My knees, lower legs and ankles are covered in hard ringed blotches that itch like fuck, because mosquito’s love my blood. During the night as I lay sheet-less on the square hard bed, 27 wee bitey mozzie’s decided to come in the dusk and chew on my flesh. I must have been a veritable feast for them; so much so, they picked up their mozzie mobile phones and called their mates to come over to the Scottish barbeque. I can just imagine their arrival at the window above my head, the maitre’d of mozzie world showed them to their table (my fat plump thighs and stocky ankles) and pointed out the juiciest flesh for their delight, then the wee nasty hungry creatures sat down to chomp. Pulling out their sharp blood sucking equipment and portable anaesthetic fluid, they set about their night long sucking. My fan hummed in the background giving them a tune to dance to as they made sure I woke up with hard lumpy boils with blood dripping from them, the chemicals they injected me with was leaking slowly out mixed with blood, creating an almost fastidious itch that makes me look like I have some psychological impulse to scratch my ankles and knees.
Other than that I am fine.
I was also bitten whilst staring at the Gaudi Famillia church. The spiky cartoon like spires, mixed with traditional gothic features is a spectacular sight. I am sure Gaudi and the mozzie’s have a relationship. One is so immersed in the view that you forget you are being eaten slowly as you gasp at the mere sight of what can only be
a ‘Storm Trooper’ from Star Wars cut in stone standing beside an emaciated Jesus hanging from a cross on the fantastic montage at the front. Maybe Gaudi really did do acid or maybe he laughs quietly in his grave as he recognises that he created the world’s biggest diversion for mosquitoes.
So this is my last day here, I went out a walk, but the humidity is unbearable. On entering the street, my body quickly became a damp sponge, I could feel my bra soak up the sweat that ran down my cleavage, my back licked my white shirt and made sure it stuck there for the rest of the day and my knickers stuck to my ass and refused to give way when I walked, making them ride up constantly and rub parts of me that should only be rubbed intimately and not in public. Nice and weird at the same time!
I am still trying to find someone to hold my video camera so I can do my ‘live blog’ but the Catalonians are fabulously rude! They are grumpy and tetchy (must be all that sweat and public chaffing of underwear). I like it, they are a bit like Glaswegians, angry, short tempered but they are far better looking.
So here I am back in my room, I cannot bear the heat and have been spent the whole day being mystified by strange sexual random thoughts, then realised that my underwear mixed with humidity has been slowly seducing me in a weird abstract fashion. I need to change.
Now I know why Gaudi designed those buildings!
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Barcelona is Brilliant…
I am absolutely stunned at the architecture here, Gaudi made his mark, like some drug crazed amphetamine stumped toddler with a box of crayons and bundle of bricks and some ceramics, he went mental and I LOVE IT.
The colours and textures are breath taking and the street lamps are just awesome. I know I am a bore…but I am in heaven here.
The back of my brain is telling me that I need to be getting ready for the biggest festival in Edinburgh of my entire LIFE…but I cannot drag myself away from these buildings and this culture to even focus on anything and somewhere that is doing me the power of spiritual good. To be here in Catalonia and breathing in this place is like life blood to me, I dreamed of this place when I was a child and here I am!
I sat on the beach yesterday in my bra and shorts, as I don’t posses a bikini, and I swam in the ferocious waves as they crashed into the sand, minute pieces of shredded sand glimmered all over my body, it looks like I had rubbed myself with a glitter ball! The sand is silver!
I played football with very young fit Catalonian guys, who cheered every time I kept the ball up with my feet and performed forgotten football tricks from my younger days (I was a very good footballer for a girl- that was before I grew these tits!)
The gig went fabulous at the Dubliner pub, a small but friendly Irish bar, and then a wee ancient man who had sat in the front row and never laughed once at me got up and played the guitar and sang almost every song I carry in my IPOD – from Leonard Cohen to Eagles, he knew the lot. I left there at 4am and went to the beach front with one of the regulars called Sam.
We sat in a café drinking bitter coffee chatting and watched the sun rise. As the sun came over the darkened beach, illuminating it slowly - like a torch whose battery was waning and revealed couples fighting, fucking and singing on the sand–it was like a dark mystical cloak had slowly been slithered across the landscape towards the sky- a perverted magic trick just for us! How cool?
I then started slowly walking back to the apartment and saw every Gaudi piece of art and architecture light up in the dawn, not many people around, just me staring at buildings in a magical light show. I saw the occasional street cleaner stopping for a cigarette watching me -watching stuff.
I fell asleep at 10am and was awakened by the loudest bangs that I have ever heard and I have heard building fall and gunshots- this fucking noise was horrific! Turns out it was a wedding letting off fire works. Holy Cow, what a start to married life- having your eardrums bust- well I suppose that’s stops them from hearing each other and that marriage may work well!
The colours and textures are breath taking and the street lamps are just awesome. I know I am a bore…but I am in heaven here.
The back of my brain is telling me that I need to be getting ready for the biggest festival in Edinburgh of my entire LIFE…but I cannot drag myself away from these buildings and this culture to even focus on anything and somewhere that is doing me the power of spiritual good. To be here in Catalonia and breathing in this place is like life blood to me, I dreamed of this place when I was a child and here I am!
I sat on the beach yesterday in my bra and shorts, as I don’t posses a bikini, and I swam in the ferocious waves as they crashed into the sand, minute pieces of shredded sand glimmered all over my body, it looks like I had rubbed myself with a glitter ball! The sand is silver!
I played football with very young fit Catalonian guys, who cheered every time I kept the ball up with my feet and performed forgotten football tricks from my younger days (I was a very good footballer for a girl- that was before I grew these tits!)
The gig went fabulous at the Dubliner pub, a small but friendly Irish bar, and then a wee ancient man who had sat in the front row and never laughed once at me got up and played the guitar and sang almost every song I carry in my IPOD – from Leonard Cohen to Eagles, he knew the lot. I left there at 4am and went to the beach front with one of the regulars called Sam.
We sat in a café drinking bitter coffee chatting and watched the sun rise. As the sun came over the darkened beach, illuminating it slowly - like a torch whose battery was waning and revealed couples fighting, fucking and singing on the sand–it was like a dark mystical cloak had slowly been slithered across the landscape towards the sky- a perverted magic trick just for us! How cool?
I then started slowly walking back to the apartment and saw every Gaudi piece of art and architecture light up in the dawn, not many people around, just me staring at buildings in a magical light show. I saw the occasional street cleaner stopping for a cigarette watching me -watching stuff.
I fell asleep at 10am and was awakened by the loudest bangs that I have ever heard and I have heard building fall and gunshots- this fucking noise was horrific! Turns out it was a wedding letting off fire works. Holy Cow, what a start to married life- having your eardrums bust- well I suppose that’s stops them from hearing each other and that marriage may work well!
Friday, July 28, 2006
Barcelona and heat…
I thought I couldn’t possibly get any hotter in UK, but yes, Barcelona is fucking furnace like. I am staying in a really old apartment and the architecture is just awesome. The old entry to the apartments looks like my old tenement in Glasgow’s East End. It had marble flooring, wooden staircase banister and ceramic tiles adorning the walls. The old doors are so carved and ornate, with small gilt panels- it really does hark back to some old time era. I like to imagine that some other wee Glaswegian found this place and sat on these stairs back in the days when many Scottish people came to Barcelona to fight fascism. I still find it incredible to imagine that ordinary Scottish men AND women left their homes (many from the Calton, where I lived in Glasgow) and despite the hardships they faced in Glasgow, they made their way to Catalonia to fight against a regime!
I cannot even begin to imagine the scenario where some Glasgow wife was hanging out a washing and trying to feed her kids then at some point decided to get a boat to a foreign country, to a language she doesn’t speak, to a terrain she doesn’t know to fight people she has never met. Un-fucking-believable…but they did do it.
So Catalonia has a place in my heart because of this.
The gigs are cool, strange but cool and I have decided that due to the heat, all primping and beauty regimes are out the window, it is of no use applying make up (it slide off your face) it is no use fussing with my hair (it is soaked in ten minutes of going out) so I am a sweaty blob and don’t care who knows it.
I am missing husband and Ashley like you cannot believe, but awaking in this room this morning with my wooden shutters open wide, and staring at the ochre aged wallpaper with fake bamboo pattern is wonderful. My tiny balcony is facing the sun, my original ceiling cornice with yellow lamp gives me a strange Victorian feeling, and I like it. I am off to the beach today and will try and film some stuff for a live blog, talk soon.
I cannot even begin to imagine the scenario where some Glasgow wife was hanging out a washing and trying to feed her kids then at some point decided to get a boat to a foreign country, to a language she doesn’t speak, to a terrain she doesn’t know to fight people she has never met. Un-fucking-believable…but they did do it.
So Catalonia has a place in my heart because of this.
The gigs are cool, strange but cool and I have decided that due to the heat, all primping and beauty regimes are out the window, it is of no use applying make up (it slide off your face) it is no use fussing with my hair (it is soaked in ten minutes of going out) so I am a sweaty blob and don’t care who knows it.
I am missing husband and Ashley like you cannot believe, but awaking in this room this morning with my wooden shutters open wide, and staring at the ochre aged wallpaper with fake bamboo pattern is wonderful. My tiny balcony is facing the sun, my original ceiling cornice with yellow lamp gives me a strange Victorian feeling, and I like it. I am off to the beach today and will try and film some stuff for a live blog, talk soon.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Stressful Day indeed…
I had a really vivid dream about my cousin Sammy who had died in 2000 of heroin addiction. I was chatting to him in the dream and my emotions were shattered, to actually see him again and hear his voice shook me to the core. I woke up and wandered into the living room to tell husband about it. He was absorbed in a computer issue and told me to ‘just stop dreaming then’ this really freaked me and we ended arguing about a dead mans conversation! I sat there fuming at his dismissive attitude, I saw an eraser on the floor and threw it really hard at husbands head and it bounced off his head and hit the ceiling! After about twenty minutes we finally stopped fighting and made up.
Then I got a call from London and found out an old friend who was in her 60’s had died. This made me incredibly sad; she was a nice lady and has left many friends behind to grieve.
Later that day one of my siblings called and told me that they were having a huge emotional breakdown, now its not very often I even begin to exercise any form of ‘holding back’ the details, but I have to as they ask me not to say, so that’s as far as that can go.
I came home and felt like my world was going mental, I have realised that me whingeing about doing shows at Edinburgh is fuck all to what some people are going through tonight. So here I sit with a healthy husband, wickedly healthy daughter and happy family. I am all good and hope that you are as well.
Then I got a call from London and found out an old friend who was in her 60’s had died. This made me incredibly sad; she was a nice lady and has left many friends behind to grieve.
