Am Late. I know.

Sorry I have been missing again, I have been travelling and you have no fucking idea how busy I have been but I must be disciplined and get my blog up to date. I am sitting in fancy flat in Chelsea waiting to go to Soho Theatre tonight for my opening night. I haven’t really decided what I am talking about, but the show is about my Blog …yes this thing that you are reading.
The flight down with husband was fun, I tried to sleep and luckily we got separated during the flight as the plane was so busy so I didn’t have to feel guilty about tuning into my IPod. Normally he gets grumpy if I prefer to listen to Steely Dan instead of him.
So we landed, we got into the flat, I changed and had to run to a photo shoot and interview with Easy living magazine. The hotel was in Cadogan Square in London and it was extremely posh, I mean seriously posh. I was wearing a green shirt and white linen trousers as it was so sunny. I imagined it would all be very low key, but when I got there –there was a make up artist, a famous photographer, an assistant to that famous photographer and a journalist. They got my face done and took me up to one the expensive bedrooms and asked me to lie down! I am not kidding the amount of camera and lighting equipment in that room made me think ‘finally I get to do a porn shoot!’
So there I was lying on a big posh bed with a crew standing round me staring at the images that were coming up on a big computer screen as one guy shouted “Come on Janey, smile, turn round, give me some leg action!” It was so funny.
No it wasn’t a porn shoot, just a very posh photo shoot for this Conde Naste magazine feature. Then we moved downstairs as I sat on the big plush carpet, I was instructed to move, smile, not smile as a make up girl fussed over my quickly disappearing lip gloss and annoyingly difficult hair.
It was really tiring, and then I had to sit and do the interview which will be featuring my book that goes to paperback in August.
By the time I got back to husband I was ready to drop. I had still yet to write the Nancy Del O’llio piece for BBC Radio 4 and compile an interview that I am doing on BBC Radio 4 with Jo Frost ‘The Supernanny’ from TV.
So this morning I got up, started writing and then went to see Monica’s new flat in Chelsea, she has problems with the windows as they are painted down, she was exploding with anger and shouting at the landlord, meanwhile husband took a screw driver to the painted fixtures and released the window and made Monica scream with happiness. See who needs builders? just get a Glaswegian with a screw driver and all windows will be prised!
So I am sitting here trying to work out what I will be saying at my opening night at the prestigious Soho theatre, wish me well please?

When Do I get it right?

I started telling husband a thing that happened and he interrupted me by saying “You have told me this before”
Yes, so I had but there was more to it and I remembered some more details I wanted to add to it, but he stopped me in my stride. I like talking and he must secretly hate it, so I have decided not to tell him anything interesting again and the next time he repeats a story I will halt him and make him stop.
Believe me with his Aspergers Syndrome he fucking repeats everything twice daily, this will be fun. I hate him today. I was watching him when he wasn’t looking and everything he did annoyed me, even the way he blinked annoyed me, the way he rubbed his eyes, irritated me, when he sat and picked his nails made me want to throw petrol on him and set fire to his big aggravating awkward body. Maybe its me, I know I must be hard to live with, I am fucking full on at times. I know this as when other comics meet him the first thing they always say to him is “Man, how do you live with her?”
It’s as if I am some nutter, but there must be something about me as 8 out of 10 comics say this to him, I suppose its because I talk a lot, I really do, I need to stop talking soon.
Then again it’s what I get paid for, so husband is an ass.
I don’t know who to do anything else. Comedy/acting and writing is what I do. I can’t imagine being anyone else.
I think I will work till I die. My mate Monica is the same; I am so proud of her. She owns her own PR Company in London, she works 24/7 and has her own office/staff and works full on, and she is also a great talker!
She is Scottish as well and took on PR as a job to fill in till she decided what her route in life was and now she expanded and she is one of the biggest and most influential PR people representing Chef’s/restaurants in London!
If you ever need a table at any of London’s most upmarket restaurants – then Monica is the chick in the know!
We were chatting the other day about the hours and the madness that we do and we both decided that what we do we love but it is very consuming.
I told her that I was chatting to a woman on the plane from LA when I was flying home from New Zealand; this woman had two wee girls with her and her lovely husband. The lady told me that she was planning on two more kids.
I immediately said to her “Oh, my goodness, how the hell will you find time to work, if you have more kids?” I was genuinely sorry for her.
The woman looked at me shocked and smiled “I won’t have to work, my husband has a good job, we have a big house on the beach in LA and I will have kids and raise them, why would I want to work?”
My brain took about seventeen seconds to work out why that was a good thing.
Isn’t this what women want? I asked myself. Isn’t this the ultimate dream?
Could I imagine giving up my life to raise kids in a big beach house in LA and have my husband work for it all?
No- is the clear answer for me anyways. I know it sound like a dream come true, but I just cant and never did imagine never working and depending on a man to do it for me. What if he died? What if he fucked off and you never had any skills? What if you went mental making table centre pieces Martha Stewart stylee? What if you were allergic to pine cones and linen table napkins and the very thought of matching your curtains to your bread bin made you want to shoot squirrels?
What if you hated your kids and turned your life into the Ballad of Lucy Jordan? (That great Dr Hook song where the woman kills herself through her mind numbing experience of middle class, suburban life)
Now I know that this isn’t every woman’s view, this is mine, but I was shocked at the thought that I never even considered it as a life choice.
It may have been easier for me had I married a man with that in mind, but it never even came into my train of thought….EVER.
When I met husband I was only 18 and he was 16. His family were much richer than mine (fucksake the poorest cousins of church mice were richer than mine) yet I never thought once if I married him I wouldn’t have to work and he would provide. Not my style ever!
I have worked since I was 16; I got three days off to give birth in 1986 and was back at work the day I came home from the hospital. I can’t recall when I never worked, though now being a comic/writer person I only work late at night to go on stage. The rest of my days are lent to writing and organising, though my manager John Fleming has a harder job. He has to organise me, advise me, nag me into doing stuff and cajole me into being productive.

