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.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
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????
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????
Monday, November 28, 2005
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?).
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!
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!
Saturday, November 26, 2005
The Aristocrats
My mate Paul Provenza who created the cult hit movie The Aristocrats sent me this tee shirt from L.A this morning, here is my baby neice abi wearing it.
Friday, November 25, 2005
I met George Best last Year…
It was a gig in Peterborough and the sun blistered the tarmac as the hot car drove through affluent English counties.
I wasn’t expecting to enjoy this gig at some anonymous country pub. I had suffered a terrible migraine the night before and was just recovering.
The lovely wee bar had tables and chairs outside.
Just as I was onstage introducing the acts, George Best walked in with a very young tall blonde girl. I smiled and carried on chatting to the audience.
As the first comic went on I sat outside and George came out also. I guessed he and the blonde wanted to chat and being in the middle of a comedy gig was not ideal.
He brought me into the conversation by asking me if I liked being a comic and then offered me drink.
“I love comedy but don’t drink thanks mate” I smiled at him.
In my head I wondered why intelligent sassy females fell for this habitually drunk man, what did they expect from life is they get involved with George Best?
I don’t mean I disliked him for any reason, but I just wondered why women were sucked into his life.
I hate alcohol and vowed never to be a drunk; I have an unhealthy dislike of booze, despite selling it for 15 years.
Anyway I sat there chatting with him and silently recalled how much I had a crush on him as a teenager, he was fucking beautiful in his day.
Soon he asked me again if I wanted a drink and I replied “No thanks mate”
“You don’t drink?” he asked me as he leaned over and twinkled those famous sexy eyes and for a brief moment my heart leaped a little.
‘Fucksake George keep that up and I will have you cradled between my ample bosoms and have to kiss you’ I thought to myself.
I have no idea why but suddenly I realised that he is strangely attractive and vulnerable and I briefly started to compromise all my thoughts and fears about men that drink too much!
“Are you an alcoholic?” he kept his intense gaze as he spoke.
“No, I can drink but I chose not to” I replied.
At this George leaned over put his two hands on the table brought his face nearer to me and whispered “You can drink but you chose not to? I wish I was you”.
I laughed and said “No you don’t I have a sore womb, and these boobs are trouble to carry around”
He laughed, took my hand and kissed me, right on the lips. I wasn’t expecting it and had offered my cheek but he got me and it took me slightly aback, and as I regained my composure and sat back in my chair and I realised I was still holding his hand and I blushed, let go and faked interest in the comedy show that was still going on through the big glass window.
There was a pushbike leaning against the bar door and George told me it belonged to the bar manager, the managers mate came out and offered me a go on the bike.
I jumped at the chance, and pedalled of at a speed I wasn’t used to, been years since I was on a bike, but I had just kissed George Best and was having a wee flush so I may as well expend that sexual energy and pedal quickly to hide my embarrassment.
I turned the bike too quick almost fell and sped back straight to George’s table and at the last minute braked….too sharply as the saddle almost went into my bum… it hurt but I couldn’t stop laughing that I was nearly anally penetrated in front of George Best…you have to admit that’s a statement you will never hear again!
We did laugh, he then told me some really dirty jokes and I asked him how it felt to be so very much in the public eye every time you meet a woman. We chatted and he was unbelievable honest with me and my wee journalistic brain started kicking in and I asked him quiet deep probing questions and he kept talking freely. We both discovered that both our mothers never drank until they were in their 30’s and both our mothers died alcoholics.
I liked him, he was honest and funny and incredibly sexy…I didn’t expect that.
I hope you are at peace George and thanks for the kiss, it made me feel I had scored!
I wasn’t expecting to enjoy this gig at some anonymous country pub. I had suffered a terrible migraine the night before and was just recovering.
The lovely wee bar had tables and chairs outside.
Just as I was onstage introducing the acts, George Best walked in with a very young tall blonde girl. I smiled and carried on chatting to the audience.
As the first comic went on I sat outside and George came out also. I guessed he and the blonde wanted to chat and being in the middle of a comedy gig was not ideal.
He brought me into the conversation by asking me if I liked being a comic and then offered me drink.
“I love comedy but don’t drink thanks mate” I smiled at him.
In my head I wondered why intelligent sassy females fell for this habitually drunk man, what did they expect from life is they get involved with George Best?
I don’t mean I disliked him for any reason, but I just wondered why women were sucked into his life.
I hate alcohol and vowed never to be a drunk; I have an unhealthy dislike of booze, despite selling it for 15 years.
Anyway I sat there chatting with him and silently recalled how much I had a crush on him as a teenager, he was fucking beautiful in his day.
Soon he asked me again if I wanted a drink and I replied “No thanks mate”
“You don’t drink?” he asked me as he leaned over and twinkled those famous sexy eyes and for a brief moment my heart leaped a little.
‘Fucksake George keep that up and I will have you cradled between my ample bosoms and have to kiss you’ I thought to myself.
I have no idea why but suddenly I realised that he is strangely attractive and vulnerable and I briefly started to compromise all my thoughts and fears about men that drink too much!
“Are you an alcoholic?” he kept his intense gaze as he spoke.
“No, I can drink but I chose not to” I replied.
At this George leaned over put his two hands on the table brought his face nearer to me and whispered “You can drink but you chose not to? I wish I was you”.
I laughed and said “No you don’t I have a sore womb, and these boobs are trouble to carry around”
He laughed, took my hand and kissed me, right on the lips. I wasn’t expecting it and had offered my cheek but he got me and it took me slightly aback, and as I regained my composure and sat back in my chair and I realised I was still holding his hand and I blushed, let go and faked interest in the comedy show that was still going on through the big glass window.
There was a pushbike leaning against the bar door and George told me it belonged to the bar manager, the managers mate came out and offered me a go on the bike.
I jumped at the chance, and pedalled of at a speed I wasn’t used to, been years since I was on a bike, but I had just kissed George Best and was having a wee flush so I may as well expend that sexual energy and pedal quickly to hide my embarrassment.
I turned the bike too quick almost fell and sped back straight to George’s table and at the last minute braked….too sharply as the saddle almost went into my bum… it hurt but I couldn’t stop laughing that I was nearly anally penetrated in front of George Best…you have to admit that’s a statement you will never hear again!
We did laugh, he then told me some really dirty jokes and I asked him how it felt to be so very much in the public eye every time you meet a woman. We chatted and he was unbelievable honest with me and my wee journalistic brain started kicking in and I asked him quiet deep probing questions and he kept talking freely. We both discovered that both our mothers never drank until they were in their 30’s and both our mothers died alcoholics.
I liked him, he was honest and funny and incredibly sexy…I didn’t expect that.
I hope you are at peace George and thanks for the kiss, it made me feel I had scored!
The Three Hour Comedy GIG…
I was called by Alan Anderson to fill in a 20 minute slot in his Gong show night. So I slowly got ready, wrapped up and we drove down to the gig at Bar Bluu.
The Gong show had to be cancelled as NO participants turned up to claim the £100 prize. I swiftly turned to husband and said “Do a gong show gig and win the £100”.
Husband “No”.
The decision was that the gong show should be thrown and I offered to do a one woman show instead for a free audience. I thought it might be a good idea, since it’s been years since I had an impromptu gig with no reviewers or press or promoters to please…just a fun time and see ‘what happens’ kind of gig.
I cannot begin to tell you how much fun it was I did THREE hours on that stage. The audience at first just sat there and didn’t know what really was going on and then they all just got into the groove of it all.
I can’t really tell you or describe the feeling but the whole thing just went awesome. I loved it, we all became one big bunch of people and as people walked in they immediately joined in and became ONE with the group. UNTIL a wee drunk life beaten couple came in, she was tiny, pissed and staggered about, he was mental and looked like he was just out of prison, with a strange killer twitch and completely drunk, turns out they both came from my childhood street in Shettleston!
Here is an example of the conversation we had.
Me (to wee woman) “Is this your first man or have you had one before him?
Wee woman- “This is my one and only man he is called Wullie, I have never had another”
Me (to wee woman as audience hold their breath) “Do you have kids?”
Wee woman-“Yes I have a son he is ten”
Me (as audience worry that small child may be tied to a lamppost with a fish supper)-“How long have you been with Wullie?”
Wee woman-“Eight years I have been with him, my one and only”
The audience at this point piss themselves as they realise her son is ten years old and surely some man impregnated her.
She told us all when questioned on this point that the father of her son doesn’t count as she can’t recall who he is and if she can’t remember him, then he doesn’t exist!
I cannot even begin to describe the fun we had with that couple, but I can tell you they got onstage and did some stand up. Put it this way, if Tracy Emin presented that performance to the Tate Gallery she would have won £20 million lottery fund to capture it and display it regularly. It was a strange concoction of ‘pure ART and existential thinking’ that the audience and I sat with mouths agape, I think that audience and I bonded in a way that can never ever be repeated and we may meet up every second Tuesday to hug each other and relive the moment.
The gig went on for three hours all in, the audience asked me a host of mental questions which I encouraged, they joined in, they laughed, they added punchlines and they made me the happiest woman to be a comic ever.
I love my job, nights like that make it worth it.
If you are reading this and you were a member of that audience-thank you for making me remember why I am me.