Later that day one of my siblings called and told me that they were having a huge emotional breakdown, now its not very often I even begin to exercise any form of ‘holding back’ the details, but I have to as they ask me not to say, so that’s as far as that can go.
I came home and felt like my world was going mental, I have realised that me whingeing about doing shows at Edinburgh is fuck all to what some people are going through tonight. So here I sit with a healthy husband, wickedly healthy daughter and happy family. I am all good and hope that you are as well.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Am snowed under….
I have to go to the bingo tonight with Ashley for an article in the press; we have to do two social events where one of us likes the event and the other dislikes and then the reverse. So tomorrow we go to karaoke as Ashley loves that and I hate it….now I don’t really like bingo BUT I do fancy going with Ashley, so it will be fun. Except we will have a photographer there with us, at both situations and that will be weird. Then we sit down and get interviewed about the whole thing.
I sat down today and rehearsed my play, I was scared to do it in case it overwhelmed me, but to be honest I must actually do it as I really need to know the script before a paying audience see it, I have performed this play many times but you do panic. Ashley and I have a sketch show also that needs tightened up, I am doing three shows (plus press events, plus late night gigs) all the way through the festival in Edinburgh from 3rd-28th August and time is drawing near.
Anyway the play is fine, somewhere in my mixed up fucked up memory that play is there!
I imagine my head looks like the inside of a badly managed antique store, broken chairs, stuffed otters, vintage clothes, old vinyl records, pictures of Donny Osmond, photographs of children I don’t know, a three wheeled bike, some bits of comedy sets, shattered thoughts of badly organised day trips, flashbacks of painful drug funerals, murdered mother memories, and horrible nightmares that are tucked up…yet leaking out of a scabby shoebox and forty six old pennies sitting on top of a broken television.
I didn’t even begin to think that my whole play is sitting there neatly wrapped up waiting to be spoken out loud, I am worried sick that when I go to talk on stage that an old broken record will fall out and the leaky nightmare box explodes out of my head and straight into my mouth!
So I actually feel good, I am confident that we will both have a great festival and a great time enjoying the multitude of drama’s that will no doubt unfold.
Last year, I managed to eat sushi and get anaphylactic shock two hours before my show opened and ended up in hospital getting injections to calm my swollen tongue, yet managed to do the show full of adrenaline.
The year before that the police came to my show where I talked about something illegal that I had done and I was shit scared I would get arrested.
The year before that a man tried to throw himself from a high window in a busy street in Edinburgh when he was going through his annual suicide mission and I managed to talk him down and he almost threw himself on top of me.
Things happen to me.
I sat down today and rehearsed my play, I was scared to do it in case it overwhelmed me, but to be honest I must actually do it as I really need to know the script before a paying audience see it, I have performed this play many times but you do panic. Ashley and I have a sketch show also that needs tightened up, I am doing three shows (plus press events, plus late night gigs) all the way through the festival in Edinburgh from 3rd-28th August and time is drawing near.
Anyway the play is fine, somewhere in my mixed up fucked up memory that play is there!
I imagine my head looks like the inside of a badly managed antique store, broken chairs, stuffed otters, vintage clothes, old vinyl records, pictures of Donny Osmond, photographs of children I don’t know, a three wheeled bike, some bits of comedy sets, shattered thoughts of badly organised day trips, flashbacks of painful drug funerals, murdered mother memories, and horrible nightmares that are tucked up…yet leaking out of a scabby shoebox and forty six old pennies sitting on top of a broken television.
I didn’t even begin to think that my whole play is sitting there neatly wrapped up waiting to be spoken out loud, I am worried sick that when I go to talk on stage that an old broken record will fall out and the leaky nightmare box explodes out of my head and straight into my mouth!
So I actually feel good, I am confident that we will both have a great festival and a great time enjoying the multitude of drama’s that will no doubt unfold.
Last year, I managed to eat sushi and get anaphylactic shock two hours before my show opened and ended up in hospital getting injections to calm my swollen tongue, yet managed to do the show full of adrenaline.
The year before that the police came to my show where I talked about something illegal that I had done and I was shit scared I would get arrested.
The year before that a man tried to throw himself from a high window in a busy street in Edinburgh when he was going through his annual suicide mission and I managed to talk him down and he almost threw himself on top of me.
Things happen to me.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Brain Pain….
So I went to the docs today and got that nasty headache pain checked. I saw a new doc and she was pretty young. I entered the room and on sitting she asked me what my problem was. Now to put you in the picture, my usual doc is cool and we have a laugh, he knows I am a comic and always chats away.
“I have these….”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmm” The new doc nodded her head looking down at her writing pad and made this noise over me talking, so I stopped and started again. No one speaks over me.
“I get this pain…” I managed to get out and again “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm” she nodded her head, ignoring me and she just kept making this fucking really annoying patronising noise. I snapped.
“Ok, you need to stop making that noise and nodding your head, it’s really irritating me, when you were at med school and they were handing out sympathetic noises, did you really choose that noise you make?” I added.
She stopped nodding and writing and looked at me “I am sorry, was that bothering you?” She asked me.
“Well, I was wondering how much time in jail I would get if I stabbed you in the head with a needle” I said.
She never got my sense of humour, looked terribly frightened and I had to explain that I always talk like that as I am a bit ‘Whacky’.
“I see, so do you want to stop wasting both our time and tell me what is wrong” She angrily snapped at me.
“Ok, I keep getting these headaches and they really cripple me and I swear to God if you fucking nod your head and hum I will actually pretend that I have a mental illness and choke you with your stethoscope”
So it turns out I have migraines and I got medication for it and I spent the rest of the day wondering if she makes that noise when she is having sex or chatting to her baby.
I want my old doc back he is funny and makes me laugh and understands me, I usually walk in and my old docs says “Ok Janey, tell me today what scary lump you have discovered in your body or are you pregnant again, or remember that time you thought you had bum cancer and you ran over here bleeding out of what you thought was your ass and it turned out you were having a period? How can a woman who has had a child not know where she was bleeding from, you know I tell that story at parties?”
I love him; he pays attention to me, even if he does tell anal anecdotes about me.
“I have these….”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmm” The new doc nodded her head looking down at her writing pad and made this noise over me talking, so I stopped and started again. No one speaks over me.
“I get this pain…” I managed to get out and again “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm” she nodded her head, ignoring me and she just kept making this fucking really annoying patronising noise. I snapped.
“Ok, you need to stop making that noise and nodding your head, it’s really irritating me, when you were at med school and they were handing out sympathetic noises, did you really choose that noise you make?” I added.
She stopped nodding and writing and looked at me “I am sorry, was that bothering you?” She asked me.
“Well, I was wondering how much time in jail I would get if I stabbed you in the head with a needle” I said.
She never got my sense of humour, looked terribly frightened and I had to explain that I always talk like that as I am a bit ‘Whacky’.
“I see, so do you want to stop wasting both our time and tell me what is wrong” She angrily snapped at me.
“Ok, I keep getting these headaches and they really cripple me and I swear to God if you fucking nod your head and hum I will actually pretend that I have a mental illness and choke you with your stethoscope”
So it turns out I have migraines and I got medication for it and I spent the rest of the day wondering if she makes that noise when she is having sex or chatting to her baby.
I want my old doc back he is funny and makes me laugh and understands me, I usually walk in and my old docs says “Ok Janey, tell me today what scary lump you have discovered in your body or are you pregnant again, or remember that time you thought you had bum cancer and you ran over here bleeding out of what you thought was your ass and it turned out you were having a period? How can a woman who has had a child not know where she was bleeding from, you know I tell that story at parties?”
I love him; he pays attention to me, even if he does tell anal anecdotes about me.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Stress and madness…
Yesterday there was no way I could write my blog, I was way too stressed.
This is what happened. I had designed my posters for Edinburgh Fringe and I went round to the printers to check everything was cool to go ahead for print job to begin. The young Aussie guy who works there called Travis, sat me down with a really concerned face (this made me feel sick, there are only twelve days to go before Fringe starts) He told me the poster images are too small to be enlarged enough to be made into posters. The main images were fine as small adverts and flyers but there was no way they would stretch, I hadn’t been told this weeks ago, when frankly I would had enough time to re-create pictures and images to a bigger DPI. I was so upset I walked out and cried in the street, called my husband and ran home. After a few frantic phone calls I managed to go back to the printers and sit there until 9pm with Travis as he re-scanned, re-photographed and re-set the images and all the text to higher resolution, enough for me to get up to A3 at least. My blog poster is being redesigned in London by Steve Ullathorne, he originally took my photos and he is a great designer. So after a big drama, all is sorted.
I then sat down to dinner, Ashley and I were munching into a huge salad when Ashley screamed and threw down her fork and ran from the table, there was a big green wriggly grub dancing through her lettuce. So that was dinner trashed no more salad for me.
If that was not enough fucking drama, I began to realise that I haven’t had a period in ages, had I had one since New Zealand? Am I pregnant? If I am pregnant did it happen in New Zealand? Husband suggested!
I never had sex in New Zealand and husband wasn’t with me….fuck what does that mean? So do I have to consider abortion before the Edinburgh Fringe? Can I schedule an abortion that quick? Do I want an abortion? What is going on?
I worried and cried and spent the whole day feeling nauseous, am I going to be sick all the time? Can I afford another baby?
After all that fucking stress, I slept today with a nasty headache, and woke up with my period! Hurrah!
So there we have it, I need to go rehearse my play. I am getting stress about that now and my tummy hurts.
By the way am so proud that the comedy video my daughter Ashley made on Bush and Blair on Livedigital has gone to the top TEN making it one of the most watched video’s amongst thousands on that site….she is so funny, I love her.
This is what happened. I had designed my posters for Edinburgh Fringe and I went round to the printers to check everything was cool to go ahead for print job to begin. The young Aussie guy who works there called Travis, sat me down with a really concerned face (this made me feel sick, there are only twelve days to go before Fringe starts) He told me the poster images are too small to be enlarged enough to be made into posters. The main images were fine as small adverts and flyers but there was no way they would stretch, I hadn’t been told this weeks ago, when frankly I would had enough time to re-create pictures and images to a bigger DPI. I was so upset I walked out and cried in the street, called my husband and ran home. After a few frantic phone calls I managed to go back to the printers and sit there until 9pm with Travis as he re-scanned, re-photographed and re-set the images and all the text to higher resolution, enough for me to get up to A3 at least. My blog poster is being redesigned in London by Steve Ullathorne, he originally took my photos and he is a great designer. So after a big drama, all is sorted.