So there we have it, I married a man who hates me talking and yet it’s what I do for a living.
I may kill him (again) but at least if I do, I won’t have to worry about who is paying the bills, who will provide for us, who will make the decisions, who will keep me company….I do that all on my own.

Ashley is vomiting….

Well I did warn her, she is like me and cannot drink much. Last night she went out clubbing and came home all bleary eyed. This morning when I went into see her, she was lying in her bed, all sprawled out looking like a murder victim, I am sure there was white chalk lined round her. She lifted her face up and her make up was all melted over her eyes, she looked like Gene Simmons from Kiss, except a toddler had applied the make up and rubbed it in with a woolly sock.
There were big black streaks running down her cheeks, her skin was beige and she was lying there with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth the way dead dogs look after they have been hit with a car.
“Are you ok?” I asked stupidly.
“No mum, I have been sick on my Gameboy” she whispered.
I looked on the carpet and sure as fuck there was her wee Gameboy covered in sick.
“Oh dear, more vodka?” I laughed.
I walked out of the room that smelled like a homeless person’s jockstrap and went off to make myself tea.
I do feel sorry for her, like me she can only drink small amounts and then pukes.
So today I am off to clear my head as well, I have spent too many days doing nothing for my shows. I need to go write, my show opens at Soho Theatre in London next week.
Husband is being typically lazy, doing nothing and I mean nothing. It’s making me crazy. I got up this morning and the house is messy, he literally does nothing…he keeps saying he will get round to doing stuff this weekend, yet he still in his bed. Maybe I am being picky and need to lay off everyone and focus on getting my stuff ready for Edinburgh.
Or maybe that lazy fucker needs to get up and clean the place a bit.

Crazy Days…

I went to visit my old mate Betsy today. She is as mad as shit and so funny.
Not only were her old drinking pals Tom and Stumpy standing at the door but they had a barky mental dog called Biter.
I brought along my laptop in the hope that I may have got logged into some free broad band and YES it actually worked, so I was able to work and hang out with my old East End mates.
Before it got to 3pm, they were all roaring drunk; the party was in full swing
(I wasn’t, as I don’t really drink) and it was all getting a bit out of hand.
I knew it was time to go when a hot pie was flung at the fireplace. They all started shouting at each other and at that moment a journalist called me, now trust me –Betsy, Tom and Stumpy don’t have the respect to stop screaming when a phone rings. I actually had to pretend to the guy that I was watching a Scottish violent film and would turn it down to hear him talk, what I actually did was run out of the house and take the call in the garden.

That’s my life!
On a funnier note, as Ashley and I were going through the film footage she shot in NZ, there is a small clip of me teasing some big rugby type blokes. I have a bit of banter with them and actually ask them if they are gay strippers.
Turns out the guy I was chatting with is Ali Williams the top All Black Rugby guy! I saw pics of him on google with Prince William, and there was me and Ashley taking the piss out of him! You can see a wee clip of it on this link

http://livedigital.com/content/423043/u1530

So check it out and you can see me ask him if his team mate is his
‘Brokeback mountain’ boyfriend!
Speak soon…..

No going back….