The Gong show had to be cancelled as NO participants turned up to claim the £100 prize. I swiftly turned to husband and said “Do a gong show gig and win the £100”.
Husband “No”.
The decision was that the gong show should be thrown and I offered to do a one woman show instead for a free audience. I thought it might be a good idea, since it’s been years since I had an impromptu gig with no reviewers or press or promoters to please…just a fun time and see ‘what happens’ kind of gig.
I cannot begin to tell you how much fun it was I did THREE hours on that stage. The audience at first just sat there and didn’t know what really was going on and then they all just got into the groove of it all.
I can’t really tell you or describe the feeling but the whole thing just went awesome. I loved it, we all became one big bunch of people and as people walked in they immediately joined in and became ONE with the group. UNTIL a wee drunk life beaten couple came in, she was tiny, pissed and staggered about, he was mental and looked like he was just out of prison, with a strange killer twitch and completely drunk, turns out they both came from my childhood street in Shettleston!
Here is an example of the conversation we had.
Me (to wee woman) “Is this your first man or have you had one before him?
Wee woman- “This is my one and only man he is called Wullie, I have never had another”
Me (to wee woman as audience hold their breath) “Do you have kids?”
Wee woman-“Yes I have a son he is ten”
Me (as audience worry that small child may be tied to a lamppost with a fish supper)-“How long have you been with Wullie?”
Wee woman-“Eight years I have been with him, my one and only”
The audience at this point piss themselves as they realise her son is ten years old and surely some man impregnated her.
She told us all when questioned on this point that the father of her son doesn’t count as she can’t recall who he is and if she can’t remember him, then he doesn’t exist!
I cannot even begin to describe the fun we had with that couple, but I can tell you they got onstage and did some stand up. Put it this way, if Tracy Emin presented that performance to the Tate Gallery she would have won £20 million lottery fund to capture it and display it regularly. It was a strange concoction of ‘pure ART and existential thinking’ that the audience and I sat with mouths agape, I think that audience and I bonded in a way that can never ever be repeated and we may meet up every second Tuesday to hug each other and relive the moment.
The gig went on for three hours all in, the audience asked me a host of mental questions which I encouraged, they joined in, they laughed, they added punchlines and they made me the happiest woman to be a comic ever.
I love my job, nights like that make it worth it.
If you are reading this and you were a member of that audience-thank you for making me remember why I am me.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Busy City Shoppers…
I am exhausted, all I did was go into town and get some thermal underwear and a wee bit of make up in Boots. By the way I have lost 14 pounds in weight!
That’s a stone…don’t ask me how much that is in kilo’s as I don’t know. Drug dealers also have not converted to metric…I wonder if the police would have a problem with that?
Anyway I have lost weight, isn’t that good? I knew I had to as one night after a Jongleurs gig in Manchester, I was sitting in some anonymous hotel eating my third Marks and Spencer’s Creamy trifle at 4am and wondered why the next day my tummy hurt on the journey home. The next week I silently wondered why my slinky thongs were cutting my fat ass like cheese wire…then my brain connected the fact that five creamy trifles in one day would turn my clothes into evil cutting devices.
So I have been living in the world of fresh fish, lentils, whole brown rice and fresh fruit blended shakes and lo and behold I am thinner!
I was just watching TV and am bewildered at the advert for Cushion gel pads to stop high heels and party shoes from hurting your feet.
Ok here is a fucking newsflash…if your shoes are turning into tools of the devil and make you bleed, then take them off and go buy shoes that don’t silently eat your flesh, unless you are one of the strange people who wear clothes that cut you and you enjoy the pain….like priests or something or ME when I eat trifles and try to wear G strings!
The city centre is full of over wrapped up adults looking harassed dragging sweaty red faced children who scream at every toy they see and desperately want NOW. That alone should stop people from wanting procreate?
I am off to Manchester this weekend, got a lovely email from a fellow blogger called Neil and will be seeing him on Sunday. That will be cool!
Before Sunday though I will be in Lanark on Friday, I am looking forward to that as I have never done stand up in Lanark!
I must say Glasgow looks lovely in the dark afternoons with the Christmas lights illuminating up the streets. There is also a project in place this month in Glasgow. The project is called ‘Radiance Scotland the Festival of Light’. Glasgow’s remarkable range of buildings will be illuminated by animation and lights, projections, artworks and events throughout the whole city! I am so looking forward to seeing our architecture being put in the spotlight.
Come to my city and enjoy, but do wear shoes that fit
That’s a stone…don’t ask me how much that is in kilo’s as I don’t know. Drug dealers also have not converted to metric…I wonder if the police would have a problem with that?
Anyway I have lost weight, isn’t that good? I knew I had to as one night after a Jongleurs gig in Manchester, I was sitting in some anonymous hotel eating my third Marks and Spencer’s Creamy trifle at 4am and wondered why the next day my tummy hurt on the journey home. The next week I silently wondered why my slinky thongs were cutting my fat ass like cheese wire…then my brain connected the fact that five creamy trifles in one day would turn my clothes into evil cutting devices.
So I have been living in the world of fresh fish, lentils, whole brown rice and fresh fruit blended shakes and lo and behold I am thinner!
I was just watching TV and am bewildered at the advert for Cushion gel pads to stop high heels and party shoes from hurting your feet.
Ok here is a fucking newsflash…if your shoes are turning into tools of the devil and make you bleed, then take them off and go buy shoes that don’t silently eat your flesh, unless you are one of the strange people who wear clothes that cut you and you enjoy the pain….like priests or something or ME when I eat trifles and try to wear G strings!
The city centre is full of over wrapped up adults looking harassed dragging sweaty red faced children who scream at every toy they see and desperately want NOW. That alone should stop people from wanting procreate?
I am off to Manchester this weekend, got a lovely email from a fellow blogger called Neil and will be seeing him on Sunday. That will be cool!
Before Sunday though I will be in Lanark on Friday, I am looking forward to that as I have never done stand up in Lanark!
I must say Glasgow looks lovely in the dark afternoons with the Christmas lights illuminating up the streets. There is also a project in place this month in Glasgow. The project is called ‘Radiance Scotland the Festival of Light’. Glasgow’s remarkable range of buildings will be illuminated by animation and lights, projections, artworks and events throughout the whole city! I am so looking forward to seeing our architecture being put in the spotlight.
Come to my city and enjoy, but do wear shoes that fit
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Funny Women at the Stand…
Great night and loved the gig. I have never played there before…except one afternoon as part of the warm up for BBC Live Floor show. So it was nice to be there.
I had a strange day indeed, husband and I got up early and we drove Ashley to University through in Ayr, it’s a small seaside town on the west coast. It normally takes her an hour on the train but we all went through together this morning.
It was amazing….the sun was shining and the cold weather just complimented the bright frost. We went for a walk on the beach and I took some pics…..I will post tomorrow.
When we got home I fell asleep, I shouldn’t have as it was way too early, but I went straight into a deep comatose and started dreaming about my mum. She has been dead for 23 years. In the dream she was very much alive and chatting away to me.
I was shocked to see her and told her so and then she laughed loud in the dream and laughed with her and told her how much I missed her deep dirty laughed. At that point my sub conscious stalled and I was aware of my grief creeping in, I then tried to wake up as I was getting scared…most times my dreams descend into madness and fear.
I then tried to shout on husband but I couldn’t get my mouth to work and I panicked.
Luckily at that moment Ashley came into the room and hugged me, I felt overwhelmed with fear and grief and was so very glad she was there. I eventually woke up and had a pounding headache coupled with deep sense of weirdness of missing my mum and recalling her voice!
Then I went to the gig. That my life for one day. Sunshine and happiness then dead murdered mother and laughter.
I had a strange day indeed, husband and I got up early and we drove Ashley to University through in Ayr, it’s a small seaside town on the west coast. It normally takes her an hour on the train but we all went through together this morning.
It was amazing….the sun was shining and the cold weather just complimented the bright frost. We went for a walk on the beach and I took some pics…..I will post tomorrow.
When we got home I fell asleep, I shouldn’t have as it was way too early, but I went straight into a deep comatose and started dreaming about my mum. She has been dead for 23 years. In the dream she was very much alive and chatting away to me.
I was shocked to see her and told her so and then she laughed loud in the dream and laughed with her and told her how much I missed her deep dirty laughed. At that point my sub conscious stalled and I was aware of my grief creeping in, I then tried to wake up as I was getting scared…most times my dreams descend into madness and fear.
I then tried to shout on husband but I couldn’t get my mouth to work and I panicked.
Luckily at that moment Ashley came into the room and hugged me, I felt overwhelmed with fear and grief and was so very glad she was there. I eventually woke up and had a pounding headache coupled with deep sense of weirdness of missing my mum and recalling her voice!
Then I went to the gig. That my life for one day. Sunshine and happiness then dead murdered mother and laughter.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Sleepy and on the Radio….
I was on late night BBC Radio 5 Live last night discussing ‘cussing’ and swearing on the television. It was 11pm at night and up to the old BBC studios off Great Western Rd…not far from my home. I was all wrapped up with a big scarf, woolly hat and my flask of hot tea waiting on the street for my car to arrive. The streets were empty and frozen.