I then sat down to dinner, Ashley and I were munching into a huge salad when Ashley screamed and threw down her fork and ran from the table, there was a big green wriggly grub dancing through her lettuce. So that was dinner trashed no more salad for me.
If that was not enough fucking drama, I began to realise that I haven’t had a period in ages, had I had one since New Zealand? Am I pregnant? If I am pregnant did it happen in New Zealand? Husband suggested!
I never had sex in New Zealand and husband wasn’t with me….fuck what does that mean? So do I have to consider abortion before the Edinburgh Fringe? Can I schedule an abortion that quick? Do I want an abortion? What is going on?
I worried and cried and spent the whole day feeling nauseous, am I going to be sick all the time? Can I afford another baby?
After all that fucking stress, I slept today with a nasty headache, and woke up with my period! Hurrah!
So there we have it, I need to go rehearse my play. I am getting stress about that now and my tummy hurts.
By the way am so proud that the comedy video my daughter Ashley made on Bush and Blair on Livedigital has gone to the top TEN making it one of the most watched video’s amongst thousands on that site….she is so funny, I love her.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
What a crazy day!
Yes, it is still very hot, I mean seriously hot, the kind of hot that kills Scottish people as we are not good at avoiding the sun. We don’t really understand that big ball of fire in the sky. It burns us and we die.
So I got up in a bad mood. I can hear you ask ‘why Janey?’ well I will tell you why.
Last night I was suffering from a sore neck/head I am not sure what is going on and have a doctor’s appointment on Friday. I am tired, hot and sticky. I told husband that I was off to bed at 1am and NOT TO BE DISTURBED….please.
So I lay there in the cool dark and fell asleep. I was awoken at 2am with a loud metal clanging noise that echoed throughout the car park that is situated at the back of my flat. My back bedroom window overlooks the car park.
I sat up sleepily and kneeled on my pillow and hung out of window to see what the fuck the noise was. There was a car at the big twenty foot long metal arm that constituted as the barrier to the car park. A woman dressed in long black robes, those religious ones that even cover their face with a black thick net was furiously kicking the metal arm, her long black dress was pulled up and I could clearly see her leg (is that not immoral?) anyway she clanged the metal pole off the metal post AGAIN…the noise was horrific…
She then finally stopped kicking the metal pole, got back in her car and drove into the car park. I hung out of the window as she noisily got out of her car beneath my window, her husband was dressed in typical western dress (track suit) I looked at them and shouted down “Excuse me what is the deal with banging the gate loudly? It’s the middle of the night?”
Her husband looked up quickly, the woman didn’t even raise her head, she shuffled on and he seemed surprised that he was being addressed and shouted up to me “My wife doesn’t speak to strangers, please don’t talk to her”
“She may not fucking talk to strangers but I just watched her boot that gate arm till it banged three times and woke me up, oh and by the way I saw her leg”
They ignored me, maybe she was bored rigid having to wear that outfit in that heat and her kicking the gate was her only way getting out any frustrations. Each to their own.
So I tried to sleep. I was edgy and grumpy and called the lady in black a few
un- christian names like fucking bitch and noisy bastard.
I finally drifted off to sleep.
Husband came in and despite reminding him for the last twenty five years not to wake me up for sex….yes….he decided to top the kicky crazy lady from Oman and wake me up. You see I suffer terrible nightmares and sleep problems, I have never had a cure for it and sometimes wake up screaming, and therefore touching me when I am asleep is strictly forbidden…he knows this.
I was slowly pulled from sleep as he was stroking my back, to him that was sexy, to me in my deepest sleep that was a rapist dragging a sharp knife down my spine. He put one hand on my hip and hugged me, in my dreamy state that was a spike being driven into my flesh.
He kissed me and in my head I was being suffocated, I woke up with a scream and pushed him away.
I eventually fell back asleep and this morning I woke up, recalled the whole event and burst into tears for no real reason other than exhaustion. I am tired and stressed just now and he is not helping me.
I looked at him lying there and ripped the covers off his head and shouted at him “ “Why don’t you just fucking rape me when you come into bed and get it over with” He jumped awake and sat up “I am sorry”
“Sorry? Fucking sorry? How many times do we need to go over this?” I screamed and started crying again.
So today didn’t have a good start.
I can assure you the day got worse.
I went to the chemist to pick up some medication for husband (Strychnine??…no it was skin cream…) as I stood in the chemist a young girl was getting her methadone dosage.
Methadone is a heroin substitute and Glasgow has a huge heroin problem.
I watched as she downed her dose in front of the pharmacist, she then turned and dropped the empty bottle and fell to the floor in the biggest ever fake fall you ever did see.
I merely moved away, but she still managed to land on my sore foot.
She then jumped up to her feet and shouted “I fainted and dropped my bottle and spilled it”
Drug addicts can sometimes use any method of subterfuge and play acting to gain an other dose of medication, as their habit may be bigger than their approved dose.
I watched her stand there and the pharmacist looked at her and then stared at the clean and dry tiled floor, no evidence of any spilt medication to be seen.
The poor addict spotted this and then quickly and desperately turned to me and shouted “She stole my methadone when I fell”
I laughed aloud and looked at the staff that were all standing bewildered and unsure as to where this big improv show was going. Boy. this is good rehearsal for Ashley and I sketch show!
“Ok enough of the whole Norma Desmond act, they know you drank it, they have a CCTV camera on you and do I fucking look like I drink methadone?” I snapped.
“Who the fuck is Norma Desmond?” she shouted back. Wow this is a good sketch I thought to myself.
“She was a shop lifter for Shettleston, who lived in a shoe, what the fuck does that matter; just leave me out of your charade” I laughed.
She ran out of the shop screaming abuse at me, poor cow, she must be desperate.
So that was my day, I have still to get my posters and flyers made and can’t actually get it done due to problems with my designer/printer. I need to get on the case and tonight if husband attempts to wake me up, I am going to stab him and use this blog as evidence of provocation.
So I got up in a bad mood. I can hear you ask ‘why Janey?’ well I will tell you why.
Last night I was suffering from a sore neck/head I am not sure what is going on and have a doctor’s appointment on Friday. I am tired, hot and sticky. I told husband that I was off to bed at 1am and NOT TO BE DISTURBED….please.
So I lay there in the cool dark and fell asleep. I was awoken at 2am with a loud metal clanging noise that echoed throughout the car park that is situated at the back of my flat. My back bedroom window overlooks the car park.
I sat up sleepily and kneeled on my pillow and hung out of window to see what the fuck the noise was. There was a car at the big twenty foot long metal arm that constituted as the barrier to the car park. A woman dressed in long black robes, those religious ones that even cover their face with a black thick net was furiously kicking the metal arm, her long black dress was pulled up and I could clearly see her leg (is that not immoral?) anyway she clanged the metal pole off the metal post AGAIN…the noise was horrific…
She then finally stopped kicking the metal pole, got back in her car and drove into the car park. I hung out of the window as she noisily got out of her car beneath my window, her husband was dressed in typical western dress (track suit) I looked at them and shouted down “Excuse me what is the deal with banging the gate loudly? It’s the middle of the night?”
Her husband looked up quickly, the woman didn’t even raise her head, she shuffled on and he seemed surprised that he was being addressed and shouted up to me “My wife doesn’t speak to strangers, please don’t talk to her”
“She may not fucking talk to strangers but I just watched her boot that gate arm till it banged three times and woke me up, oh and by the way I saw her leg”
They ignored me, maybe she was bored rigid having to wear that outfit in that heat and her kicking the gate was her only way getting out any frustrations. Each to their own.
So I tried to sleep. I was edgy and grumpy and called the lady in black a few
un- christian names like fucking bitch and noisy bastard.
I finally drifted off to sleep.
Husband came in and despite reminding him for the last twenty five years not to wake me up for sex….yes….he decided to top the kicky crazy lady from Oman and wake me up. You see I suffer terrible nightmares and sleep problems, I have never had a cure for it and sometimes wake up screaming, and therefore touching me when I am asleep is strictly forbidden…he knows this.
I was slowly pulled from sleep as he was stroking my back, to him that was sexy, to me in my deepest sleep that was a rapist dragging a sharp knife down my spine. He put one hand on my hip and hugged me, in my dreamy state that was a spike being driven into my flesh.
He kissed me and in my head I was being suffocated, I woke up with a scream and pushed him away.
I eventually fell back asleep and this morning I woke up, recalled the whole event and burst into tears for no real reason other than exhaustion. I am tired and stressed just now and he is not helping me.
I looked at him lying there and ripped the covers off his head and shouted at him “ “Why don’t you just fucking rape me when you come into bed and get it over with” He jumped awake and sat up “I am sorry”
“Sorry? Fucking sorry? How many times do we need to go over this?” I screamed and started crying again.
So today didn’t have a good start.
I can assure you the day got worse.
I went to the chemist to pick up some medication for husband (Strychnine??…no it was skin cream…) as I stood in the chemist a young girl was getting her methadone dosage.
Methadone is a heroin substitute and Glasgow has a huge heroin problem.
I watched as she downed her dose in front of the pharmacist, she then turned and dropped the empty bottle and fell to the floor in the biggest ever fake fall you ever did see.
I merely moved away, but she still managed to land on my sore foot.
She then jumped up to her feet and shouted “I fainted and dropped my bottle and spilled it”
Drug addicts can sometimes use any method of subterfuge and play acting to gain an other dose of medication, as their habit may be bigger than their approved dose.
I watched her stand there and the pharmacist looked at her and then stared at the clean and dry tiled floor, no evidence of any spilt medication to be seen.
The poor addict spotted this and then quickly and desperately turned to me and shouted “She stole my methadone when I fell”
I laughed aloud and looked at the staff that were all standing bewildered and unsure as to where this big improv show was going. Boy. this is good rehearsal for Ashley and I sketch show!
“Ok enough of the whole Norma Desmond act, they know you drank it, they have a CCTV camera on you and do I fucking look like I drink methadone?” I snapped.
“Who the fuck is Norma Desmond?” she shouted back. Wow this is a good sketch I thought to myself.
“She was a shop lifter for Shettleston, who lived in a shoe, what the fuck does that matter; just leave me out of your charade” I laughed.
She ran out of the shop screaming abuse at me, poor cow, she must be desperate.
So that was my day, I have still to get my posters and flyers made and can’t actually get it done due to problems with my designer/printer. I need to get on the case and tonight if husband attempts to wake me up, I am going to stab him and use this blog as evidence of provocation.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Sunshine in Scotland
It was so hot today, seriously hot. I was sweating in the searing heat, Shaun- my wee nephew aged 9 came over and we went out for a walk. His mum is seven months pregnant and his baby sister (the famous Abi) is in Spain with her grand parents and wee Shaun needed some attention.