I have had people and journalists all week ask me why I tell all in my blogs. I think I have an inherent need to keep talking or I will die! Sometimes at home husband hardly speaks, he is very quiet. So I call mates and I call family and when I have exhausted them I go on stage and talk and when that avenue is done, I talk here. Maybe one day I will run out of words.
At least I get paid for it on stage! That helps!
Got my credit card bill in today and husband sat there with ‘that face’ on, you the face that makes shocked looks at every expenditure, fucks me off, I pay my own bills, but he does all the financial work for me.
“How much did you pay for a pair of jeans? You know you can get jeans for £4 at Tesco’s” He tells me solemnly.
“Yes, and you can have a wife who wears Tesco’s jeans, luckily you have me who doesn’t” I add.
“I wouldn’t mind a wife who wore Tesco’s own brand jeans, she would be nice anyway” He mumbles.
“Good, then go fucking find some cheap chav who wears cheap clothes” I smile back.
I mean my jeans were only £20, hardly fucking astronomical- I may stab him at dawn. He still shrieks at the price of Lycra tights “What £7 a pair of tights?”
If it were down to him Ashley and I would be wearing wooden clogs that we carved out each time our feet got bigger or he would have paint to change the colour of the clogs if we fancied something different.
Left to him we would be eating shit spam and chips.
I live in nice places and eat good food and wear lovely clothes, he forgets I was the child who wore torn and dirty clothes.
I had filthy underwear and shabby shoes as a child, I lived in a dirty house that was infested with fleas and often had to pick lice from my hair. I once had scabies and had to paint my naked body in a foul smelling chemicals and stand naked till it dried, the sheets on my bed had to be burned and I slept with an old coat the rest of that winter.
The smell still haunts me. I still dream about the filthy toilet and sometimes clean it in my dreams! I cannot stand bad smells or untidy places. I clean pub tables before I sit at them, I wipe cutlery in restaurants before I eat.
I am not going back to being poor. I may die skint, but whilst I am alive, it has to be decent accommodation with clean bed linen and at least four star hotels. Nothing less will do.
People mistake it for snobbery or class obsessed, but it has to do with maintaining my own standards.
You would be surprised the amount of comedy bookers who assume you will ‘stay over’ at their flat when doing their gig to avoid costs!
I need to be booked into a good hotel, have my own privacy and not have to sleep in someone’s bed!
When I was a child, I remember going to other girl’s houses and being amazed at how clean they were, I would envy the drawers full of clean pants and socks that lined them. The fresh cotton smell, the tidy rooms with clean bed linen, the books lined up on white shelves, the fresh food and non shouty sober parents that served hot soup, all stunned me and made me eternally jealous.
I recall vowing to myself that when I was older I would never live dirty again, I would never watch my child picking lice, and I would never again eat leftover chips that drunks dropped in the street.
I haven’t and that’s how it’s going to stay.
I am so glad Ashley has never had to suffer any of the above indignities, she has had a very privileged life in comparison but she does know what I went through and does appreciate every penny spent on her.
So I am not going to wear £4 jeans, fuck off and find some grateful whore who will dear husband coz it aint me.

Janey is Blogging…

Sorry I have been slack of late, I don’t mean ‘slack’ in any body parts or I may have to remind you that the best quote I have ever received was from my local district nurse who when trying to give me a smear test actually said and I quote “You have a surprisingly tight vagina for a woman who has had a child” Let me tell you there is no quote can beat that EVER! I even put that on a flyer to advertise my show!

Anyway I have been writing stuff for BBC and writing stuff for my shows and getting posters organised.
I was over to see my wee baby niece Abi and wee nephew Shaun, Shaun is nine and Abi is three, they are so cute and I love them both.
I have been worried about Shaun as there is a boy in his class who has been bullying him and causing him problems. Shaun does try hard to steer clear of the boy and apparently the nasty boy’s parents have been warned repeatedly about their child’s attitude to other kids, but this doesn’t really help Shaun’s day to day dealings. I am sure he is still under pressure, but we are trying all areas to resolve it before I turn up and attempt to kill the parents of the 666 child that hurts my wee nephew.
Abi and Shaun’s mum is my niece Ann Mags. She is pregnant with her third child
(I don’t know the current state of her tight bits, but I assume they must be under stress!)
Anyway, as I was rubbing her mummy’s pregnant tummy lump Abi said to me in a really serious tone of voice “When that baby comes out you are allowed to hold it but you are not allowed to break it Aunty Janey”
I laughed my ass off at this. We all then went to see Shaun’s school summer fete. All the boys and girls were singing about plants and vegetables and growing and stuff I am not sure I understood, but my fav wee nephew was standing holding aloft his dark spiky head a ‘huge cauliflower’.
Abi watched intently then turned to me, her big brown eyes and huge floppy curls are so cute- I smiled at her and leaned my head down to hear her, but that wee lispy mouth shouted “Why is Shaun holding a big dirty vagebabble? I am awfully bored Aunty Janey” Everyone could hear her; I had to stifle a giggle. Shaun started laughing and Abi stood on a chair and shouted “Throw it Shaun, throw it!”
Shaun continued to sing some song about growing and seeds, whilst giggling and writhing about in helpless fits of laughter, still holding up a big dirty cauliflower. He is a trooper. Abi clapped her wee chubby hands in delight as her beloved big brother sang.
I wanted to laugh aloud, but Ann Mags was glaring at me.
Come on how fucking interesting can kids find cauliflower? I wanted him to lob it at that nasty wee boy who bullies him in the front row. Just the thought of the nasty boy being clobbered on the head with a big cauliflower would have made my day….and Shaun’s I am sure. But we must play by the rules, though just watching the nasty evil child give Shaun sly looks made me want to stamp on the wee fuckers neck.
Don’t worry….I am not a child killer and can restrain myself….