Before long I was ensconced into the wee basement studio, which was freezing, waiting on the studio giving me a sign they were there for me. The show went well, I was annoyed during the discussion as they talked about Gordon Ramsay, Billy Connolly and myself swearing in our job and I mentioned that ‘wee pukka Oliver’ also swears and therefore is it all right to swear as long its not in a Scottish Accent but delivered in ‘posh tones’.
The studio host took the comment on board, I must have done ok as this morning at 8am I was called by another BBC radio show in London to discuss swearing all over again (I must be the swearing officiando, surprising really as OFCOM accused me of saying CUNT live on C4, turns out it wasn’t me and I they apologised!).
Anyway the radio show called at 8am and asked me to be ready for 9pm and they would call my landline. I promptly fell back asleep and was woken at 9pm by a live studio link! I was half awake, I farted coughed and talked about swearing and was so confused and half asleep I almost swore!
Turns out they loved it and have asked me to do more, I think I talk intelligent when I am sleepy-awake I am shite!
So that was last night and this morning. I am excited as I have good news, my daughter and I will be featured on Sunday Times column Relative Values…I LOVE this column and have read it for nearly twenty years now!
The good news is that Ashley gets to come to London with us…I have been secretly wanting this, albeit she is only there for a few short days. I love being in London with her.
We spent last December in London together, I was performing my one woman show at Soho Theatre and Ashley and I stayed in a hotel for three weeks. We partied at the Groucho, we went shopping through Oxford Street, we watched the Christmas lights being switched on, and we snuggled up in our room, turning up the heater and lay listening to the radio, eating crisps in the dark and went dancing in late night clubs.
I will miss all this, she is my soul mate and I know my daughter shouldn’t be, I should leave her to grow and develop her own pals, but I miss her so much when I am away from her.
I remember the night we laughed our asses off at the Groucho, she got to meet Mark Lammar, he was lovely and drove us home that night, she got to dance in the streets of Soho and even got to sing and laugh with Lois Walsh (X-Factor Judge) as he passed Ashley and her spontaneous dancing gay men who joined the drunken chorus line she started.
Her highlight of the trip was the amazing Peter Kay who greeted her at Heathrow airport for me. I was waiting on her coming though the arrival gate and Peter and I chatted about comedy ( I gigged with him before he was hugely famous!) Peter asked after Ashley and when I explained she was just arriving he waited to see her.
She is still astounded he remembered her from when she did a comedy gig at age 13 with him in Edinburgh fringe 1999. He was so giving and despite his huge fame, took time to chat with her. I love him for that.
So I will miss all that, but then I always have husband with me to argue. That will be worth a blog or two!
Before long I was ensconced into the wee basement studio, which was freezing, waiting on the studio giving me a sign they were there for me. The show went well, I was annoyed during the discussion as they talked about Gordon Ramsay, Billy Connolly and myself swearing in our job and I mentioned that ‘wee pukka Oliver’ also swears and therefore is it all right to swear as long its not in a Scottish Accent but delivered in ‘posh tones’.
The studio host took the comment on board, I must have done ok as this morning at 8am I was called by another BBC radio show in London to discuss swearing all over again (I must be the swearing officiando, surprising really as OFCOM accused me of saying CUNT live on C4, turns out it wasn’t me and I they apologised!).
Anyway the radio show called at 8am and asked me to be ready for 9pm and they would call my landline. I promptly fell back asleep and was woken at 9pm by a live studio link! I was half awake, I farted coughed and talked about swearing and was so confused and half asleep I almost swore!
Turns out they loved it and have asked me to do more, I think I talk intelligent when I am sleepy-awake I am shite!
So that was last night and this morning. I am excited as I have good news, my daughter and I will be featured on Sunday Times column Relative Values…I LOVE this column and have read it for nearly twenty years now!
The good news is that Ashley gets to come to London with us…I have been secretly wanting this, albeit she is only there for a few short days. I love being in London with her.
We spent last December in London together, I was performing my one woman show at Soho Theatre and Ashley and I stayed in a hotel for three weeks. We partied at the Groucho, we went shopping through Oxford Street, we watched the Christmas lights being switched on, and we snuggled up in our room, turning up the heater and lay listening to the radio, eating crisps in the dark and went dancing in late night clubs.
I will miss all this, she is my soul mate and I know my daughter shouldn’t be, I should leave her to grow and develop her own pals, but I miss her so much when I am away from her.
I remember the night we laughed our asses off at the Groucho, she got to meet Mark Lammar, he was lovely and drove us home that night, she got to dance in the streets of Soho and even got to sing and laugh with Lois Walsh (X-Factor Judge) as he passed Ashley and her spontaneous dancing gay men who joined the drunken chorus line she started.
Her highlight of the trip was the amazing Peter Kay who greeted her at Heathrow airport for me. I was waiting on her coming though the arrival gate and Peter and I chatted about comedy ( I gigged with him before he was hugely famous!) Peter asked after Ashley and when I explained she was just arriving he waited to see her.
She is still astounded he remembered her from when she did a comedy gig at age 13 with him in Edinburgh fringe 1999. He was so giving and despite his huge fame, took time to chat with her. I love him for that.
So I will miss all that, but then I always have husband with me to argue. That will be worth a blog or two!
Monday, November 21, 2005
Radio 4 book club
Hey there, I was sent this link to tell me to vote for myself for the ‘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.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/openbook/openbook_form.shtml
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.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/openbook/openbook_form.shtml
Sunday, November 20, 2005
A Donkey Made me Shoplift…
Yes I know that sounds a weird title, but I am afraid it’s true. I resorted to thieving to feed a big eyed donkey in a field. We stayed over in Stockton last night as I was performing there. It was a lovely theatre called the Arc. I was not the host and got to go on first, something I haven’t done in years! It was awesome, I was finished by 9pm and sitting in a nice restaurant eating dinner with husband on a freezing Saturday night in Yorkshire!
So we were in bed watching telly for 10-30pm. That is a good Saturday night as far as I am concerned. That means I am officially old, I suppose.
Anyway, we travelled home slowly this morning and went into a lovely farm shop/café for breakfast. The café is set in a real working farm that contains donkeys, horses, emus and llamas.
The entrance to the farm house has some boxes of home grown produce, I fingered through the veggies and as I was looking at the carrots my head turned and made eye contact with a big black donkey standing at least ten feet away behind a wee wooden fence. It stamped its feet and brayed at me (fuck knows what brayed is, but I supposed hee-hawed is a strange word to spell) so in my head
(And we know how much I love talking animals) it was asking me to get it a carrot.
I simply snapped the head off a fresh skinny carrot and stepped across the frozen grass, my toes were crunching the icy blades making a funny noise. I leaned over and held the carrot out to the donkey that crunched it quickly then stamped its feet and demanded more. So after stealing about five carrots, my husband came out and asked me what was going on as I now had five llamas, two donkeys and a strange angry horse gathered around me all demanding stolen goods.
I knew I was in trouble because I looked at the cottage window where the owner was standing and I tried to tip toe away across noisy frozen grass whilst a host of farm animals made a mixture of weird carrot begging noises.
I am home and Ashley has been to M&S and bought me salmon and mash potatoes, I love my daughter she doesn’t shoplift my dinner….yet. I could teach her.
So we were in bed watching telly for 10-30pm. That is a good Saturday night as far as I am concerned. That means I am officially old, I suppose.
Anyway, we travelled home slowly this morning and went into a lovely farm shop/café for breakfast. The café is set in a real working farm that contains donkeys, horses, emus and llamas.
The entrance to the farm house has some boxes of home grown produce, I fingered through the veggies and as I was looking at the carrots my head turned and made eye contact with a big black donkey standing at least ten feet away behind a wee wooden fence. It stamped its feet and brayed at me (fuck knows what brayed is, but I supposed hee-hawed is a strange word to spell) so in my head
(And we know how much I love talking animals) it was asking me to get it a carrot.
I simply snapped the head off a fresh skinny carrot and stepped across the frozen grass, my toes were crunching the icy blades making a funny noise. I leaned over and held the carrot out to the donkey that crunched it quickly then stamped its feet and demanded more. So after stealing about five carrots, my husband came out and asked me what was going on as I now had five llamas, two donkeys and a strange angry horse gathered around me all demanding stolen goods.
I knew I was in trouble because I looked at the cottage window where the owner was standing and I tried to tip toe away across noisy frozen grass whilst a host of farm animals made a mixture of weird carrot begging noises.
I am home and Ashley has been to M&S and bought me salmon and mash potatoes, I love my daughter she doesn’t shoplift my dinner….yet. I could teach her.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Life and Honesty…
I have been missing in action and feel shit for not being here when people look up the blog and see it’s not been updated. I am like this in life just now as well. Recently I have been feeling decidedly odd and out of sorts…maybe the menopause is about to kick in and I will have a fucking legitimate reason to shake my husband till his brain bleeds.
We stopped off at Hadrian’s Wall on the way home from Newcastle. I was amazed at the sheer amount of stuff left behind by the invading Romans! I saw bath houses, forts, governor houses and at least 8 billion brooches, pins, pots, bricks and small glass things. It came to my brain that those farmers who have plots of land all over the borders must have come across YET ANOTHER fucking Roman bathhouse or fort.
