.

I always think of my mum when I see daffodils, because she died in April and four years later Ashley was born in April. Ashley made me forget April was sad and made me look forward to it again.

I loved those moments, even when they were happening I knew I would remember them when I needed to. We lived above the bar we owned and I returned to work two days after her birth and my husband and I just shared the chores, one parent took the baby and one took the pub, we swapped a baby across the counter for a pint glass and just got on with the job in hand.

Because of this I never seemed to get her on my own, there was always a customer or a brother in law or a husband or….something to be there between us in our busy life. I cherished those early morning sunny times, when she lay cradled in my arm and sucked on a bottle and would occasionally smile, doing so the milk would run from her fat cheeks and down her bib, she would even giggle when she tiny, you could feel her wee body gurgle in your arms as she spouted warm baby milk…I thought my heart would burst watching this wee child laugh as she watched me intently, like she knew something funny was going on but kept the joke to herself.

Thinking about that I still can’t fully understand how people can love more than one child the way I love her…how do they do that? I am sure they do it well, because I am the youngest of four kids and I was much loved and knew it.

Maybe I am hormonal? Maybe I need another baby before my womb becomes as dangerous as a cluster bomb and transforms me into the old woman who smells of piss and carries a cat, dressed in a mohair jumper that travels in my duffel coat hood?

Maybe I need to sleep…I will go, but first I go look into my daughters room that resembles the squat in Trainspotting and look at her sleeping, she still puts her palms together and rests her cheeks on them and sleeps like a wee angel…well an angel who is very messy and likes the room to have that ‘Beirut’ look about it. How on earth does she find clothes amongst that heap of tangled shit on the floor?
Maybe I can go in there as she sleeps and hang up everything on coat hangers…or maybe I should go sleep????

Hitchcock’s Birds…

The journey home was fine, snow drifted into the windscreen as we drove out of Manchester, but the roads were not bad. I stuck in my IPOD and could hear husband in the far far distance of my peripheral hearing mutter on about something…it may have been important but fuck it…Herbie Hancock was making magic music and I was listening to him instead.

Every now and then I would yank out one headphone and catch a small bit of his chatter and at one point in between Boz Scaggs and John Mellencamp I heard him say to me
“So that’s why I never eat pineapples and am glad I don’t have ovaries”
I looked at him in profile as he never takes his eyes off the road and therefore doesn’t know I am not listening to him and I secretly wondered what the FUCK that conversation had been about!
Ovaries and pineapples?
So I went back into Tom Robinson sing acoustic ‘War Baby’ which is so good….pure music!

We stopped off at a service station near Glasgow. We parked in the car park outside the restaurant and as soon as I opened my passenger door I almost stepped on a wee robin red breast bird that was fighting amongst the fat shiny ducks that were waiting outside my door for FOOD!

The birds are now so used to being fed by humans that they literally WAIT for people to come out of their cars and squabble around your feet fighting for tit bits!
There were big scary inky dark eyes blackbirds, fat green and blue shimmering ducks and angry wee pecky robins.
I screamed…it was like Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds!’…Honestly to watch a wee bouncing red red robin peck a duck as it fights to get near your ankles is quite frankly fucking horrifying!
I threw a Jaffa cake at the angry avian mob and ran into the service station to get away from them.
Life is weird from men who slice their cocks (I am never going to get over that?).

Slicing a Penis

Had the pleasure of headlining Billy Bonkers gig last night, I have to say his improv troupe is truly genius…Rock on State Bar! Billy is just the best; he has been running gigs in Glasgow for over ten years and was the guy who gave me my first ever gig! I love performing his wee gig. There was a woman there who had actually seen me in Edinburgh Fringe 2003 she lives in Oxford and was up visiting her daughter at Uni, anyway she swung by to watch the gig and we had fun catching up….can you believe she remembered me from Fringe 2003? Cool!

The night she came to see me two years ago, she brought her son Harry who was only eight at the time to the gig…we had such fun and we got Harry onstage that night to tell a joke…the wee man also revealed on that fateful night that he had once tried on his big sisters bra for a laugh in front of his wee mates! His parents were horrified. Harry I miss you if you are out there! Hope the bra thing has worn off.

So tonight I am in Manchester.

I am in the most glamorous hotel in Manchester, it’s the Radisson Edwardian. I am in a ‘suite’; there is a balcony (great for the UK this time of year) and the room is just divine. Thanks to a lovely bloke called Neil, he is a STAR! (He organized my hotel for me and I am well impressed) I may have to marry him, which is a shame for him really…coz he hasn’t actually asked me and that maybe a wee shock for him!
The gig at Laughing Cows was really good, the other females on the bill were just spot on. I suppose I was shocked when I asked the audience if anyone there liked sex and pain as I don’t really understand it and OH YES a man told us all how he cut his penis in half (down the shaft…he was explicit) as he liked sex and cutting…????

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHY?”

He merely smiled and said “It makes your cock desensitised and you can have sex for hours” was his answer.

The audience of mainly lesbian women went deathly quiet and stared at him.

“Well I think if you were going to cut your cock to bits, you should have done it here live on stage as 200 lesbians would have fucking cheered like K.D Lang had just flashed her minge, and excuse me but wanting to last longer at SEX is a good enough reason to slice your cock? Fucking hell dude what’s up with thinking about your mother like everyone else?”

The crowd liked that last bit and then I added ‘You really sliced it to last longer at sex? Isn’t that what dildos are for? You are frightening me!”

I can hardly believe that…I hate sex and pain, if my husband doesn’t take the weight on his elbows I piss in his tea.

This week is a big week for meetings, I am currently organising a ten date tour for my play and negotiating my return trip to New Zealand Comedy Festival in May 2006 with my comedy show. I hate the organising thing, just let me get up onstage and leave the details to others.

By the way if anyone out there can teach me or guide me into PODCASTING please do as I am really desperate to try it!