I had a horrible situation last night; I have been watching series 4 of 24, my favourite TV show. Fuck knows how Jack Bauer gets through a day without having a heart attack or at least a piss or a cup of tea I will never know! He must wake up some mornings, hear his phone go and say “Fuck off, I cannot save the world, I am really tired and I get at least seventeen beatings and shot at 56 times in 24 hours”
I cannot believe how they expect us to believe a man gets that much torture, that many bullets fired at him, that many close calls with death, so many family members threatened or killed and still looks ok at the end of it. Anyone connected gets dragged off by Middle Eastern crazy extremists and he has to make really hard choices based on his job.
Yet he still looks cool and collected.

I have a situation with a parking attendant and I look like a crazy cat woman who needs 24 hours of sleep after that confrontation!

As I said I was watching the show, I ate some ice cream and then two minutes later vomited it up….it was so weird to puke up cold stuff, the ice cream came back out COLD! Yuk…
So today I am trying to get my life organised, I don’t think I ma there yet but at least I am trying.
Talk soon.

Manchester Madness.

Yes, we are in Manchester, despite trying kill each other and fighting furiously (me winning every time of course) we are in the land of ENGLAND for the WORLD CUP! Everywhere there are St.Georges flags, women in red and white bikini’s and small kids with painted faces. It’s really cool actually to see people behind their country.
I got a phone call yesterday from an agent asking me if I wanted to do comedy at the Scottish famous music festival T in the Park, but I cannot do it as I am booked elsewhere at the time. Which is a shame, but I am not good at letting people down on the other booking.
I did a radio show last night after my gig at Jongleurs; it was for BBC Radio 5 live. The guy was chatting to me about my book and comedy and I was tired, I hope I came across ok.
He asked me a few times, how -after being sexually abused, coping with my mother’s murder and living with gangsters-did I find it easy to be funny and why hadn’t I fell apart by now?
Well, I find it hard to explain that one, but it just IS.
He went on again trying to figure me out and when I told a funny story about my mum, he was aghast that I could laugh about her, knowing she had been murdered!
I can laugh at my mammy, she was funny, obviously I am not laughing at her being murdered, but I know she had a wicked sense of humour and would be proud of what I am doing with my life. I don’t think I can explain to people why I am not a nutty crazy nervous wreck.
As for my mammy-
I am constantly aware that she died at 47 and I am now 45, so I am going to live every day for the next two years, doing everything I want to do, and fuck the scary consequences. I don’t mean I will do irresponsible stuff, I will just make sure I will enjoy everything I do, and stop letting the stress of life get to me.
That’s why I am doing three shows this year at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
Everyone thinks I am nuts…but fuck it!
Why not? If the critics hate me, if the audiences don’t turn up, if the in-crowd mock my attempts…then I will still enjoy every second, because I am still here and still alive and my mammy isn’t, she never got the chance to do anything.
She will be up there cheering me on, I know this.
I miss her terribly sometimes; just small things make me remember her.
It can be piece of music, or a smile I catch in the mirror or a smell.
I wish she was still here, she would truly enjoy stand up comedy, and she would come to gigs and sit at the back and laugh her ass off. My mammy was as crazy as a cat on crack.
So here I am today in Manchester trying hard not to argue with husband, although his Aspergers syndrome is in full swing at the moment (it makes me want to slam a door into his head) When I speak and inadvertently say a certain word that he may latch onto, he associates it to a song….for example I said a few moments ago ‘I need help with this’- he burst into the Beatles classic ‘Help’ and I had to stand until he had ran out of steam with the song, before he would actually help me!
So far today he has sung three lines in full blast of The Eagles, The Spice Girls, Oasis and Elvis.
I may have to kill him, I think if I went to court and explained how fucking annoying the bastard is, the court would let me off the hook.
I mean how many days can you go with some retarded Rainman singing replies to questions with a weird word/song association without actually sticking an axe into his head?
My second edition of ‘Nancy Del Ollio’s World Cup Diary’ is on BBC Radio 4 today on ‘Loose Ends’ at 6-15pm UK time. I write the piece and it is recorded by an actress.

Oh Fucking Hell…

I was at a special community event today. I do workshops and am writer in residence for the Drug forum people here in Glasgow. My play ‘The Point of Yes’ which is about heroin flooding Glasgow and I play the two characters involved.
Anyway, there are many other community group representatives sitting at their info booths along side me.
I had on behind me a DVD player and TV that was playing my comedy and play.
Sitting right beside me were the local police.
I went outside for a cup of tea and as I left I saw one of the organisers put up the volume on my TV set.
What I didn’t know was, the comedy DVD that was on had reached the part where I tell the audience several anecdotes on some old unsolved crimes, I have a few funny stories about some illegal stuff and one actually involves me.
When I came back into the room, the whole place was silent and all you could hear was me shouting ‘Fuck the police’ and a crowd cheering-and the two policemen were sitting watching the DVD with great attention!
It was a fun day. They gave me the strangest looks all afternoon, I did manage to convince them that the stories were all just ‘fun’.
Also here is some good news, I got my first journalistic piece printed in The Scotsman newspaper today, they gave me an hour to write it yesterday and I am very proud that it looks great and reads well!
I wrote an article about how the British Press are verbally slaughtering Heather Mills McCartney –estranged wife of Sir Paul McCartney. I felt they were being too harsh and as always coming down hard on the woman and giving the man all the sympathy.
So here I am tonight, getting ready to go to Manchester tomorrow. Husband has been an absolute arse fuck wit and deserves to die in hot oil as small pygmies poke his eyes with a hot needle.
I was under extreme pressure yesterday, trying to work and write an article last minute and he decided at that moment that I go find a cheque book. I literally came off the phone from the newspaper who had ordered the article. I sat at the PC and got ready to type and he started being a child demanding attention. I had to leave the deadline and go find a chequebook, which incidentally was lying beside HIS bed. Then I finished writing the piece, I sat down and finished writing my play, went off to write out my compensation forms for my lost luggage, designed a poster, went off to do a workshop and organised three radio interviews for next week AND wrote the diary piece for BBC Radio 4, all the while as he moaned in the background.
He sulked and told me he wouldn’t speak to me again (Hurrah)
He never even apologised, so I hate him and am going to find a Voodoo mama to have his cock fall off.
I will keep you posted. Divorce is looming as we speak.