I imagine they just quickly covered it up and shouted to their workers “Tommy, hide it quick, bury that Roman coin and slightly soiled complete dinner set…I need somewhere to graze my fucking sheep, the English Heritage people can kiss my hairy ass”
How many Roman forts do we need? Two I guess to convince the UK school kids that the Romans were here!
As I stood on those beautiful frost kissed fields looking out at what the Roman sentry men must have looked at I wondered how they must have felt when they met mad ginger headed Scottish women who would possibly only fuck them if they got a decent ‘sheepshead handbag’ in return or the men would get their arses kicked!
Scottish women can be demanding, this I know because I had baby Abi over to my house on a visit. She is two and can talk more than me….trust me that’s loads. Anyway I took her a walk along my main road and there was a huge inflated wobbly Santa Claus standing outside the electronics shop, he stood 15 feet tall and Abi gazed at him, walked around him and chatted away to herself…then she stood still, her big brown eyes stared at the Santa Clauses leg, she poked her wee finger into a long gaping rip in his shin and shouted “Santa has been stabbed!” I looked closely and there was long slit that did look like a knife wound in his leg, it was accompanied with many small cigarette burns!
Only in Glasgow would Santa be stabbed and routinely abused with fag burns!
We went back to the flat where Abi got all hot and tired and decided to try to comb my hair with the lumpy plastic legs of a Ninja Turtle…fuck it hurt as the green plastic evil McDonalds toy got tangled in my tuggy matted curls.
“I am trying to make you pretty” Abi huffed as she further trapped the toy into my scalp! I had to cut it out; I now have a baldy bit where a Ninja Turtle got trapped! Explain that to my hairdresser.
I am now in Middlesbrough near Redcar, where I stayed for a year in 1978. I was only 17 and me and my mate Maggie lived in the wee seaside town. So it feels weird being here now.
I will let you all know how it goes.
We stopped off at Hadrian’s Wall on the way home from Newcastle. I was amazed at the sheer amount of stuff left behind by the invading Romans! I saw bath houses, forts, governor houses and at least 8 billion brooches, pins, pots, bricks and small glass things. It came to my brain that those farmers who have plots of land all over the borders must have come across YET ANOTHER fucking Roman bathhouse or fort.
I imagine they just quickly covered it up and shouted to their workers “Tommy, hide it quick, bury that Roman coin and slightly soiled complete dinner set…I need somewhere to graze my fucking sheep, the English Heritage people can kiss my hairy ass”
How many Roman forts do we need? Two I guess to convince the UK school kids that the Romans were here!
As I stood on those beautiful frost kissed fields looking out at what the Roman sentry men must have looked at I wondered how they must have felt when they met mad ginger headed Scottish women who would possibly only fuck them if they got a decent ‘sheepshead handbag’ in return or the men would get their arses kicked!
Scottish women can be demanding, this I know because I had baby Abi over to my house on a visit. She is two and can talk more than me….trust me that’s loads. Anyway I took her a walk along my main road and there was a huge inflated wobbly Santa Claus standing outside the electronics shop, he stood 15 feet tall and Abi gazed at him, walked around him and chatted away to herself…then she stood still, her big brown eyes stared at the Santa Clauses leg, she poked her wee finger into a long gaping rip in his shin and shouted “Santa has been stabbed!” I looked closely and there was long slit that did look like a knife wound in his leg, it was accompanied with many small cigarette burns!
Only in Glasgow would Santa be stabbed and routinely abused with fag burns!
We went back to the flat where Abi got all hot and tired and decided to try to comb my hair with the lumpy plastic legs of a Ninja Turtle…fuck it hurt as the green plastic evil McDonalds toy got tangled in my tuggy matted curls.
“I am trying to make you pretty” Abi huffed as she further trapped the toy into my scalp! I had to cut it out; I now have a baldy bit where a Ninja Turtle got trapped! Explain that to my hairdresser.
I am now in Middlesbrough near Redcar, where I stayed for a year in 1978. I was only 17 and me and my mate Maggie lived in the wee seaside town. So it feels weird being here now.
I will let you all know how it goes.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
People I meet…
I love my job, being a comic does mean you get to meet really interesting people and I don’t always mean the folk who step onstage. Yes I know Jonny Vegas, Jerry Sadowitz and many more famous telly celebs…but I am talking about the people in the audience and ordinary humans we meet in life.
Meeting that lady Carole the other night when she was in the audience in Newcastle was good for me. I love the eccentricity of some women. You know what I mean, the ordinary woman who is clearly too old in society’s eyes to wearing those boots and that smile, or the mad looking woman who dons bright lipstick and odd wellies…I like her; I want to talk to her. Not that Carole was too old or too weird…but she looked like she had lived.
She reminded me of a woman called Peg who I met in the West End of Glasgow. Peg was a real character. She had worked in television and moved in those circles. Her clothes were all bought from charity shops and she loved telling you about where she got them and for how much, in a bar where the TV society tried to outdo each other with their status, income and important-ness. Peg was a fucking breath of cold refreshing startling air.
She had dark Indian looking hair, beautiful brown speckled eyes, sallow Italian skin and a smile with a dirty laugh that made people stop and stare. She loved animlas and kids and had a strange affinity with both. She once babysat Ashley for me and had an almost stand up fight with my 12 year old daughter because my child ‘made up’ a word on Scrabble! Peg declared war if you pronounced a word wrong or used a sentence badly! Ashley loved her mad ways.
She in some ways would be the female Malcolm Hardee (Infamous comedy promoter and South London pirate who died early this year).
In some ways Peg reminded me of my mammy; it was her dark hair, sparkly eyes and crazy impetuous spirit. I once told her this, although she was only ten years older than me she never took offence and said to me “I am glad I remind you of your mammy, coz she made you and you are ok Janey”. Peg died this year and we are a sorry society for her loss.
The REAL reason I like people like Peg and Carole from the other night is the way they speak their mind. I recall the very last time I was with Peg, we went to see a play that was written by a famous Glasgow playwright, after the show Peg and I went into the bar. The man who wrote the play was standing beside us and Peg turned to him and said “Fucksake I hope I never have to watch your over inflated ego being played out on stage ever again, I am sorry but your life wasn’t that interesting and someone should tell you that it was shit”
I thought I was going to faint with trying to hold that laughter in. Good old Peg…
Carole in Newcastle contributed to that comedy show last night with gusto, she spoke about heroin, and dildo’s and gave us all a good laugh with her openness.
I applaud her, my mammy, Peg and all the other women out there who refuse to grow old according to society’s rules and speak up when they want to. They are the role models for our daughters, women who have lived, fucked, travelled and wont lie down because their hormones wobble a bit.
Meeting that lady Carole the other night when she was in the audience in Newcastle was good for me. I love the eccentricity of some women. You know what I mean, the ordinary woman who is clearly too old in society’s eyes to wearing those boots and that smile, or the mad looking woman who dons bright lipstick and odd wellies…I like her; I want to talk to her. Not that Carole was too old or too weird…but she looked like she had lived.
She reminded me of a woman called Peg who I met in the West End of Glasgow. Peg was a real character. She had worked in television and moved in those circles. Her clothes were all bought from charity shops and she loved telling you about where she got them and for how much, in a bar where the TV society tried to outdo each other with their status, income and important-ness. Peg was a fucking breath of cold refreshing startling air.
She had dark Indian looking hair, beautiful brown speckled eyes, sallow Italian skin and a smile with a dirty laugh that made people stop and stare. She loved animlas and kids and had a strange affinity with both. She once babysat Ashley for me and had an almost stand up fight with my 12 year old daughter because my child ‘made up’ a word on Scrabble! Peg declared war if you pronounced a word wrong or used a sentence badly! Ashley loved her mad ways.
She in some ways would be the female Malcolm Hardee (Infamous comedy promoter and South London pirate who died early this year).
In some ways Peg reminded me of my mammy; it was her dark hair, sparkly eyes and crazy impetuous spirit. I once told her this, although she was only ten years older than me she never took offence and said to me “I am glad I remind you of your mammy, coz she made you and you are ok Janey”. Peg died this year and we are a sorry society for her loss.
The REAL reason I like people like Peg and Carole from the other night is the way they speak their mind. I recall the very last time I was with Peg, we went to see a play that was written by a famous Glasgow playwright, after the show Peg and I went into the bar. The man who wrote the play was standing beside us and Peg turned to him and said “Fucksake I hope I never have to watch your over inflated ego being played out on stage ever again, I am sorry but your life wasn’t that interesting and someone should tell you that it was shit”
I thought I was going to faint with trying to hold that laughter in. Good old Peg…
Carole in Newcastle contributed to that comedy show last night with gusto, she spoke about heroin, and dildo’s and gave us all a good laugh with her openness.
I applaud her, my mammy, Peg and all the other women out there who refuse to grow old according to society’s rules and speak up when they want to. They are the role models for our daughters, women who have lived, fucked, travelled and wont lie down because their hormones wobble a bit.
Newcastle and Fun…
I love this city, even though the weather nearly killed me. Fuck its cold brrrrr.