He is really interesting and full of questions, he actually stood in a book shop we had visited and after her had sought out my autobiography; he held it up high and said “Janey Godley is my auntie and she wrote this book!” The he pointed straight at me in the queue.
People stared, people pointed and I just squirmed and took him aside and explained that it wasn’t very humble to do that and he told me with his big brown eyes staring at me “I am proud of you auntie Janey and wanted everyone to know that” how cool is he?
We then walked round Glasgow and I pointed out some of the buildings and showed him specific pieces of architecture that interested me, for example…
Caledonia road church - Alexander 'Greek' Thomson
Glasgow herald - Charles Rennie mackintosh
Glasgow school of art - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Hill house - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Hunterian museum - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
St Andrews church - Dreghorn + Naismith
St Vincent street church - Alexander 'Greek' Thomson
Willow tea rooms - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
He was really interested and genuinely into the whole project. Then I explained ‘sympathetic architecture’ and Shaun played a game where he pointed out buildings that didn’t blend into their surroundings and were horribly ugly and box like…he came to the conclusion that in Glasgow during 1940-50s some people became fixated with concrete squares and ‘people had no imagination’.
We then headed to the park and he became really overheated, so I bought a huge bottle of water and simply poured it over his burning head. Then re-applied sun screen and we walked to the mini fun fair. I recognised the man operating the giant inflatable slide; he is an extended member of my husband’s family. They are travellers who live in trailers and own most of the ‘fairground rides’ in Scotland.
We greeted each other and chatted about family as Shaun quickly understood that if this guy was ‘my family’ then he was also ‘Shaun’s family’ and Shaun got as many free rides as he wanted!
‘Auntie Janey, you are famous and you even know fairground people, you are really cool!” his wee red face all smiles.
The sun reached it’s zenith and we both decided to head for home as the pavements were scorching and we could feel the heat through our flat sandals and we were both sweating badly.
We sat in the house in front of the fan and later in the afternoon husband took Shaun and I to Balamaha beach, which is literally 25 minutes from the city. The sun was fading but the heat stayed, the wee boy stripped to his shorts and dived into the Loch, the cool water lapped over him as he lay on the stony shingle. Husband and I kept a watchful eye on him; he found a wee fishing net and spent an hour trying to catch the tiny wee insect like fish that darted about his ankles. Husband and I sat on the beach chairs watching him as the sun set over the giant hills that surrounded Loch Lomond, the place was almost deserted and yet he still laughed loudly on his own and he splashed happily.
So he is now safely back in his own home and we are sitting here still hot and sticky, and the forecast tomorrow is set for scorching.
I am hoping the electronics shop sells fans as I am going to die in this heat.
He is really interesting and full of questions, he actually stood in a book shop we had visited and after her had sought out my autobiography; he held it up high and said “Janey Godley is my auntie and she wrote this book!” The he pointed straight at me in the queue.
People stared, people pointed and I just squirmed and took him aside and explained that it wasn’t very humble to do that and he told me with his big brown eyes staring at me “I am proud of you auntie Janey and wanted everyone to know that” how cool is he?
We then walked round Glasgow and I pointed out some of the buildings and showed him specific pieces of architecture that interested me, for example…
Caledonia road church - Alexander 'Greek' Thomson
Glasgow herald - Charles Rennie mackintosh
Glasgow school of art - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Hill house - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Hunterian museum - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
St Andrews church - Dreghorn + Naismith
St Vincent street church - Alexander 'Greek' Thomson
Willow tea rooms - Charles Rennie Mackintosh
He was really interested and genuinely into the whole project. Then I explained ‘sympathetic architecture’ and Shaun played a game where he pointed out buildings that didn’t blend into their surroundings and were horribly ugly and box like…he came to the conclusion that in Glasgow during 1940-50s some people became fixated with concrete squares and ‘people had no imagination’.
We then headed to the park and he became really overheated, so I bought a huge bottle of water and simply poured it over his burning head. Then re-applied sun screen and we walked to the mini fun fair. I recognised the man operating the giant inflatable slide; he is an extended member of my husband’s family. They are travellers who live in trailers and own most of the ‘fairground rides’ in Scotland.
We greeted each other and chatted about family as Shaun quickly understood that if this guy was ‘my family’ then he was also ‘Shaun’s family’ and Shaun got as many free rides as he wanted!
‘Auntie Janey, you are famous and you even know fairground people, you are really cool!” his wee red face all smiles.
The sun reached it’s zenith and we both decided to head for home as the pavements were scorching and we could feel the heat through our flat sandals and we were both sweating badly.
We sat in the house in front of the fan and later in the afternoon husband took Shaun and I to Balamaha beach, which is literally 25 minutes from the city. The sun was fading but the heat stayed, the wee boy stripped to his shorts and dived into the Loch, the cool water lapped over him as he lay on the stony shingle. Husband and I kept a watchful eye on him; he found a wee fishing net and spent an hour trying to catch the tiny wee insect like fish that darted about his ankles. Husband and I sat on the beach chairs watching him as the sun set over the giant hills that surrounded Loch Lomond, the place was almost deserted and yet he still laughed loudly on his own and he splashed happily.
So he is now safely back in his own home and we are sitting here still hot and sticky, and the forecast tomorrow is set for scorching.
I am hoping the electronics shop sells fans as I am going to die in this heat.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Sunshine and Stomach pains…
Portsmouth was lovely, though was awoken at 5am with a phone call because my mental manager accidentally pressed his phone inside his pocket and it called me. I jumped from the hotel bed, banged my already sore feet
into the bottom of the chair in the dark and listened to the inside of his pocket for about 5 minutes before I hung up…
I stumbled back to bed, rubbed the sore toe, dabbed the now bleeding heel and headed for my pillow.
So this morning I got ready and headed on a flight back to Glasgow. Husband was waiting at the airport for me; the house was immaculately clean which made me wonder if he had hired staff in over the weekend.
I sat today and wrote the new bits into my play, tomorrow I rehearse again.
I am also excited that my book is going to paperback- apparently TESCO’s have bought shed-loads (approximately 15,000) copies to sell and more booksellers are ordering as we speak….maybe I may not have to sell Ashley on EBay after all. Who knows, maybe a sarcastic, tall angry sexy girl can fetch a few grand? But I would miss her…so she gets to stay. Though I have prepared an advert for her see how this sounds…
Scottish tall, interesting, educated, dark haired, sexy girl aged 20. Fresh and ripe and ready for all sorts of fun. Cannot cook (unless for herself then it’s gourmet food only), Cannot- sew, nurture babies, cannot-clean, cannot-organise paperwork, cannot-take phone calls, cannot-post letters when required, can never take paper to recycle bin, refuses to wash her own clothes, cant drive, is rude to old people who take too long on staircases, gets angry at tourists, hates people with one eye for no good reason, despite liking pirates, cannot EVER recharge an IPOD, has a desperate aversion to folding or hanging clothes, is allergic to cheap shampoo and conditioner, is unconditionally unbelievably and inexplicably scared of rolled up socks, vomits when she sees hamsters, loves prison and football films, laughs at people who fall off bikes, once shouted down a major politician at aged 14 in Westminster on a school trip, punched a drunk who kicked a homeless man, tries to kill pigeons on a daily basis, is funny at all times EXCEPT in the mornings when she actually physically turns into Rosemary’s Baby and will stab you if you talk to her before midday and is really good at losing her passport.
Mmmmmmm…tempting eh? I don’t think I will have many takers to be honest so the book better sell!
My feet are fucking sore, every pair of summer sandals I have bought have cut my feet like Fu Man Chu on acid, but I discovered you can buy topless sandals from USA, they are just basic sticky soles that you stick to your feet and then wash and they get sticky again, no straps to cut into your flesh…no rubbing blisters as you walk…you can actually buy these, but I cant find a distributor in UK…I want them sandals now! Send them to me!
Am having stomach pains today and feel sore and bloated, I hope that goes away soon, can’t bear the shits.
I am having a week at home to get the shows ready for Edinburgh, and then am off to Barcelona.
into the bottom of the chair in the dark and listened to the inside of his pocket for about 5 minutes before I hung up…
I stumbled back to bed, rubbed the sore toe, dabbed the now bleeding heel and headed for my pillow.
So this morning I got ready and headed on a flight back to Glasgow. Husband was waiting at the airport for me; the house was immaculately clean which made me wonder if he had hired staff in over the weekend.
I sat today and wrote the new bits into my play, tomorrow I rehearse again.
I am also excited that my book is going to paperback- apparently TESCO’s have bought shed-loads (approximately 15,000) copies to sell and more booksellers are ordering as we speak….maybe I may not have to sell Ashley on EBay after all. Who knows, maybe a sarcastic, tall angry sexy girl can fetch a few grand? But I would miss her…so she gets to stay. Though I have prepared an advert for her see how this sounds…
Scottish tall, interesting, educated, dark haired, sexy girl aged 20. Fresh and ripe and ready for all sorts of fun. Cannot cook (unless for herself then it’s gourmet food only), Cannot- sew, nurture babies, cannot-clean, cannot-organise paperwork, cannot-take phone calls, cannot-post letters when required, can never take paper to recycle bin, refuses to wash her own clothes, cant drive, is rude to old people who take too long on staircases, gets angry at tourists, hates people with one eye for no good reason, despite liking pirates, cannot EVER recharge an IPOD, has a desperate aversion to folding or hanging clothes, is allergic to cheap shampoo and conditioner, is unconditionally unbelievably and inexplicably scared of rolled up socks, vomits when she sees hamsters, loves prison and football films, laughs at people who fall off bikes, once shouted down a major politician at aged 14 in Westminster on a school trip, punched a drunk who kicked a homeless man, tries to kill pigeons on a daily basis, is funny at all times EXCEPT in the mornings when she actually physically turns into Rosemary’s Baby and will stab you if you talk to her before midday and is really good at losing her passport.
Mmmmmmm…tempting eh? I don’t think I will have many takers to be honest so the book better sell!
My feet are fucking sore, every pair of summer sandals I have bought have cut my feet like Fu Man Chu on acid, but I discovered you can buy topless sandals from USA, they are just basic sticky soles that you stick to your feet and then wash and they get sticky again, no straps to cut into your flesh…no rubbing blisters as you walk…you can actually buy these, but I cant find a distributor in UK…I want them sandals now! Send them to me!
Am having stomach pains today and feel sore and bloated, I hope that goes away soon, can’t bear the shits.
I am having a week at home to get the shows ready for Edinburgh, and then am off to Barcelona.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Big Newspaper Article and bleeding feet…
Today in the Scotsman newspaper my daughter Ashley and I have a huge lovely article written of us, I love it.