Life and Luggage…

Yes, the luggage arrived finally. I was really worried as the whole case was ripped open, so I quickly did a check to see what was missing…do you know what was gone? My make up and my good BAFTA dress! Yes…the case thief left a brand new hard drive, an IPOD, a camera tripod and mini disc player, yet made off with make up and a fucking dress!
Some scary mad transsexual is dancing around Heathrow in my frock and eclectic selection of make up.
So I filed a complaint for compensation.

On Sunday morning I got up, got dressed and headed for the Byres road for a quiet coffee. As I entered the trendy West End street, I was greeted by blaring pop music, 36 women dressed as butterflies and about 17 Down Syndrome adults with their faces painted as tigers blowing silver whistles!
Holy Fuck…I thought my jetlag had made me go mental, turns out it was the West End Festival, so I turned on my heels and headed for home.
I also had to get up early to get new make up…can you believe a decent make up brush costs £20, husband almost pissed himself and bit off his own arm at the thought of me paying all that cash for what he describes as ‘A bushy thing that rubs shit on your face’ but I needed to get new make up as I had an interview with BBC television.
I have a few press things set up this week and am off again - yes, its suitcase and pyjama time again, I have not got over jetlag yet either and I am going to Manchester this weekend.
Ashley and I are rehearsing and getting stuff ready for our Edinburgh Fringe show, we sat in the sunshine at a beer garden and went through all the characters that we play, some of these characters are quite…how can I say…politically incorrect, the people around us were horrified!
Ashley and I went up to BBC radio studios to do a live round up of the NZ comedy festival, it is the first time we have done a live radio show together, it was really funny, as we both got the giggles just before we went live and had to stop looking at each other for fear of pissing ourselves and being unprofessional.
So we have decided to keep the show to quiet places till the Festival kicks off!

I am not used to being home, husband is like a dog with two tails, and his excitement at having me here is starting to annoy me. I am lying awake at night, not sure where my head is, the jet lag is so fucking draining and I have to have my intelligent head on as I am so busy.
I am missing Ashley today, she has gone to stay at her mate’s house, she needed some space, I needed her near. I have to say spending that length of time with her in NZ was the singular most wonderful experience of my life. She really did make the trip so special, I usually spend a lot of time on my own when on tour, but she made me smile and laugh out loud so many times and the people of the comedy circuit in NZ really made her very welcome, I am blessed. I want to thank all of those guys for the love and generous time they gave us. Ashley and I have made friends for life in NZ and I want to live there forever!
I am up late tonight, in the hope tomorrow I will sleep past 6am….see you all soon.

It’s Coming Home…Not the World Cup…my Bag!

Oh Yes! This morning I called British Airways lost bag department and YES my wee bag is lying in a corner of Heathrow Airport! It’s coming home!
I am so happy, I have been wearing the odd clothes you buy but never wear that huddle together in a mismatched bundle at the back of my wardrobe. I am so glad I’ve lost weight as some of my old clothes that I used to wear 8 years ago fit me now, ok they are hideously out of fashion – but I need clothes!