The Funny Women on Tour was pretty quiet to be honest but the good news is my pal Ann who is on the cover of my book lives in Newcastle (there is a blurry black and white photo of her and I at 14 years old on my autobiography cover). Anyway she came to the show with her lovely daughter Charmaine and her husband Mick.
The audience was sparse but fucking awesome. There was an amazing lady called Carole in the front row, she told us all how she is a nurse who dresses up and uses a dildo as performance art…COMEDY GOLD and she was so so very nice.
Mrs. Barbra Nice wooed the small crowd; she even managed to body surf that wee audience! Fucking wicked. I love her.
It was nice seeing my mate Ann again, we were teenagers together, sharing the same math class and fantasising over The Rubettes and Donny Osmond. Can you believe I was a Rubette fan?
We loved dancing in her bedroom to Juke Box Jive…I swear when I see pictures of the Rubettes back in 1975…they all look at least 45 years of age BACK THEN! Fuck knows how they look now! I was in love with them.
We just made it back to the hotel and ate some lovely hot fish and chips….home tomorrow.
The Funny Women on Tour was pretty quiet to be honest but the good news is my pal Ann who is on the cover of my book lives in Newcastle (there is a blurry black and white photo of her and I at 14 years old on my autobiography cover). Anyway she came to the show with her lovely daughter Charmaine and her husband Mick.
The audience was sparse but fucking awesome. There was an amazing lady called Carole in the front row, she told us all how she is a nurse who dresses up and uses a dildo as performance art…COMEDY GOLD and she was so so very nice.
Mrs. Barbra Nice wooed the small crowd; she even managed to body surf that wee audience! Fucking wicked. I love her.
It was nice seeing my mate Ann again, we were teenagers together, sharing the same math class and fantasising over The Rubettes and Donny Osmond. Can you believe I was a Rubette fan?
We loved dancing in her bedroom to Juke Box Jive…I swear when I see pictures of the Rubettes back in 1975…they all look at least 45 years of age BACK THEN! Fuck knows how they look now! I was in love with them.
We just made it back to the hotel and ate some lovely hot fish and chips….home tomorrow.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Fun at The BAFTA’s…
I am so glad I have lost some weight after my self imposed starvation regime, my old skirt fits loosely and that’s been years I can tell you. Ashley and I got dressed up and headed for the BAFTA after show party. The venue was Chinawhite…strange name for a nightclub as it means ‘heroin’, there is also a Chinawhite in London, but this is the Glasgow version. Very nice it is to; Ashley and I were well impressed with the dark red sofas and velvety sexy décor.
The place was full of Scottish celebs…well the people mostly from TV shows but unfortunately I never watch most Scottish soaps so I was blissfully unaware. The good news is I got to meet some lovely actors who I do admire like Michelle Gomez from UK TV show Green Wing. Michelle is a hard working Scottish actor who is finally getting the recognition she deserves.
I was slightly worried about my outfit, as I felt that my top was a bit low and I was showing too much cleavage…this was confirmed as I walked through the dance floor and was stopped by a small baldy man dressed like and scruffy park attendant who told me “Nice tits there old lady”…I smiled and stood on his toe and quickly moved on humiliated.
Ashley was incensed and wanted to go poke his bleary eye with her newly sharpened eye liner but I stopped her as knowing my luck he is probably the man I will have to pitch my screen play to and I want to save stabbing him when he rejects it….slag my old body yes…diss my screenplay and die.
I got to have drinks with lots of the more interesting BBC crew and they are good fun…all very young and working on projects with that excitement that you know will be eventually beaten out of them and it wont be long before they turn up at events with flat hair, wearing synthetic slacks and wondering what happened to the funky ‘fin’ hairdo and sharp black designer specs they used to wear…they may even descend to shouting at woman with low cut tops!
Today was laid back, I finally got out of bed and tried to organise bills and cheques for the bank…honestly I ask you…how mundane is my life?
The place was full of Scottish celebs…well the people mostly from TV shows but unfortunately I never watch most Scottish soaps so I was blissfully unaware. The good news is I got to meet some lovely actors who I do admire like Michelle Gomez from UK TV show Green Wing. Michelle is a hard working Scottish actor who is finally getting the recognition she deserves.
I was slightly worried about my outfit, as I felt that my top was a bit low and I was showing too much cleavage…this was confirmed as I walked through the dance floor and was stopped by a small baldy man dressed like and scruffy park attendant who told me “Nice tits there old lady”…I smiled and stood on his toe and quickly moved on humiliated.
Ashley was incensed and wanted to go poke his bleary eye with her newly sharpened eye liner but I stopped her as knowing my luck he is probably the man I will have to pitch my screen play to and I want to save stabbing him when he rejects it….slag my old body yes…diss my screenplay and die.
I got to have drinks with lots of the more interesting BBC crew and they are good fun…all very young and working on projects with that excitement that you know will be eventually beaten out of them and it wont be long before they turn up at events with flat hair, wearing synthetic slacks and wondering what happened to the funky ‘fin’ hairdo and sharp black designer specs they used to wear…they may even descend to shouting at woman with low cut tops!
Today was laid back, I finally got out of bed and tried to organise bills and cheques for the bank…honestly I ask you…how mundane is my life?
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Am Home and ready to Party….
I am home from Prague but if you want to view all my holiday pics (My daughter said this is boring) still if you want to see them you can click onto THIS and you can see the whole collection!
Last night was so fucking windy and horrible; I fell asleep at 9pm and didn’t wake till 10am this morning. I am officially Rip Van Godley.
I was supposed to go to Craig Hill’s BBC Wrap Party last night, but after being so tired and having watched trees outside my window uproot themselves in the wind….i decided to stay at home. I am becoming one of those old people who are too scared to leave the house in case the weather kills me.
Tomorrow I will be going to the Scottish BAFTA party. I have no idea what I will be wearing and as Ashley is coming it doesn’t matter what I wear; I will look like a small old fat woman next to her.
Still I will do my best to look decent and will apply copious amounts of make up to make me look human. I wish I was 19 again, I wish my skin still fitted me and my breasts didn’t need a bra that was made at a shipyard and has the inner framework of titanium steel scaffolding to support my pendulous saggy boobs.
I am happy to report that I will soon have a clip of my play ‘Smack the Point Of Yes’ on my website and will send a link as soon as it’s on the site. The play is pretty serious and deals with issues that range from drug addiction to child abuse, there is some funny bits in there as well and was reviewed as ‘Shirley Valentine with a twist’ by Glasgow Evening Times.
So I hopefully will have some good photo’s from Scotland’s biggest celebrity night of the year, the press will also be there and I am praying that they don’t get a picture of me with a fat double chin, boobs hanging out of my dress and a young man desperately trying to escape my claw like grip!
Last night was so fucking windy and horrible; I fell asleep at 9pm and didn’t wake till 10am this morning. I am officially Rip Van Godley.
I was supposed to go to Craig Hill’s BBC Wrap Party last night, but after being so tired and having watched trees outside my window uproot themselves in the wind….i decided to stay at home. I am becoming one of those old people who are too scared to leave the house in case the weather kills me.
Tomorrow I will be going to the Scottish BAFTA party. I have no idea what I will be wearing and as Ashley is coming it doesn’t matter what I wear; I will look like a small old fat woman next to her.
Still I will do my best to look decent and will apply copious amounts of make up to make me look human. I wish I was 19 again, I wish my skin still fitted me and my breasts didn’t need a bra that was made at a shipyard and has the inner framework of titanium steel scaffolding to support my pendulous saggy boobs.
I am happy to report that I will soon have a clip of my play ‘Smack the Point Of Yes’ on my website and will send a link as soon as it’s on the site. The play is pretty serious and deals with issues that range from drug addiction to child abuse, there is some funny bits in there as well and was reviewed as ‘Shirley Valentine with a twist’ by Glasgow Evening Times.
So I hopefully will have some good photo’s from Scotland’s biggest celebrity night of the year, the press will also be there and I am praying that they don’t get a picture of me with a fat double chin, boobs hanging out of my dress and a young man desperately trying to escape my claw like grip!
Friday, November 11, 2005
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Me and the Prague Police….
All I wanted to do was find my way to the Jewish Quarter. So in the main square was a police man sitting in his van with the sliding door half opened and he was clearly there waiting to be of assistance.
“Excuse me, can you show me where the Jewish Quarter is?”
The young police man looked at me quizzically and shook his head, I realised I needed to be clearer on this subject and language is a problem, so I practiced my Slavic on him “ Josefov” I repeated…this is how the area is spelt in the map.
He merely sniggered and shook his head. I was now determined to let him know I knew he was taking the piss, the Jewish quarter is huge in Prague and the word Judish-synagog is not hard to understand even in Prague. He was being a fuck wit and it annoyed me, instead of giving up I decided to explain Jewish-ness in the form of physical theatre.
I stood there in front of the police van’s open sided door and put my two fingers over my nose and did a Hitler salute in front of me and said “Hitler” then I made a hissing noise and said “Jew’’ and then made to fall down…I stood up and said “Schindlers List, Holocaust…JEWISH District where is it you ignorant fool” I was now shouting.
Then it struck me…I splayed out my arms as if to be on the cross in a Jesus fashion and said ‘Jesus’. The policeman then jumped up and clapped his hands, pointed to the big church and said “ Jesus Christian Church”…I was laughing now I had his attention and was glad he spoke English but I stood there maintaining my crucifixion position and spoke clearly
“Jesus is a Jew, not a Catholic”.