Here is some quotes form the article-
"Effortless stream-of-consciousness riffs that Virginia Woolf might
have written had she only had a pawky sense of humour."
Scotland's funniest woman
"Godley's certainly a one-off - a cuddly-looking woman who sounds like
the mordantly lippy love child of Joan Rivers and Billy Connolly"
(The Scotsman)
So that was way cool!
I am currently in Portsmouth which is surprisingly beautiful, they have completely renovated the harbour and it is amazing. I am doing Jongleurs here for two nights.
I bought lovely blue summer sandals (Ashley said they were hideous) I loved them until on the walk along the sparkling sunny seafront I felt a huge blister had developed under my heel as my feet constantly rubbed against the fabric sole. By the time I got on stage I had this huge water filled pus like blob hanging off my feet that I had to lance in the break with a sharp pin and then run back on stage with strange fluid leaking out of my skin! I managed to get back to the hotel last night and soaked my sore feet.
This morning I got up and wondered what to do with the devil slashed feet I now possessed.
I have always worn my great MBT trainers, they have taken me round the world those shoes, never hurting, never letting me down. So I threw away the cheap Ted Bundy Killer shoes and slipped on my old trainers….they must have been disgusted at being discarded and developed a horrible Japanese torture personality because within half and hour they had rubbed a huge blister on my heel! What the fuck is going on? I hobbled into a shoe shop and bought a pair of flip flops that barely touch any part of my feet….and yes they have managed to cut into my instep where the fabric holds the sole on! I am hobbled!
I am hoping it all heals soon as I am off to Barcelona in two weeks time to do comedy there for the weekend.
If you want to read the whole article in the Scotsman you can see it on my website www.janeygodley.co.uk
Here is some quotes form the article-
"Effortless stream-of-consciousness riffs that Virginia Woolf might
have written had she only had a pawky sense of humour."
Scotland's funniest woman
"Godley's certainly a one-off - a cuddly-looking woman who sounds like
the mordantly lippy love child of Joan Rivers and Billy Connolly"
(The Scotsman)
So that was way cool!
I am currently in Portsmouth which is surprisingly beautiful, they have completely renovated the harbour and it is amazing. I am doing Jongleurs here for two nights.
I bought lovely blue summer sandals (Ashley said they were hideous) I loved them until on the walk along the sparkling sunny seafront I felt a huge blister had developed under my heel as my feet constantly rubbed against the fabric sole. By the time I got on stage I had this huge water filled pus like blob hanging off my feet that I had to lance in the break with a sharp pin and then run back on stage with strange fluid leaking out of my skin! I managed to get back to the hotel last night and soaked my sore feet.
This morning I got up and wondered what to do with the devil slashed feet I now possessed.
I have always worn my great MBT trainers, they have taken me round the world those shoes, never hurting, never letting me down. So I threw away the cheap Ted Bundy Killer shoes and slipped on my old trainers….they must have been disgusted at being discarded and developed a horrible Japanese torture personality because within half and hour they had rubbed a huge blister on my heel! What the fuck is going on? I hobbled into a shoe shop and bought a pair of flip flops that barely touch any part of my feet….and yes they have managed to cut into my instep where the fabric holds the sole on! I am hobbled!
I am hoping it all heals soon as I am off to Barcelona in two weeks time to do comedy there for the weekend.
If you want to read the whole article in the Scotsman you can see it on my website www.janeygodley.co.uk
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Being a mum…
I had baby Abigail today, she is my wee favourite great niece and she is only three years old. She is so cute and intelligent and full of conversation, she has an imaginary rat called Segar! She told me how it crawls up her arm and cuddles her and she took it to the zoo and it hates tigers! How cool?
Then she stood in front of my video camera and did a big take on the cult dirty joke movie ‘The Aristocrats’ you can see it on Livedigital. Go check it out.
Then today after she left and I took three hours to clean up the collection of crayons, cardboard boxes and tiny toys that she leaves here, I had to hoover the whole house and wash down sticky fingers off the kitchen units and re stock the fridge.
Honestly this tiny wee child eats like an Alsatian puppy.
She ate-
Eight wheat free cheese crackers
Seventeen cherries
Nineteen blue berries
A plate of yoghurt with honey
Thirty two pea pods
A plate of chips
A bowl of rice crispies
Then she came over to me and said “Aunty Janey, what is there for dinner?”
I swear she has a wee stomach like a ‘Clootie Dumpling’ (An old Scottish heavy fruit steamed pudding that feeds twenty people).
Finally I have time to myself; husband and I sat on the sofa and chatted as Ashley sat at the PC.
I have realised that she conducts our whole relationship and controls every conversation, even when she is not involved.
For instance, I whispered to husband and Ashley whipped her head round like an eagle eyed prison guard and shouted “What did you say to him?”
“I asked him if wanted anal” I quipped sarcastically.
“Mum don’t be gross, what did she say dad?” Herman Goering interrogator daughter snapped.
Husband is crap at lying and stumbled over his words “Well she ….er…”
“Don’t fucking tell her you daft fucking man” I shouted. I just didn’t want her to hear every single conversation we have, is nothing sacred?
“Tell me dad, what did she say to you?” Spanish inquisition type child asked pleadingly.
“Go back to your fucking Puzzle Pirates; don’t you have a fucking doubloon to earn or a ship to sink?” I argued.
“She told me she missed me when she was away” Husband finally caved under the stress of the questioning looks of his daughter.
“No you don’t miss him” Ashley argued then turned to her dad and added
“She doesn’t even ask for you on the phone dad, she tries to take you away then nags you when she does and then abuses you mentally and then makes you sad”
I laughed as she took over the whole room, I know she isn’t being horrid, she is simply stamping her territory and she loves her daddy so much. I don’t think she will ever leave here and get a man, she owns her father already!
I know that when I am away she is his whole world and I know that she gets a wee bit jealous when I arrive and take over.
I am away a lot just now; I go away again this week to Plymouth. I do miss him and do really miss her – she makes me laugh my ass off.
I thought having one toddler was hard today, my twenty year old daughter is a toddler forever with her daddy -gangster or not…she rules him.
Then she stood in front of my video camera and did a big take on the cult dirty joke movie ‘The Aristocrats’ you can see it on Livedigital. Go check it out.
Then today after she left and I took three hours to clean up the collection of crayons, cardboard boxes and tiny toys that she leaves here, I had to hoover the whole house and wash down sticky fingers off the kitchen units and re stock the fridge.
Honestly this tiny wee child eats like an Alsatian puppy.
She ate-
Eight wheat free cheese crackers
Seventeen cherries
Nineteen blue berries
A plate of yoghurt with honey
Thirty two pea pods
A plate of chips
A bowl of rice crispies
Then she came over to me and said “Aunty Janey, what is there for dinner?”
I swear she has a wee stomach like a ‘Clootie Dumpling’ (An old Scottish heavy fruit steamed pudding that feeds twenty people).
Finally I have time to myself; husband and I sat on the sofa and chatted as Ashley sat at the PC.
I have realised that she conducts our whole relationship and controls every conversation, even when she is not involved.
For instance, I whispered to husband and Ashley whipped her head round like an eagle eyed prison guard and shouted “What did you say to him?”
“I asked him if wanted anal” I quipped sarcastically.
“Mum don’t be gross, what did she say dad?” Herman Goering interrogator daughter snapped.
Husband is crap at lying and stumbled over his words “Well she ….er…”
“Don’t fucking tell her you daft fucking man” I shouted. I just didn’t want her to hear every single conversation we have, is nothing sacred?
“Tell me dad, what did she say to you?” Spanish inquisition type child asked pleadingly.
“Go back to your fucking Puzzle Pirates; don’t you have a fucking doubloon to earn or a ship to sink?” I argued.
“She told me she missed me when she was away” Husband finally caved under the stress of the questioning looks of his daughter.
“No you don’t miss him” Ashley argued then turned to her dad and added
“She doesn’t even ask for you on the phone dad, she tries to take you away then nags you when she does and then abuses you mentally and then makes you sad”
I laughed as she took over the whole room, I know she isn’t being horrid, she is simply stamping her territory and she loves her daddy so much. I don’t think she will ever leave here and get a man, she owns her father already!
I know that when I am away she is his whole world and I know that she gets a wee bit jealous when I arrive and take over.
I am away a lot just now; I go away again this week to Plymouth. I do miss him and do really miss her – she makes me laugh my ass off.
I thought having one toddler was hard today, my twenty year old daughter is a toddler forever with her daddy -gangster or not…she rules him.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Fun in Oxford…
Last night at Jongleurs I had a great time, I do really love their audiences. A lot of comics hate the clubs (although they work there and complain about the corporate feel to the gigs) I love ‘em.
Every other club I have worked serve food, serve hen parties and cater with music and does comedy, not all of them look after you and pay you like Jongleurs. The company NEVER tell me what to say, what NOT to say, they give me a stage and cash and food and let me have fun. I have worked at other clubs out - with Jongleurs who have told me when I can work and what I can say and they called themselves independent socialist type comedy ethical clubs! (Fucking irony of that!) Anyway my point was… I do love the clubs most of the time and Oxford is exceptionally good beyond belief!
I took along Stephen from the magical QI club (the place I did my one woman show Good Godley! on Thursday).
He seemed to enjoy his Jongleurs experience and we headed back to QI for drinks afterwards. Then I decided to stay out all night and party…well I say party I fell asleep in a strange bed and got up this morning, I cannot wear my knickers two days in a row, so I took them, had a quick wash and stuffed the panties in my handbag, and got the train back to my friends place in the countryside (Small thatched cottage type village where I am staying)…honestly I was the ‘racy’ one this morning, arriving with dishevelled hair and dirty pants in my bag, smoking a fag getting out of a taxi outside the beautiful 14th Century church as the bells tolled and people in pale green linen walked to Sunday Service.
The sun shone and roses grew round doors, horses clipped clopped with teenagers dressed to kill …foxes… trotted along the bridle path, the wee shop that is dedicated to jam making had people outside it staring at me in horror because I swore into my mobile and flicked a fag butt near an ancient grave stone…I did pick it up I DO NOT LITTER…I was trying to do three things at once, paying for a cab and smoking and talking is difficult.
I am the talk of the place, I wasn’t wearing linen and I can’t bake quiche and strangely I am the only person in a fifteen mile radius who can get a signal on my mobile….its sorcery! They are building a wicker man as I speak!
I had fun and am tired. Speak soon.