I can’t wait to see my favourite bra. Been wearing a baggy one for three days now and my boobs are just jiggling around inside it like two lost kittens in a shopping bag.
My good bra really is lovely and supports me totally- I don’t know why I kept my old bra’s that are too big, maybe psychologically I believe I am going get fat once more and will yet again have tits that only John Brown’s Shipyard can make underwear to fit.
On another note I was so very pleased that yesterday’s edition of BBC radio 4 ‘Loose Ends’ featured my ‘Nancy Del Olio’s (England football managers girlfriend) fake diary, live from the World Cup camp in Germany’.
I have been commissioned to write five episodes and it’s so cool to hear the actress speak the words I had written. I am now officially a BBC Radio 4 writer…you have no idea how good that feels!
I have so much to do this week and am getting stuck into it all. In preparation for the fringe -I have my play to rehearse, the sketch show with Ashley to finish and rehearse and maybe….just maybe I will make notes for my new Edinburgh Fringe show ‘Janey Godley’s Blog Live!’
My blog is the actual inspiration for the comedy show, I want to talk about all the people I have contacted, all the people who have contacted me and all the strange stuff that has happened over the last two years of furious blogging….you never know it may be YOU I am talking about this year!
By the way thanks for all the lovely comments about yesterdays blog, people have mentioned they loved it, people have asked if it really happened and some people just gave me compliments on my writing of ‘mild porn’….maybe I am missing my true vocation?
When I was younger I used to read the old corny ‘Mills and Boon’ love books. If you are unfamiliar with style of reading material, let me fill you in.
There was always an innocent virgin, she was slender, coy and somehow always fell for difficult aggressive uncommunicative man (seems that’s what I did in real fucking life!) anyway, there would always be situation where the ‘broody man’ mistakenly assumes the innocent virgin has another man and he rejects her brutally –then that situation gets sorted and they have sex…Mills and Boon Stlyee!
It would read something like this…
(Cue soft music and blurred focus as if Vaseline has been rubbed into your eyes)
Brent stroked Jemima’s hair. She shivered at the touch, she knew there and then that his intention would be delicious but yet it still scared her (Why? Does she not want this? I mean for fucksake she has been batting her fluffy eyelashes at him for 254 pages now).
His strong firm hands held her tightly and he pulled her roughly to him (smells like rape to me!) She tried to turn her head away but his dark blue eyes compelled her to keep his gaze (scary man is hypnotists…run Jemima). Then he slowly pulled her tightly to him and she felt is manly strength press against her body, its nearness shook her, yet she was soft towards him and accepted his needs (Dear oh dear…just say NO ya mad bitch or get down there, give him a BJ and go pretend to make tea and finish yourself off )
Afterwards (Fucking afterwards? After what? They only fucking hugged in the last sentence! Give me some details….) Afterwards they sat and watched the sun go down on the horizon and Brent held Jemima near as they planned their whole future together, she smiled slowly and knew that her life would be complete.

Yes…that’s where I got any experience of romance from…can you see where I went wrong? I mean after sex for the first time, sitting talking about your entire future is the last thing you need, maybe a cup of tea and a fag, maybe a talk about what you are going to do that weekend….no wonder I married the first man I had sex with, I blame it all on Mills and Boon books. I am off to sue them now!

That Night…

The open fire crackled and spat, making the atmosphere electric, as if the noise and fire displayed the tension in the room. A small firework arrangement just for us, I sat there and could feel the intense heat on my bare legs, well not really bare but my cropped trousers only reached my knees when I sat with my legs hunched up to my chin. Suddenly this small amount of flesh on show seemed sexual! The skin on my shin bone shone in the glow. I could see old scars below my knees from my childhood exploits, a dark blue vein throbbed blood through the myriad of tissue on my lower leg and I watched it with fascination, why have I never saw that before, when was the last time I stared at my shins?
The man sat near, I knew he wanted to touch my leg, the fear and excitement this caused me didn’t make sense. I waited for a spark to ping out and burn me, punishment for my sin of being needed by another man. My need for him to touch me was becoming frightening, what if he never touched my leg? What if he didn’t actually want me at all?
I can never truly read sexual situations, being married too long makes that muscle weak. Never having to dance that tightrope of sexual persuasion for a long time disables your inner sense. I might be wrong, he might be feeling sorry for me, watching me sitting here waiting to be wanted with a throbby veiny leg.
I tried to numb my brain to all the heightened senses that flooded through my body, why was I here? Why am I not at home? Where is my husband? I saw my husbands face, very young…he must be seventeen in this memory I noted to myself. His dark eyes were staring at me with a strange anger flashing through them.
Not now, please…don’t let me have a bad memory of him, I want to see his nice face, I quickly flick through the Rolodex of years and marked memories looking for the look that always made me want to kiss his chin, that kiss that almost gets his mouth but some how feels better it landed on his chin.
The man reaches over and stops my brain from downloading a good picture of my husband, his hand gently but very accurately touches the scar on my shin bone, the feeling makes my whole leg tingle, his fingers are strange to me. I don’t know these fingers; I can tell you a story for every scar and mark on my husband’s hands, each freckle and nick are as familiar to me as the map of my own body.
I don’t understand this feeling; I have never felt this slow trickle of excitement for many years. I never knew the tops of my outer ear had nerve endings, but they do. They slowly tickled themselves, as if there were some electric current attached from my shin bone to my ear lobes. Is that an erogenous zone? I don’t know and I start not to question it in case it stopped as the feeling was so good and intense I never wanted it to end.