At this he shouted in some Slavic and waved his arms at me.
I smiled and said “ You are a Nazi and you are gay and that other policeman sucks your cock and if you don’t know what I am saying here is that statement in the form of theatre” I then proceeded to do the ‘ Blow job’ hand movement and then gave him the finger. This he understood.
I walked off angry. He was shouting strange words, I merely turned and gave him the Glasgow gang sign of putting my left forearm over my clenched right fist and shouted TONGS YA BASS (Glasgow east end gang cry).
Just then a young man who had been filming it all came over and shook my hand thanked me for the performance and pointed to the street that led to Josefov…which incidentally was only one block away. We had dinner in a lovely restaurant in the Jewish area. I wish I had a religion or at least a belief, to see those beautiful churches and synagogues is breath taking…if only it really meant something.
I recently visited Rome and yet I have never seen as many beautiful churches and SO MANY as I did in Prague, there is not that many in Rome in comparison…isn’t that strange?
I nee to go and pack for the flight….there is a policeman in Prague who hates me…
“Excuse me, can you show me where the Jewish Quarter is?”
The young police man looked at me quizzically and shook his head, I realised I needed to be clearer on this subject and language is a problem, so I practiced my Slavic on him “ Josefov” I repeated…this is how the area is spelt in the map.
He merely sniggered and shook his head. I was now determined to let him know I knew he was taking the piss, the Jewish quarter is huge in Prague and the word Judish-synagog is not hard to understand even in Prague. He was being a fuck wit and it annoyed me, instead of giving up I decided to explain Jewish-ness in the form of physical theatre.
I stood there in front of the police van’s open sided door and put my two fingers over my nose and did a Hitler salute in front of me and said “Hitler” then I made a hissing noise and said “Jew’’ and then made to fall down…I stood up and said “Schindlers List, Holocaust…JEWISH District where is it you ignorant fool” I was now shouting.
Then it struck me…I splayed out my arms as if to be on the cross in a Jesus fashion and said ‘Jesus’. The policeman then jumped up and clapped his hands, pointed to the big church and said “ Jesus Christian Church”…I was laughing now I had his attention and was glad he spoke English but I stood there maintaining my crucifixion position and spoke clearly
“Jesus is a Jew, not a Catholic”.
At this he shouted in some Slavic and waved his arms at me.
I smiled and said “ You are a Nazi and you are gay and that other policeman sucks your cock and if you don’t know what I am saying here is that statement in the form of theatre” I then proceeded to do the ‘ Blow job’ hand movement and then gave him the finger. This he understood.
I walked off angry. He was shouting strange words, I merely turned and gave him the Glasgow gang sign of putting my left forearm over my clenched right fist and shouted TONGS YA BASS (Glasgow east end gang cry).
Just then a young man who had been filming it all came over and shook my hand thanked me for the performance and pointed to the street that led to Josefov…which incidentally was only one block away. We had dinner in a lovely restaurant in the Jewish area. I wish I had a religion or at least a belief, to see those beautiful churches and synagogues is breath taking…if only it really meant something.
I recently visited Rome and yet I have never seen as many beautiful churches and SO MANY as I did in Prague, there is not that many in Rome in comparison…isn’t that strange?
I nee to go and pack for the flight….there is a policeman in Prague who hates me…
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Prague in the Mist!...
We went the most amazing walk; firstly we traveled up a wee trolley cable car type bus thing, up into the hills. Then we slowly made our way down through the parkland and onto Prague castle, which looked less of a castle and more of a big Palace. The Church there was awesome and the stained glass windows were just eye boggling. I took some pics. We spent ages trying to find the John Lennon Peace Wall….when we eventually found it, it was just some anonymous wall covered in indecipherable graffiti…I wished I had tall ladders so that I could get to the top of that wall and spray in big letters my website…then add ‘PEACE TO ALL’ at the end of it…
Last night we went to a traditional Prague restaurant, it was so warm and welcoming, that we waited for a table. The food is ever so mixed up to us, like beef with pork and cheese and onions! That’s four fucking meals rolled into one for me! We also had chicken, with green curry sauce, green beans. Lemons, lettuce, sauerkraut and potato wedges…with a slice of tomato. It was all yummy and washed down with local beer.
This hotel really is excellent, the service is just amazing and the people make it special.
I read that there was a comedy festival for UK ex-pates here in Prague, so today I met the director and he was lovely AND Scottish!
We chatted over coffee and he told me so much about the comedy scene here in Prague…was very interesting.
It is not as cold here as I expected and today I was out with just warm top and thin trousers, yet the weather did not kill me as I expected it to. So that was a bonus all round. Still the trams are unpredictable and could flatten me at any minute!
Am off to explore more things…talk later.
Last night we went to a traditional Prague restaurant, it was so warm and welcoming, that we waited for a table. The food is ever so mixed up to us, like beef with pork and cheese and onions! That’s four fucking meals rolled into one for me! We also had chicken, with green curry sauce, green beans. Lemons, lettuce, sauerkraut and potato wedges…with a slice of tomato. It was all yummy and washed down with local beer.
This hotel really is excellent, the service is just amazing and the people make it special.
I read that there was a comedy festival for UK ex-pates here in Prague, so today I met the director and he was lovely AND Scottish!
We chatted over coffee and he told me so much about the comedy scene here in Prague…was very interesting.
It is not as cold here as I expected and today I was out with just warm top and thin trousers, yet the weather did not kill me as I expected it to. So that was a bonus all round. Still the trams are unpredictable and could flatten me at any minute!
Am off to explore more things…talk later.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Prague is Sexy!
Can you believe how beautiful this place is? I have never seen such amazing buildings and huge churches, mostly hidden behind buildings because communists liked them unseen.
The hotel is just unbelievably perfect! We are staying at the Caesars Palace in the city.
Honestly-we have two big beds in our room, all ornately craved and they match the two big claw footed carved wardrobes at the foot of each bed! The high ceiling is decorated with a delicate chandelier that drips crystals that make the light dance all over the expansive room….and get this THE INTERNET IS FREE!
Husband went for a sauna, they gave him the key so he could have the facilities all to himself and he raved about the ambient lighting, the free robes…he is like an excited puppy.
We went for walk through the city and husband was overjoyed to see the biggest TESCO store he has ever seen. Slowly in the late summer sun that lit up every cobble on the meandering streets, we made our way up to the Obecni Dom which features the famous Opera house and the unimaginably beautiful American Bar, honestly you should see the original Art Deco features that have been untouched since its creation in 1912…I was in heaven…I love looking at old buildings and I took some lovely pictures which I will post like a big boring spaz when I get home.
So I have nothing sarcastic or remotely funny to report, except there is as many homeless/drunk people here as there are in Glasgow and at one point when a poor mental man started shouting at the strangers he did actually sound more Scottish than me and for a horrifying moment I thought he was a Glaswegian and even his dog sounded like a wee Glasgow ‘dug’ as it barked….but turned out the poor man was just babbling and that’s what Glasgow people sound like sometimes!
I love Prague…I love it!
The hotel is just unbelievably perfect! We are staying at the Caesars Palace in the city.
Honestly-we have two big beds in our room, all ornately craved and they match the two big claw footed carved wardrobes at the foot of each bed! The high ceiling is decorated with a delicate chandelier that drips crystals that make the light dance all over the expansive room….and get this THE INTERNET IS FREE!
Husband went for a sauna, they gave him the key so he could have the facilities all to himself and he raved about the ambient lighting, the free robes…he is like an excited puppy.
We went for walk through the city and husband was overjoyed to see the biggest TESCO store he has ever seen. Slowly in the late summer sun that lit up every cobble on the meandering streets, we made our way up to the Obecni Dom which features the famous Opera house and the unimaginably beautiful American Bar, honestly you should see the original Art Deco features that have been untouched since its creation in 1912…I was in heaven…I love looking at old buildings and I took some lovely pictures which I will post like a big boring spaz when I get home.
So I have nothing sarcastic or remotely funny to report, except there is as many homeless/drunk people here as there are in Glasgow and at one point when a poor mental man started shouting at the strangers he did actually sound more Scottish than me and for a horrifying moment I thought he was a Glaswegian and even his dog sounded like a wee Glasgow ‘dug’ as it barked….but turned out the poor man was just babbling and that’s what Glasgow people sound like sometimes!
I love Prague…I love it!
Monday, November 07, 2005
Fighting and Holidays…
Despite the meltdown we suffered in Birmingham, husband and I have just booked a last minute 3 day break to Prague…In the old days of our marriage I used to call a holiday ‘Another fight in another country’ maybe now it wont be.
So tomorrow we leave for Prague, a nice four star hotel and hopefully fun…surely a mini Euro-break means that we are in love?
I am looking forward to seeing the amazing architecture and ancient streets; I have always wanted to go there. Prague looks beautiful on the websites and they even have stand up comedy from the UK! Not that I will be doing a gig, but I am just amazed that they do.