Every other club I have worked serve food, serve hen parties and cater with music and does comedy, not all of them look after you and pay you like Jongleurs. The company NEVER tell me what to say, what NOT to say, they give me a stage and cash and food and let me have fun. I have worked at other clubs out - with Jongleurs who have told me when I can work and what I can say and they called themselves independent socialist type comedy ethical clubs! (Fucking irony of that!) Anyway my point was… I do love the clubs most of the time and Oxford is exceptionally good beyond belief!
I took along Stephen from the magical QI club (the place I did my one woman show Good Godley! on Thursday).
He seemed to enjoy his Jongleurs experience and we headed back to QI for drinks afterwards. Then I decided to stay out all night and party…well I say party I fell asleep in a strange bed and got up this morning, I cannot wear my knickers two days in a row, so I took them, had a quick wash and stuffed the panties in my handbag, and got the train back to my friends place in the countryside (Small thatched cottage type village where I am staying)…honestly I was the ‘racy’ one this morning, arriving with dishevelled hair and dirty pants in my bag, smoking a fag getting out of a taxi outside the beautiful 14th Century church as the bells tolled and people in pale green linen walked to Sunday Service.
The sun shone and roses grew round doors, horses clipped clopped with teenagers dressed to kill …foxes… trotted along the bridle path, the wee shop that is dedicated to jam making had people outside it staring at me in horror because I swore into my mobile and flicked a fag butt near an ancient grave stone…I did pick it up I DO NOT LITTER…I was trying to do three things at once, paying for a cab and smoking and talking is difficult.
I am the talk of the place, I wasn’t wearing linen and I can’t bake quiche and strangely I am the only person in a fifteen mile radius who can get a signal on my mobile….its sorcery! They are building a wicker man as I speak!
I had fun and am tired. Speak soon.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Banbury and Meeting Ed Bartlam’s dad…
So I got dropped off at Banbury rail station to get the train into central Oxford where I would be hosting the Jongleurs comedy gig. Sitting at the station I started to much into crisps. They were yummy as I hadn’t eaten all day.
I noticed a middle aged grey haired man sitting beside me in the station concourse.
“You will spoil your tea eating them” he said in a Glasgow accent. I smiled and carried on as the last thing I wanted was to do was chat to a Glaswegian. He insisted I talked back and as soon as he heard my voice he chipped “Where are you from in Glasgow?”
So I filled him in quickly and explained that I was a comedian etc etc…
He went quiet and listened as I told him that I travelled the world doing my job and that’s why I was sitting in Banbury station.
He looked straight at me, his old Glasgow teeth crookedly smiling and he asked in all seriousness “Does your husband let you do this?”
I just looked at him, took a breath and eighty million images flashed through my head, scenarios’ where I am in a crinoline dress, batting a fan and begging my husband’s permission for me to go to a hat shop without an escort. I laughed out loud and couldn’t even begin to explain the dynamics of my life, and why should I? Then over the intercom came the announcement that my train to Oxford will be delayed with no time limit on when it would arrive.
I immediately got up and headed for the information desk. I quickly ascertained that a taxi was needed to get me to the gig.
After realising that there was no other way to go I stood amongst about 79 people and said loudly “Does anyone want to taxi share to Oxford?”
A young guy with dark hair and headphones piped up “Yep, I am in” and a well -dressed quite distinguished man in a suit came forward and said to me “Yes, I am in”.
The bunch of strangers but taxi chums that we had become headed for the exit of Banbury station.
We got in the car; got the price that we had to split between us all and belted up. I sat quiet in the cab still laughing to myself that there were still men who thought your husband ‘allowed’ you to work in a job that I have created and am good at!
Just then the distinguished looking man in the front seat turned round to me and said in a really lovely posh accent “I know you, I have seen your show at Edinburgh”
The black haired guy sitting beside me looked at me full on and I smiled at the front seat man and said “Really?”
“Yes, you are Janey Godley; I am Ed Bartlam’s dad”
I gasped and laughed out loud, Ed Bartlam is the co owner of the Underbelly Venue at the Edinburgh Fringe where I have been performing for the last four years, and will be performing two of my three shows this year.
Ed is a lovely posh middle class educated guy who I love loads.
I quickly said to Mr Bartlam Snr “Give me your mobile phone please!”
He looked at me and then fished out his phone and held it to me.
I quickly scanned his address book and saw Ed’s number; I pressed call and waited as it rang out.
“Hello dad” Ed said.
I spoke slowly and clearly “You are probably wondering why a woman is on your dads mobile aren’t you Ed?”
“Janey Godley is that you?” Ed sounded surprised.
“Yes, it is - now listen up you wee posh fucker, I have your dad in a fast moving car in Oxford, we are going to kill him unless you agree to let me perform at the venue this year for free” I shouted.
Ed went quiet, “Why are you with my dad?” he muttered…shocked.
“I told you, it took me ages to work out his movements and now I have him, so if you want to see him alive agree” I snapped back. I took a picture of Mr Bartlam Snr and sent it to Ed by text.
“Is your husband there Janey” Ed sounded terrified.
“Yes, he has a gun at your dads head; you wanna speak to your dad?” I asked him.
I handed the phone to the now laughing but pretending to be scared Mr Bartlam Snr
“Hi Ed, Janey is right, they have me hostage Ed so just agree” He spoke.
I took the phone back and heard Ed agree to my hostage terms and handed the phone back to his father.
Mr Bartlam Snr sat in the front seat and hung up on Ed. The young guy sitting beside me looked shocked and scared throughout this whole conversation, it was fucking funny.
The taxi driver sat quiet.
Mr Bartlam Snr and I laughed our heads off.
We did eventually explain to Ed the whole coincidence of us both being together in a cab in Oxford, we did all laugh at the situation, but Ed did agree about the venue terms….so it was a fruitful journey, and I love Mr Bartlam Snr, he said he was witness to the agreement and it is legal and binding…looks like I will have a cheap venue this year and possibly free drinks and food the whole run!
The cab hurtled towards Oxford as my deadline to get on stage was drawing near.
I got out of the cab and ran towards the venue, there were loads of people outside waiting to get in, I could see the venue manager standing outside waiting on me.
As I negotiated pavements and cobble stones in Ancient Oxford, I tripped stumbled and fell flat down on the pavement with palms smacking the concrete and just lay there, all sore and shocked.
Two Chinese people came over and tried to help me up, the crowd stared, the venue manager laughed and I simply looked up and muttered “Just roll me on the road and let the traffic kill me ….please?”
Everything hurt, my fat ass, my twisted ankle, my stinging bleeding palms…my ego.
So it was an eventful night, I met a cranky misogynist old Scottish man, an influential hostage victim and left my skin in Oxford – a good night all round.
I noticed a middle aged grey haired man sitting beside me in the station concourse.
“You will spoil your tea eating them” he said in a Glasgow accent. I smiled and carried on as the last thing I wanted was to do was chat to a Glaswegian. He insisted I talked back and as soon as he heard my voice he chipped “Where are you from in Glasgow?”
So I filled him in quickly and explained that I was a comedian etc etc…
He went quiet and listened as I told him that I travelled the world doing my job and that’s why I was sitting in Banbury station.
He looked straight at me, his old Glasgow teeth crookedly smiling and he asked in all seriousness “Does your husband let you do this?”
I just looked at him, took a breath and eighty million images flashed through my head, scenarios’ where I am in a crinoline dress, batting a fan and begging my husband’s permission for me to go to a hat shop without an escort. I laughed out loud and couldn’t even begin to explain the dynamics of my life, and why should I? Then over the intercom came the announcement that my train to Oxford will be delayed with no time limit on when it would arrive.
I immediately got up and headed for the information desk. I quickly ascertained that a taxi was needed to get me to the gig.
After realising that there was no other way to go I stood amongst about 79 people and said loudly “Does anyone want to taxi share to Oxford?”
A young guy with dark hair and headphones piped up “Yep, I am in” and a well -dressed quite distinguished man in a suit came forward and said to me “Yes, I am in”.
The bunch of strangers but taxi chums that we had become headed for the exit of Banbury station.
We got in the car; got the price that we had to split between us all and belted up. I sat quiet in the cab still laughing to myself that there were still men who thought your husband ‘allowed’ you to work in a job that I have created and am good at!
Just then the distinguished looking man in the front seat turned round to me and said in a really lovely posh accent “I know you, I have seen your show at Edinburgh”
The black haired guy sitting beside me looked at me full on and I smiled at the front seat man and said “Really?”
“Yes, you are Janey Godley; I am Ed Bartlam’s dad”
I gasped and laughed out loud, Ed Bartlam is the co owner of the Underbelly Venue at the Edinburgh Fringe where I have been performing for the last four years, and will be performing two of my three shows this year.
Ed is a lovely posh middle class educated guy who I love loads.
I quickly said to Mr Bartlam Snr “Give me your mobile phone please!”
He looked at me and then fished out his phone and held it to me.
I quickly scanned his address book and saw Ed’s number; I pressed call and waited as it rang out.
“Hello dad” Ed said.
I spoke slowly and clearly “You are probably wondering why a woman is on your dads mobile aren’t you Ed?”
“Janey Godley is that you?” Ed sounded surprised.
“Yes, it is - now listen up you wee posh fucker, I have your dad in a fast moving car in Oxford, we are going to kill him unless you agree to let me perform at the venue this year for free” I shouted.
Ed went quiet, “Why are you with my dad?” he muttered…shocked.
“I told you, it took me ages to work out his movements and now I have him, so if you want to see him alive agree” I snapped back. I took a picture of Mr Bartlam Snr and sent it to Ed by text.
“Is your husband there Janey” Ed sounded terrified.
“Yes, he has a gun at your dads head; you wanna speak to your dad?” I asked him.
I handed the phone to the now laughing but pretending to be scared Mr Bartlam Snr
“Hi Ed, Janey is right, they have me hostage Ed so just agree” He spoke.
I took the phone back and heard Ed agree to my hostage terms and handed the phone back to his father.
Mr Bartlam Snr sat in the front seat and hung up on Ed. The young guy sitting beside me looked shocked and scared throughout this whole conversation, it was fucking funny.
The taxi driver sat quiet.
Mr Bartlam Snr and I laughed our heads off.
We did eventually explain to Ed the whole coincidence of us both being together in a cab in Oxford, we did all laugh at the situation, but Ed did agree about the venue terms….so it was a fruitful journey, and I love Mr Bartlam Snr, he said he was witness to the agreement and it is legal and binding…looks like I will have a cheap venue this year and possibly free drinks and food the whole run!
The cab hurtled towards Oxford as my deadline to get on stage was drawing near.
I got out of the cab and ran towards the venue, there were loads of people outside waiting to get in, I could see the venue manager standing outside waiting on me.