“I can’t do this” I blurt out…did my mouth say that? Why is it saying that? I can do this, I want my body to feel that tingle all over the way my ear and shin does.
“That’s ok, I knew you wouldn’t” he whispers.
The fire cracks loudly and this time a sharp pain hit the back of my hand, I wince and look at the small red mark. The man lifts my hand and kisses the spot.
“I have to go” I say as I jump out of my crouched position.
Before I am truly aware of my movements, I clumsily stumble to the door of his flat. I get out into the street and feel the late summer wind blow my hair about; though there is still a chill in the air. My heart is beating in my chest, I don’t want to look round because if he is there and looks at me and asks me once more…I will stay. I will let those unfamiliar hands find me.
Instead I walk briskly, I walk until roads and shops become familiar to me, I walk and breathe out more and my shins now feel cold, it must be 4am.
I finally get to my destination; I wait patiently in the lift that takes me straight to my room.
I lie down and fall asleep with all my clothes on and wake up late the next morning.
“Mum you were talking in your sleep, are you ok?” Ashley looks at me across the hotel room.
“I was dreaming” I tell her and I smile and pull the covers over my bare legs.
Those are the kind of dreams I like, certainly better than the nightmares.

Well I am Home!

After the longest journey in history I am finally sitting at my home pc!
We left Auckland on Wednesday the 8th and due to passing through the International Dateline (I never even got a date!) we went a day back in time!
The flights included babies that screamed like a referee’s whistle and kept Ashley & I awake constantly! Why? People should shut their babies up on long haul flights.
We landed in LA and managed to get upgraded to a better seat, but again that flight was fucked as a small baby decided to break all world records for ‘The baby who can scream and stay awake the longest’ I wanted to die….every time I finally drifted off, that fucking high pitched scream that made whales in the ocean below us twitch…woke me up again.
The mother just sat there, I wanted to stuff the wee screamer into a small box and throw it out of the window. Apparently that’s illegal.
I would rather sit beside the terrorist than that squealing pig of a baby, give it drugs or something? No….let it scream and keep awake an entire cabin full of people who need to get to London refreshed. Of course as we landed the wee monster fell asleep, I felt like pinching it to keep it awake. Apparently that’s illegal as well!
So we landed into the searing heat of Glasgow…yes its summer here!
The bad news is, our luggage cases went AWOL on arrival in Glasgow. We have been frantic; there is nothing worse than getting to your destination and not having your well packed and much loved luggage. Ashley is hysterical as she has 21 hours of film footage in her camera, her tapes and her hard drive! The good news is that I just got a call and Ashley’s case has been found and being delivered. That’s great; as my case only contains a tripod and some clothes….the important news is that all Ashley’s camera equipment and film footage is safe! She was gutted at the thought of losing her precious memories being strewn to the wind.
So we are waiting on news of my case, my good dress and my make-up are secreted in that case, but that is easily replaced….memories aren’t!

Husband is watching telly, he is ignoring my big tales of NZ, he will not watch my footage of the shows, he is watching telly….so I am so needy and attention seeking as we speak…why won’t he listen to me? Probably because I will talk about that trip to NZ for the rest of my life and he will no doubt hear it over and over again…but a bit of attention would not go amiss!
I am off to kill him. Bye.

Hurrah! Won an award!

It was the last night of the New Zealand Oddfellow’s International Comedy Festival, my shows had sold out here in Auckland and in Wellington, so I was so very pleased and I thought things could not get better, until the Comedy Festival Awards night.
Ashley and I were there to support all the newer comics we had made friends with who were up for a BILLY T award, this is a very prestigious award given to one of the lesser known comics who are based in New Zealand to help them promote and support their comedy career.
Ashley was filming some of the event for our documentary, then they announced the ‘Spirit of the Festival’ award, it goes to the person who has embodied the whole festival, been supportive to other acts, been co-operative to work with and enjoyed their time in NZ.
When my name was announced as the winner-I almost peed myself, and there was my huge face up on the screen, it was such a lovely gesture that I almost cried!
I thought that was such an amazing act of kindness from the organisers in Auckland.
They then announced the nominee’s for ‘Best International Comic’- up first was David O’Doherty, Phil Nichol and ……Janey Godley! There were so many awesome international comics over here in NZ to be chosen as a nominee is wonderful.
Phil Nichol won the award and rightly so, but just to be nominated was enough to make my night.
So today is a holiday, Ashley and I partied hard last night.
I wish I hadn’t worn high heels, my feet feel like they had been battered by tools of the devil.
There is a guy here in Auckland who dresses up as a wizard, with huge pointy hat, striped socks and strange make up. I watched him yesterday as he sat in the sunshine, casting mini-spells to anyone who would listen, just then two very serious Christians clutching their bibles sat beside him and prayed loudly for his soul. The wizard man sat nonchalantly and arranged his wee candles into a pentacle and drew devils faces on the pavement beside the guys praying as their eyes were shut! I could not stop laughing at this, I know the wizard guy is harmless, and I understand the Christian people need to do their scary work, but together they made the funniest improvised show I have seen in a long time….they should have won ‘Spirit of the Festival’
I go home to UK on Wednesday….Video blog will be up soon on Livedigital…keep watching, just go to Livedigital.com and enter janeygodley and check out my stuff!