So I have pulled out my old hat and glove set as I am sure it will be fucking freezing, I remember going to Bruges in the November of 1987, the weather was sub zero and I thought I was going to die with the cold wind coming off the sea. The whole place was stuffed with ‘lace’ shops or ‘Chocolate boutiques’. I don’t recall anything from the place coz I was so cold I spent the two days wrapped up inside a scarf…chittering and rubbing my sore weather beaten cheeks.
Glasgow was like a tropical island compared to it.
The next time I write I will be in Prague, they seem to have loads of internet shops!
So tomorrow we leave for Prague, a nice four star hotel and hopefully fun…surely a mini Euro-break means that we are in love?
I am looking forward to seeing the amazing architecture and ancient streets; I have always wanted to go there. Prague looks beautiful on the websites and they even have stand up comedy from the UK! Not that I will be doing a gig, but I am just amazed that they do.
So I have pulled out my old hat and glove set as I am sure it will be fucking freezing, I remember going to Bruges in the November of 1987, the weather was sub zero and I thought I was going to die with the cold wind coming off the sea. The whole place was stuffed with ‘lace’ shops or ‘Chocolate boutiques’. I don’t recall anything from the place coz I was so cold I spent the two days wrapped up inside a scarf…chittering and rubbing my sore weather beaten cheeks.
Glasgow was like a tropical island compared to it.
The next time I write I will be in Prague, they seem to have loads of internet shops!
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Late Night Fights and Gropes
I spent six hours arguing with husband last night, we finally fell asleep at 5am ( I won the argument), with the knowledge that we had to get up at 9am to drive home to Glasgow…oh fucking JOY of marriage!
Here’s what happened, last night after a good gig at Jongleurs, husband went to the bar to collect a bottle of wine, I put on my jacket and went out to thank management. The place was heaving with about 400 people dancing about and vomiting. I walked back to acts room and waited at the door for him to come back, he seemed to be taking ages so I just walked outside and there he was stood on the pavement looking extremely agitated.
I approached him; through the throngs of people shouting/singing/dancing and vomiting (what the fuck is wrong with Brummies and the puking thing?) and he started yelling at me all aggressive and upset accusing me of ‘NOT BEING WHERE I SAID I WAS’…I realised he was getting really annoyed and as I was about to answer him, a drunk fuck of a man wearing a tweed jacket of all things slid his hand under my ass and stroked my bum.
Husband had no idea what had just happened, so I directed my face and anger away from husband and screamed at tweed man’s back as he staggered through the crowd…then I turned to husband who by now had turned into ‘rain man’ and was gibbering. My husband has Aspergers Syndrome…now this is no excuse and it fucks me off, but he does get angry and jittery if he can’t find me or if I had changed plans without telling him. It’s a bit like autism….I know ‘lucky fucking me’
So now I am angry at TWO men on the busiest street in Birmingham. I simply walked off and left husband struggling through the crowd looking for me, I went a walk into the dark streets off the main city centre and hoped I could find ‘Tweedy Boy’ and kick his fucking bollox…
To cut the story short, I went back to hotel finally and him and I argued and shouted and plotted the impending divorce….all because I had went missing for 53 seconds outside a stage door in Birmingham…he had came back from the bar just as I had walked onto the dance floor to say goodbye to manageress of club…that is what kept us awake to 6am fighting. So we finally slept.
At 9am we got up, we packed; we loaded the car we came home.
I love my fucking life…don’t you?
Here’s what happened, last night after a good gig at Jongleurs, husband went to the bar to collect a bottle of wine, I put on my jacket and went out to thank management. The place was heaving with about 400 people dancing about and vomiting. I walked back to acts room and waited at the door for him to come back, he seemed to be taking ages so I just walked outside and there he was stood on the pavement looking extremely agitated.
I approached him; through the throngs of people shouting/singing/dancing and vomiting (what the fuck is wrong with Brummies and the puking thing?) and he started yelling at me all aggressive and upset accusing me of ‘NOT BEING WHERE I SAID I WAS’…I realised he was getting really annoyed and as I was about to answer him, a drunk fuck of a man wearing a tweed jacket of all things slid his hand under my ass and stroked my bum.
Husband had no idea what had just happened, so I directed my face and anger away from husband and screamed at tweed man’s back as he staggered through the crowd…then I turned to husband who by now had turned into ‘rain man’ and was gibbering. My husband has Aspergers Syndrome…now this is no excuse and it fucks me off, but he does get angry and jittery if he can’t find me or if I had changed plans without telling him. It’s a bit like autism….I know ‘lucky fucking me’
So now I am angry at TWO men on the busiest street in Birmingham. I simply walked off and left husband struggling through the crowd looking for me, I went a walk into the dark streets off the main city centre and hoped I could find ‘Tweedy Boy’ and kick his fucking bollox…
To cut the story short, I went back to hotel finally and him and I argued and shouted and plotted the impending divorce….all because I had went missing for 53 seconds outside a stage door in Birmingham…he had came back from the bar just as I had walked onto the dance floor to say goodbye to manageress of club…that is what kept us awake to 6am fighting. So we finally slept.
At 9am we got up, we packed; we loaded the car we came home.
I love my fucking life…don’t you?
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Fox Hunting and Police Raids…
Read on the BBC today that hordes of police are attending a fox hunt. In the new ‘fox hunt’ a quad bike races off smelling of fox, the hounds chase the bike, the hunt chase the hounds and the police today are chasing the hunt….meanwhile in Glasgow there is a man killing prostitutes and he is still on the run! Work that out!
Can you believe in this day and age we are more concerned that a fox may be accidentally killed by a hunt? I am NOT PRO HUNT but for fucksake, there is racial tension in Birmingham, we have terrorist issues in UK, we have a situation where we do not have enough police in the community and there is resources being abused by making sure a fox doesn’t die illegally. We hit and killed one with a car last year as it ran onto the motorway in the dead of night. How illegal was that? Now I love animals and cried when we killed it…but this government needs to fucking work out what it wants.
I reckon we should have a ‘BLAIR hunt’, yes let that fucker run through fields and I would hunt him down and deck him, then rip off his wee empty head.
Birmingham is a nice city to be honest, I have never seen so many civic buildings looking so clean and well laid out, the centre is tidy and they have amazing fountains and artistically lit up sculptures. There is a BIG WHEEL, like the Millennium wheel in London, its all lit up and stands like a huge glittery bangle against the dark night sky. I love it and husband is desperate to get on it and I am desperate for him to stop talking about that as I am scared of heights!
Just want to say hi to all the people in South America who email me with nice words about my book, thanks I do appreciate it.
If anyone needs info on the book it’s called ‘Handstands in The Dark’ published by Ebury/Random and you can buy it in most big book stores or Amazon and other booksellers on the web, go to my webpage www.janeygodley.co.uk to see details if you are really interested!
Thanks all…talk tomorrow.
Can you believe in this day and age we are more concerned that a fox may be accidentally killed by a hunt? I am NOT PRO HUNT but for fucksake, there is racial tension in Birmingham, we have terrorist issues in UK, we have a situation where we do not have enough police in the community and there is resources being abused by making sure a fox doesn’t die illegally. We hit and killed one with a car last year as it ran onto the motorway in the dead of night. How illegal was that? Now I love animals and cried when we killed it…but this government needs to fucking work out what it wants.
I reckon we should have a ‘BLAIR hunt’, yes let that fucker run through fields and I would hunt him down and deck him, then rip off his wee empty head.
Birmingham is a nice city to be honest, I have never seen so many civic buildings looking so clean and well laid out, the centre is tidy and they have amazing fountains and artistically lit up sculptures. There is a BIG WHEEL, like the Millennium wheel in London, its all lit up and stands like a huge glittery bangle against the dark night sky. I love it and husband is desperate to get on it and I am desperate for him to stop talking about that as I am scared of heights!
Just want to say hi to all the people in South America who email me with nice words about my book, thanks I do appreciate it.
If anyone needs info on the book it’s called ‘Handstands in The Dark’ published by Ebury/Random and you can buy it in most big book stores or Amazon and other booksellers on the web, go to my webpage www.janeygodley.co.uk to see details if you are really interested!
Thanks all…talk tomorrow.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Birmingham-Sex-DNA- and a VERY busy blog….
There can be nothing worse than getting to a city after five hours on the road, then not being able to actually find your way to a hotel when you get there! Fucking annoying. Multi Map deserves bird flu virus for the shit route it gave me.
I am sorry this blog is late but as usual, internet connection at a city centre hotel is 20 quid for 24 hours!
I mean CRACK is cheaper than that! When are major hotel chains going to realize that people will NOT pay that money for a connection? I have been to big hotels where it is free…
Ok I need to stop moaning; by the way did you know this blog got four thousand hits in one day? That was yesterday, so I am going to try to break the record and hopefully get seven thousand hits!!
Spread the news!
Ashley is selling stuff on EBAY and I dug out some things I think are valuable, like my real Gucci watch ( I don’t like it anymore) I have some gold rings that I will never wear and for the quirky, I have signed letters from celebrities and a few cards signed by the last three UK Prime Ministers, I have Boris Beckers sperm in a phial…I am joking! I just said that because I was watching him on TV tonight.