As I negotiated pavements and cobble stones in Ancient Oxford, I tripped stumbled and fell flat down on the pavement with palms smacking the concrete and just lay there, all sore and shocked.
Two Chinese people came over and tried to help me up, the crowd stared, the venue manager laughed and I simply looked up and muttered “Just roll me on the road and let the traffic kill me ….please?”
Everything hurt, my fat ass, my twisted ankle, my stinging bleeding palms…my ego.
So it was an eventful night, I met a cranky misogynist old Scottish man, an influential hostage victim and left my skin in Oxford – a good night all round.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Oxford and wee flies…
So I made it to Swaylcliffe, I am not sure how to spell it, but that’s how it sounds. It is just near Banbury-near Oxford. I did a lovely gig last night at QI club in Oxford, the place is divine and wonderful and the food is amazing. Monica and her sister and a mate came along and watched Good Godley! (My show) and we had a really nice night.
Monica sister lives here and that’s why we are in Swaylcliffe, the house is a big L shaped converted barn with a real thatched roof and roses round the door. The only draw back is the amount of tiny wee flies that come and descend on your entire body when you step outside; it’s like a fucking plague.
I am not used to the countryside or the amount of wee tweeting birds and whistle constantly.
Tonight I am doing Jongleurs Oxford and when I saw the town last night I was gob smacked, honestly the architecture is breathtakingly beautiful. I am loving my wee sabbatical country retreat; though finally getting the internet was cool.
I waited till the house was empty and against all the rules ( I am a rebel) I figured out how to wire up the broadband. You see the house is being re decorated and everything is upside down and I was advised not to touch electrical stuff, but I DID IT! Hurrah…may get electrocuted any minute but fuck it I have finally reached the world! You get no signal on your mobile phone or anything here.
So till tomorrow….
Monica sister lives here and that’s why we are in Swaylcliffe, the house is a big L shaped converted barn with a real thatched roof and roses round the door. The only draw back is the amount of tiny wee flies that come and descend on your entire body when you step outside; it’s like a fucking plague.
I am not used to the countryside or the amount of wee tweeting birds and whistle constantly.
Tonight I am doing Jongleurs Oxford and when I saw the town last night I was gob smacked, honestly the architecture is breathtakingly beautiful. I am loving my wee sabbatical country retreat; though finally getting the internet was cool.
I waited till the house was empty and against all the rules ( I am a rebel) I figured out how to wire up the broadband. You see the house is being re decorated and everything is upside down and I was advised not to touch electrical stuff, but I DID IT! Hurrah…may get electrocuted any minute but fuck it I have finally reached the world! You get no signal on your mobile phone or anything here.
So till tomorrow….
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Madness….
So I finally got to the airport in London to fly home to Glasgow. The heat in London is a fucking killer. As I lifted my bag at the check in with good old-my favourite airline who lost my luggage and once abused me- British Airways, I mention to the assistant that my case looked unsafe on the conveyor belt she tags it at-“Let me put it on its side” I say “No its fine” she answers, clicks the belt to move and the heavy square case tips forward to me and tumbles right off the belt and lands on my ‘chaffed by new shoes’ ‘TOE!
“Holy Fuck! I told you it wasn’t safe there, ya mad woman!” I scream.
She came running round the check in desk and looks at my toe apologetically and says “Is it broken?”
“I don’t know I left my x-ray specs with Zoltar the ice woman back in Chelsea! How the fuck would I know if it’s broken, do I look like the freaky Russian child who can see through flesh?”
“I am sorry” She muttered and adds for full Janey blast of anger effect “It wasn’t my fault, the conveyor belt jolted it forward”
I look her right in the eye and forget all pain in my toe and shout loud enough for ‘the wee woman in terminal four toilets who has tinnitus in both ears, and once stood beside Concorde and asked what the champagne pop’ was- to hear clearly “Yes and I told you it looked unsafe and I wanted to move it forward but you decided to not let me do that and it fell on my toe! So don’t blame the conveyor belt that you pressed to move as my case was still able to be made safe!”
Apologies were made and I hobbled off to gate five to await my plane.
Finally we boarded and as I entered the aeroplane and handed over my ticket to check what seat I would be jammed into, a bottle fell of the galley area and bounced onto the tip of my sandal, narrowly missing my toe by a crotch hair, I think British Airways are desperate to break one of my toes in time for the Edinburgh festival.
Maybe there is a huge conspiracy between the PR people at Edinburgh (by the way Fiona Duff my PR is fucking great-best ever PR for comedy in the entire world-not like the PR that Scottish tennis player Andrew Murray has- his PR let him write on his blog that he would support ANY team that played England as he is a bitter Scot- he wrote that as he is playing in ENGLAND he has shit PR) I believe there is some strange thing where I get my toes broke and cant go perform at Edinburgh and Fiona loses some strange bet!
Anyway I am sitting on the flight and husband puts in the overhead locker a plastic bottle of ginger beer I have been drinking. I made sure it was shut tight but as we landed it seems some escaped the bottle and it couldn’t have been much as I checked how much was left.
Some had seeped into the handle of my laptop and some had dampened the bottom of a German bloke’s computer bag. I know this as I apologised when he showed it to me on the plane as we were leaving.
I got to the luggage carousel the German bloke started huffing and moaning holding up is slightly Damp corner of his bag. Now I know how inconvenient that can be so I asked him did he want me to soap that wee bit and dry it in the toilets.
“No it is completely ruined” he shouted at me. (Not a fucking good thing)
I snapped. “Look mate I apologised and I will dry it for you, is the stuff inside ruined?”
Angry German-“No”
“Ok where is it completely ruined then?, is the stuff inside damp at all? Is it just that wee corner of the outside that is a wee bit damp?” I asked him.
“I need your name and address to claim” He snapped back.
“Fuck off its not a fucking car accident, look you claim BA, it is NOT completely ruined now shut up, it’s a wee bit damp and I have apologised and I have offered to dry it…get over it…” I shout at him now.
“It is completely ruined” he repeated.
This was it, I had had enough “Look mate the Germans bombed Clydebank, a wee bit of Glasgow got damaged but the whole city was not completely ruined –so fuck off and take your damp un-ruined corner of the outside of your bag and fuck off” I dragged off my luggage and took my extremely stressed and now totally racists attitude to the taxi rank as husband thank God someone else had did more than him to annoy me.
Sorry German man, wrong place –wrong person to shout at.
“Holy Fuck! I told you it wasn’t safe there, ya mad woman!” I scream.
She came running round the check in desk and looks at my toe apologetically and says “Is it broken?”
“I don’t know I left my x-ray specs with Zoltar the ice woman back in Chelsea! How the fuck would I know if it’s broken, do I look like the freaky Russian child who can see through flesh?”
“I am sorry” She muttered and adds for full Janey blast of anger effect “It wasn’t my fault, the conveyor belt jolted it forward”
I look her right in the eye and forget all pain in my toe and shout loud enough for ‘the wee woman in terminal four toilets who has tinnitus in both ears, and once stood beside Concorde and asked what the champagne pop’ was- to hear clearly “Yes and I told you it looked unsafe and I wanted to move it forward but you decided to not let me do that and it fell on my toe! So don’t blame the conveyor belt that you pressed to move as my case was still able to be made safe!”
Apologies were made and I hobbled off to gate five to await my plane.
Finally we boarded and as I entered the aeroplane and handed over my ticket to check what seat I would be jammed into, a bottle fell of the galley area and bounced onto the tip of my sandal, narrowly missing my toe by a crotch hair, I think British Airways are desperate to break one of my toes in time for the Edinburgh festival.
Maybe there is a huge conspiracy between the PR people at Edinburgh (by the way Fiona Duff my PR is fucking great-best ever PR for comedy in the entire world-not like the PR that Scottish tennis player Andrew Murray has- his PR let him write on his blog that he would support ANY team that played England as he is a bitter Scot- he wrote that as he is playing in ENGLAND he has shit PR) I believe there is some strange thing where I get my toes broke and cant go perform at Edinburgh and Fiona loses some strange bet!
Anyway I am sitting on the flight and husband puts in the overhead locker a plastic bottle of ginger beer I have been drinking. I made sure it was shut tight but as we landed it seems some escaped the bottle and it couldn’t have been much as I checked how much was left.
Some had seeped into the handle of my laptop and some had dampened the bottom of a German bloke’s computer bag. I know this as I apologised when he showed it to me on the plane as we were leaving.
I got to the luggage carousel the German bloke started huffing and moaning holding up is slightly Damp corner of his bag. Now I know how inconvenient that can be so I asked him did he want me to soap that wee bit and dry it in the toilets.
“No it is completely ruined” he shouted at me. (Not a fucking good thing)
I snapped. “Look mate I apologised and I will dry it for you, is the stuff inside ruined?”
Angry German-“No”
“Ok where is it completely ruined then?, is the stuff inside damp at all? Is it just that wee corner of the outside that is a wee bit damp?” I asked him.
“I need your name and address to claim” He snapped back.
“Fuck off its not a fucking car accident, look you claim BA, it is NOT completely ruined now shut up, it’s a wee bit damp and I have apologised and I have offered to dry it…get over it…” I shout at him now.
“It is completely ruined” he repeated.
This was it, I had had enough “Look mate the Germans bombed Clydebank, a wee bit of Glasgow got damaged but the whole city was not completely ruined –so fuck off and take your damp un-ruined corner of the outside of your bag and fuck off” I dragged off my luggage and took my extremely stressed and now totally racists attitude to the taxi rank as husband thank God someone else had did more than him to annoy me.
Sorry German man, wrong place –wrong person to shout at.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
3 Fights at Soho and Beyond!...
Well all the shows went well, I did enjoy doing the Jenny Éclair radio show and the Loose Ends piece, all of which you can hear on my website and Livedigital.
Saturday morning I was up at 7am to get the cab to Jenny’s show. I was so fucked and tired, that’s what I get for staying out late at Groucho…when will I learn?
I showered, and ran downstairs of the fancy apartment block and got into cab. Then after that show I got a car to take me to BBC Broadcasting house and even this early 10am the sun was BEATING down and it was really really hot.
I love Ned Sherrin and Loose ends show on BBC Radio 4. It is so good to be involved in that show.
So I left the pub that Ned has his drink/lunch in and decided to walk it back to Chelsea. What a fucking mistake.
The sun was beating on my skin and I could feel the burn start.
So I headed for Piccadilly to get on the tube and walked straight into Gay Pride march…it was awesomely beautiful but there were 400 flumpty million gay people dancing and on floats and marching blowing whistles and I couldn’t cross the road to get to the tube and I was dying in the burny heat, so I decided to run through them and they all screamed and shouted at me….fuck I have upset the only group of people who actually ever accepted me BUT I had to get home! I love the gay community and support them totally! Now they were mad at me! So that was fight number one for that day.