Last Night at Auckland Comedy Festival…

It is Saturday night here, I am about to go do my very last show at Silo Theatre. I have loved that theatre; the people are so cool and helpful. Ashley has been having the most fun a girl can have on tour with her mother! With a few exceptions of privacy issue’s….we really do need a big apartment with separate rooms. The mess she creates makes me feel raped. I cannot cope with the sheer amount of clothes and shit lying about this room, but I know she is good at putting it all away and I have cleany freaky tidy issues that go back to my childhood. Ok I have to go so Ashley is going to finish this blog. See you all after the last show and I will keep you updated.
Hello there Blog readers, Ashley here. Mother is off out for coffee with one of her NZ friends. Tonight is the big end of festival party at the Classic comedy club on Queen Street; this means that many comedians will be drunk and fighting for attention, practically all of them will be men and really we should just get the rulers out at the start of the night to save all the noise.
I got new boots yesterday, they are like pirate boots but with a large 4inch wedged heel. They are black leather and go all the way up to my knees. They are the luckiest boots in the entire world! A man spilled a drink on them yesterday and I asked the bartender for a cloth to clean them, when I told him what it was for he ran round the bar and polished them for me. It may be that these boots are magical or it may be that the bar tender is a ginger 19 year old filled up to the eye brows with sperm and male hormones! I choose to believe the former and not the latter.
Mum says she’s ready to go home, but she’s old and has responsibilities. I want to stay here and never leave mainly because most of my responsibilities are reasonably dispensable, though I know she would not agree with that. The Edinburgh festival is not dispensable but I’m warming to the idea of going to Scotland for a holiday. A dream I know but if you come to this country and spend enough time in it you find it hard to believe that more people do not live here.
This country if anything has been kind to me. For the first time whilst traveling with my mother I have felt a bit like my own woman, maybe its the fact I’m now 20 and don’t need to wear dungarees, or maybe I am a little more confident in myself as a person ( I wasn’t the prettiest teenager.) I’m not saying I’m a super model now, but at least I’m no longer wearing Baggy Goth jeans for the simple fact that normal ones won’t fit me.
So mums had some good reviews in the press here in NZ. The real excitement is that I am no longer Janey Godley’s quite funny daughter, perhaps she is now Ashley’s very funny mother. Here are the two reviews that have made my trip to NZ all worth while and make me smile every time I read them! It sounds big headed I know but when you spent puberty with kids following you singing
"Farmer Ashley is a cow, ee ay ee ay oh!" (I wore Dungarees for far longer than any person should) It feels nice to be complimented in the national press.
"Janey's daughter Ashley is the butt of a fair amount of material as we hear Janey did not initially embrace motherhood. But the stunning young woman proudly filming her mother in the foyer after the show, has obviously been loved and nurtured, and not adversely affected by growing up round drunkards and addicts in the family bar ("she thought they were pixies and fairies", Janey assured us.)"
www.theatrereview.org.nz
Janey Godley (Scotland)
The most mumsy of tonight's performers, and she is lovely. Her hot daughter is a hot topic and most of the jokes are at her expense. But when you've got the funniest mum on earth, who cares?

Our rating:
* * * *
NZ Herald
So from both mother and I here in New Zealand a fond farewell and see you next time.

Sorry I am a late Slag!

I have been over-worked, over excited and over here in NZ for too long and the net was down for a while…sorry I am late but I have an excuse!
The comedy shows have been going great guns at Silo, selling out well and I am so very pleased with that, as you can imagine.
Auckland is sunny again and I have a burnt nose! I am going to Mike Loder’s home today; Mike is the funniest comic in NZ and was the guy who originally inspired me to write my autobiography back in 2002. He encouraged me to keep writing to him and the original draft I wrote was the actual document that got me a book deal….so I love him.
It has been so awesome catching up with my old pals here in NZ but my schedule has been full on and that’s crazy.
Ashley has blended into the Auckland comedy community so well, that people don’t assume she is my daughter as she knows more people than me here and already seems to be part of the fixture and fittings (that’s what she does!) and that’s so heart warming that all my mates got to meet her.
I am writing for BBC radio 4 at the moment and its been hectic trying to fit everything in, remember I am still trying to get everything rehearsed and sorted for Edinburgh Fringe as well…..
I miss husband and it won’t long till I am home now, I get back to Glasgow on 8th May, which is good because sexually the homeless man who lives in the dumpster at the corner of K-Road is starting to look attractive!
I am dreaming about sex, everywhere I look people are having sex, it’s mental.
In the hotel we have the Junior All Black Rugby team staying, and we got a few of them on camera telling us they were a gay dance troupe…watch out for that live blog!
I was lying beside the pool yesterday and a few of those big rugby players came up, stripped and lay beside me….I was like a crazy sex starved bag lady, I almost licked one! Those tight fit torso’s are making me go nutty….I need to get laid soon or stray dogs will die!
I am so sorry I was late here, Ashley is having a ball and has decided she wants to live here, which scares me slightly as I will miss her so much, but I think with the two of us living in such close proximity we have came across personality clashes which I thought would never exist between my daughter and I , but then to me she is still five years old and not a healthy big lovely 20 year old woman….so sparks will fly!
Talk soon