There was a woman who did collect his sperm in her mouth in a fancy cupboard in a London restaurant and she promptly put it into a turkey baster and squished it into her lady bits the first chance she got…how horrid and premeditated is that? Who the fuck goes out in the town with a turkey baster in her purse?
I could never do that as I talk too much and as soon as the BJ was over it would all come spilling out of my gob and that would be 4 million pounds worth of serious paternity down the front of a cheap tee shirt!
I cant begin to imagine the conversation between that mercenary of a woman and her child in years to come when that wee girl asks how she came to be…”Did you love my daddy?”
Mum-“ No not really, I gave him a blow job in a busy restaurant, kept the sperm warm in my mouth, ran into a toilet, pulled out my baster, filled it up, got into a squat position and Boris is your daddy, see how clever a woman can be if she keeps her mouth shut?”
Whilst I am on the subject of paternity cases, was watching David Blunkett resign (again), apparently he was a heavy investor in a DNA company and never declared this, well so he should be involved in a DNA company - the amount of scary women he got pregnant and the amount of times he is called on to supply DNA he should be investing in the fucking company.
Do you know what stuns me? I cannot for the LOVE OF GOD understand how he gets that much pussy…seriously; there is yet another woman in the newspapers screaming she was fucking that odd looking floppy faced man…what woman can lick him? Seriously?
I am sorry that was cruel, but he does look like he hasn’t been downloaded properly
I am sorry this blog is late but as usual, internet connection at a city centre hotel is 20 quid for 24 hours!
I mean CRACK is cheaper than that! When are major hotel chains going to realize that people will NOT pay that money for a connection? I have been to big hotels where it is free…
Ok I need to stop moaning; by the way did you know this blog got four thousand hits in one day? That was yesterday, so I am going to try to break the record and hopefully get seven thousand hits!!
Spread the news!
Ashley is selling stuff on EBAY and I dug out some things I think are valuable, like my real Gucci watch ( I don’t like it anymore) I have some gold rings that I will never wear and for the quirky, I have signed letters from celebrities and a few cards signed by the last three UK Prime Ministers, I have Boris Beckers sperm in a phial…I am joking! I just said that because I was watching him on TV tonight.
There was a woman who did collect his sperm in her mouth in a fancy cupboard in a London restaurant and she promptly put it into a turkey baster and squished it into her lady bits the first chance she got…how horrid and premeditated is that? Who the fuck goes out in the town with a turkey baster in her purse?
I could never do that as I talk too much and as soon as the BJ was over it would all come spilling out of my gob and that would be 4 million pounds worth of serious paternity down the front of a cheap tee shirt!
I cant begin to imagine the conversation between that mercenary of a woman and her child in years to come when that wee girl asks how she came to be…”Did you love my daddy?”
Mum-“ No not really, I gave him a blow job in a busy restaurant, kept the sperm warm in my mouth, ran into a toilet, pulled out my baster, filled it up, got into a squat position and Boris is your daddy, see how clever a woman can be if she keeps her mouth shut?”
Whilst I am on the subject of paternity cases, was watching David Blunkett resign (again), apparently he was a heavy investor in a DNA company and never declared this, well so he should be involved in a DNA company - the amount of scary women he got pregnant and the amount of times he is called on to supply DNA he should be investing in the fucking company.
Do you know what stuns me? I cannot for the LOVE OF GOD understand how he gets that much pussy…seriously; there is yet another woman in the newspapers screaming she was fucking that odd looking floppy faced man…what woman can lick him? Seriously?
I am sorry that was cruel, but he does look like he hasn’t been downloaded properly
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Car Crash outside my house!
There is a busy main road outside my flat, it leads up to the M8 and the road outside has a NO RIGHT TURN sign that most drivers ignore and swing their cars around into the face of oncoming busy traffic…EVERYDAY!
Tonight a car turned, missed and hit the actual NO RIGHT TURN sign, then whacked into another car, reversed into a jeep, then gave up trying to sort it out, and ran away leaving the car in the middle of the road! I know all this because my daughter sits beside the window on her PC and she saw the lot!
I did take pictures but they came out way too dark!
Meanwhile, the pictures of me in RED Magazine are nice; I am standing barefoot in a sunny doorway, with the light from behind making my skirt very sheer…very Lady Diana!
Its in December Issue of RED Magazine and I am on page 110, it’s in the shops now, but expensive I am afraid and I will soon have the ok to post the picture here on my blog.
I am off to Birmingham tomorrow to perform at Jongleurs for three nights. I am looking forward to it and haven’t been to Birmingham in a while, I bought a great pair of brown leather boots there in 1993 and they are still in good nick, so I will wear them again!
I need to go pack and get everything ready for tomorrow morning; Ashley is looking forward to having the house for the weekend. She is DJ-ing this Saturday. She loves her new job, despite their funny name and penchant for skanky pop.
A young girl asked her to play Pink Floyd and my poor daughter had to point to the sign at the front of her decks and say “I am sorry, I cant play that as I work for a company that calls itself Cheezy Choonz…yes that’s tunes spelt with a CH and ends with a Z…Abba, Black Lace and anything by Tom Jones is in though, I love the Floyd but the people wearing shiny sequins will complain”
Talk soon.
Tonight a car turned, missed and hit the actual NO RIGHT TURN sign, then whacked into another car, reversed into a jeep, then gave up trying to sort it out, and ran away leaving the car in the middle of the road! I know all this because my daughter sits beside the window on her PC and she saw the lot!
I did take pictures but they came out way too dark!
Meanwhile, the pictures of me in RED Magazine are nice; I am standing barefoot in a sunny doorway, with the light from behind making my skirt very sheer…very Lady Diana!
Its in December Issue of RED Magazine and I am on page 110, it’s in the shops now, but expensive I am afraid and I will soon have the ok to post the picture here on my blog.
I am off to Birmingham tomorrow to perform at Jongleurs for three nights. I am looking forward to it and haven’t been to Birmingham in a while, I bought a great pair of brown leather boots there in 1993 and they are still in good nick, so I will wear them again!
I need to go pack and get everything ready for tomorrow morning; Ashley is looking forward to having the house for the weekend. She is DJ-ing this Saturday. She loves her new job, despite their funny name and penchant for skanky pop.
A young girl asked her to play Pink Floyd and my poor daughter had to point to the sign at the front of her decks and say “I am sorry, I cant play that as I work for a company that calls itself Cheezy Choonz…yes that’s tunes spelt with a CH and ends with a Z…Abba, Black Lace and anything by Tom Jones is in though, I love the Floyd but the people wearing shiny sequins will complain”
Talk soon.
Things I fucking Hate…
Restaurants who serve pate but not enough bread to eat it with, you are left with a blob of meaty paste or you have to BUY a serving of bread! This happened to me tonight in Beanscene, that awful company that keeps banging on about their ‘morals and customers rights’ fucking 60 pence for two wee slices of tough chewy bread. I smiled and refused to buy the bread, went into the garage shop next door and bought a freshly baked roll for 22 pence and ate the pate with that instead. Man in Beanscene despises me now.
Magazines who take photos of you but refuse to give you copies, no wonder the Native American Indians were convinced photography was stealing their soul! How hard is it to give me ONE photo of my fucking self?
Cold callers who interrupt my sex life to ask me if I am interested in kitchens as there is a representative in my area, then get upset when I threaten to harm their family as ‘I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE BITCH’ is screamed at them…surely if they never got an education and spend their days calling people about kitchens-they should expect some abuse or at the very least know that people like me will make their spirit weak?
Skinny girls who say ‘I am having a fat day’ and refuse a pastry, opting for a glass of ‘warm water and a slice of lemon’.
Companies who somehow get your mobile number and inundate you with text messages telling you ‘Come the best party in town’ shit or advertise their latest mobile phones…whilst you already OWN a phone???
Comedy Clubs who refuse to book you in on a gig at a certain weekend as they ‘Already have a Scottish person or woman’ on that night and explain to you that they don’t want repetition! Despite the fact they have FOUR English boys on that night…how repetitive is that? Would two or more women overwhelm and audience with the stench of oestrogen or would more than two Scottish people be enough to start a revolution and swamp the people with tartan?
That’s enough hate for one night!
Magazines who take photos of you but refuse to give you copies, no wonder the Native American Indians were convinced photography was stealing their soul! How hard is it to give me ONE photo of my fucking self?
Cold callers who interrupt my sex life to ask me if I am interested in kitchens as there is a representative in my area, then get upset when I threaten to harm their family as ‘I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE BITCH’ is screamed at them…surely if they never got an education and spend their days calling people about kitchens-they should expect some abuse or at the very least know that people like me will make their spirit weak?
Skinny girls who say ‘I am having a fat day’ and refuse a pastry, opting for a glass of ‘warm water and a slice of lemon’.
Companies who somehow get your mobile number and inundate you with text messages telling you ‘Come the best party in town’ shit or advertise their latest mobile phones…whilst you already OWN a phone???
Comedy Clubs who refuse to book you in on a gig at a certain weekend as they ‘Already have a Scottish person or woman’ on that night and explain to you that they don’t want repetition! Despite the fact they have FOUR English boys on that night…how repetitive is that? Would two or more women overwhelm and audience with the stench of oestrogen or would more than two Scottish people be enough to start a revolution and swamp the people with tartan?
That’s enough hate for one night!
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