I managed to get to the other side only to find the tube was blocked, so I decided to follow the march down near Trafalgar Square and make my way home on foot as a taxi was out of the question as the roads were blocked off.
I had now turned into Laurence of Arabia in the fucking 90 degree heat. My skin was prickly – my hay fever was nipping my eyes and I was dehydrated. The dynamics of London was interesting as there was thousands of England World Cup fans mixing with the biggest Gay march in UK and that was funny, but lovely as the gay guys were all dancing and cheering the topless fit and fat boys who were wearing their England football tops (not usually a group that would normally mix and be friendly in that many numbers!) the gay Pride march transvestites were shouting ‘England for the World Cup’ – the football guys laughed and cheered back! (Bless).
Anyway I as walked down the road I was stuck in front of the Protesting Christian Group (don’t they do anything else?).
The Christian protestors were penned in behind a barricade and strangely all dressed in woolly cardigans (in that heat?) and one man had a wee megaphone shouting ‘You will all go to hell’ this was drowned out by the sound of thousand of gay folks dancing to loud disco music blowing whistles. The police were standing round the Christians, in case nay trouble started, like as if the gay people would stop dancing and go argue? Fuck off!
I watched the protestors watching the crowds and I leaned over and asked one of the scary God Botherers “Don’t you feel like dancing?” The man in the hot Fair Isle woolly sweater snarled at me and shouted “No”.
“You know dancing wouldn’t make you gay” I added with a laugh.
The man lifted his megaphone and shouted at me “You are a lesbian and will die in hell”
I looked at him and shouted back “No I am not and you will go to hell for lying about me ya scary mad person.
A policeman stepped forward and said to me “Please stop harassing the protestors”
“I am not harassing them, he called me a lesbian, I have nothing against gay people but that is wrong and I can sue him for slander, I asked him he felt like dancing, that isn’t an accusation”
So I walked away, called husband to let him know where I am and then walked straight into flumpty million England supporters who were red and sticky and drunk all waiting for the England versus Portugal match to happen (well we know now how that turned out!...poor fuckers)…they heard me talking with my broad Scottish accent on my mobile and they started shouting “Scottish bastard” at me….I managed to get away from that fucking situation and ran down into St. James’s park. The sun was now burning my arms and neck, I tried to get shade in the trees, I was dying here.
Finally I got a cab to the flat.
So last night husband got backstage VIP tickets to see Roger Waters play Pink Floyd hits in Hyde Park! He is a huge fan and to get those tickets was amazing, we have a friend who works in the industry and she was generous. Ashley my daughter and my husband LOVE Pink Floyd and she was so upset she was missing this concert! She called me from Glasgow to tell me this, but as Pink Floyd sung her daddy held up his mobile phone from the lovely seated VIP area and let her share the moment with him.
I sloped off back into mental Soho hell to do my last night of Janey Godley blog Live! At Soho theatre…..by 9pm the place looked fucking trashed…there were millions of broken bottles, plastic cups, heaps of trash, drunken people and squillions of glittery sprayed pink flamingoed drag queens, tottering drunkenly over the cobbled stones of the ancient London street.
Gay Pride culminated in the same street as my theatre…..great!
All in all I got a really good audience and had a really nice show. I am lucky, loads of comedy clubs shut last night as we all know England got booted out of the world cup and people were so despondent and sad….but I made some of them laugh.
Saturday morning I was up at 7am to get the cab to Jenny’s show. I was so fucked and tired, that’s what I get for staying out late at Groucho…when will I learn?
I showered, and ran downstairs of the fancy apartment block and got into cab. Then after that show I got a car to take me to BBC Broadcasting house and even this early 10am the sun was BEATING down and it was really really hot.
I love Ned Sherrin and Loose ends show on BBC Radio 4. It is so good to be involved in that show.
So I left the pub that Ned has his drink/lunch in and decided to walk it back to Chelsea. What a fucking mistake.
The sun was beating on my skin and I could feel the burn start.
So I headed for Piccadilly to get on the tube and walked straight into Gay Pride march…it was awesomely beautiful but there were 400 flumpty million gay people dancing and on floats and marching blowing whistles and I couldn’t cross the road to get to the tube and I was dying in the burny heat, so I decided to run through them and they all screamed and shouted at me….fuck I have upset the only group of people who actually ever accepted me BUT I had to get home! I love the gay community and support them totally! Now they were mad at me! So that was fight number one for that day.
I managed to get to the other side only to find the tube was blocked, so I decided to follow the march down near Trafalgar Square and make my way home on foot as a taxi was out of the question as the roads were blocked off.
I had now turned into Laurence of Arabia in the fucking 90 degree heat. My skin was prickly – my hay fever was nipping my eyes and I was dehydrated. The dynamics of London was interesting as there was thousands of England World Cup fans mixing with the biggest Gay march in UK and that was funny, but lovely as the gay guys were all dancing and cheering the topless fit and fat boys who were wearing their England football tops (not usually a group that would normally mix and be friendly in that many numbers!) the gay Pride march transvestites were shouting ‘England for the World Cup’ – the football guys laughed and cheered back! (Bless).
Anyway I as walked down the road I was stuck in front of the Protesting Christian Group (don’t they do anything else?).
The Christian protestors were penned in behind a barricade and strangely all dressed in woolly cardigans (in that heat?) and one man had a wee megaphone shouting ‘You will all go to hell’ this was drowned out by the sound of thousand of gay folks dancing to loud disco music blowing whistles. The police were standing round the Christians, in case nay trouble started, like as if the gay people would stop dancing and go argue? Fuck off!
I watched the protestors watching the crowds and I leaned over and asked one of the scary God Botherers “Don’t you feel like dancing?” The man in the hot Fair Isle woolly sweater snarled at me and shouted “No”.
“You know dancing wouldn’t make you gay” I added with a laugh.
The man lifted his megaphone and shouted at me “You are a lesbian and will die in hell”
I looked at him and shouted back “No I am not and you will go to hell for lying about me ya scary mad person.
A policeman stepped forward and said to me “Please stop harassing the protestors”
“I am not harassing them, he called me a lesbian, I have nothing against gay people but that is wrong and I can sue him for slander, I asked him he felt like dancing, that isn’t an accusation”
So I walked away, called husband to let him know where I am and then walked straight into flumpty million England supporters who were red and sticky and drunk all waiting for the England versus Portugal match to happen (well we know now how that turned out!...poor fuckers)…they heard me talking with my broad Scottish accent on my mobile and they started shouting “Scottish bastard” at me….I managed to get away from that fucking situation and ran down into St. James’s park. The sun was now burning my arms and neck, I tried to get shade in the trees, I was dying here.
Finally I got a cab to the flat.
So last night husband got backstage VIP tickets to see Roger Waters play Pink Floyd hits in Hyde Park! He is a huge fan and to get those tickets was amazing, we have a friend who works in the industry and she was generous. Ashley my daughter and my husband LOVE Pink Floyd and she was so upset she was missing this concert! She called me from Glasgow to tell me this, but as Pink Floyd sung her daddy held up his mobile phone from the lovely seated VIP area and let her share the moment with him.
I sloped off back into mental Soho hell to do my last night of Janey Godley blog Live! At Soho theatre…..by 9pm the place looked fucking trashed…there were millions of broken bottles, plastic cups, heaps of trash, drunken people and squillions of glittery sprayed pink flamingoed drag queens, tottering drunkenly over the cobbled stones of the ancient London street.
Gay Pride culminated in the same street as my theatre…..great!
All in all I got a really good audience and had a really nice show. I am lucky, loads of comedy clubs shut last night as we all know England got booted out of the world cup and people were so despondent and sad….but I made some of them laugh.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
All Going Good…so far
Well the first night of Soho Theatre gig was good and the second night was awesome, if I say so myself. I love talking about this blog and the people who came to the shows enjoyed talking about blogs, coz I did ask them!
It was nice to see people like Howard come back ( Howard and his wife have been to see all my shows at Soho and Cochrane theatre) and he brought along his friends and family, they are such a cool bunch of people who basically pay to hear me swear a bit and chat, yet keep coming back! How nice is that?
So here I am at 7-3am, sitting in a beautiful sunlit room in Chelsea. I am getting ready to get a cab to the Jenny Éclair radio show, then dash off to the BBC studio’s to interview Jo Frost the ‘Supernanny’ from TV for the BBC Radio 4 Loose Ends show.
Husband is lying fast asleep on the bed and snoring gently, I never saw much of him yesterday as he was out with friends.
After the gig last night I went along to Groucho club and the lovely snazzy Bernie had a disco night! I was dancing…been fucking ages but Bernie who works at Groucho is the sparkiest dude in the world and always makes me smile. He is the kinda guy who you know has come into a room even if you cant see him, you FEEL him…big vibes of fun!
Was later joined by Brendon Burns, whom I love dearly and we had a good old natter before I caught a cab home. So I was out late and am tired but ready for another day. I love London and hope England win at football today.
On another note, talking about the blog made me realise that people put there do read this, and I feel disconnected to them which in turn has made me reveal myself more to their anonymous ears, and that has been so very good for me.
Blogging is the new therapy!
Thanks everyone for being there and sharing this with me, you made me have a show for Edinburgh this year!
TALK SOON...
It was nice to see people like Howard come back ( Howard and his wife have been to see all my shows at Soho and Cochrane theatre) and he brought along his friends and family, they are such a cool bunch of people who basically pay to hear me swear a bit and chat, yet keep coming back! How nice is that?
So here I am at 7-3am, sitting in a beautiful sunlit room in Chelsea. I am getting ready to get a cab to the Jenny Éclair radio show, then dash off to the BBC studio’s to interview Jo Frost the ‘Supernanny’ from TV for the BBC Radio 4 Loose Ends show.
Husband is lying fast asleep on the bed and snoring gently, I never saw much of him yesterday as he was out with friends.
After the gig last night I went along to Groucho club and the lovely snazzy Bernie had a disco night! I was dancing…been fucking ages but Bernie who works at Groucho is the sparkiest dude in the world and always makes me smile. He is the kinda guy who you know has come into a room even if you cant see him, you FEEL him…big vibes of fun!
Was later joined by Brendon Burns, whom I love dearly and we had a good old natter before I caught a cab home. So I was out late and am tired but ready for another day. I love London and hope England win at football today.
On another note, talking about the blog made me realise that people put there do read this, and I feel disconnected to them which in turn has made me reveal myself more to their anonymous ears, and that has been so very good for me.
Blogging is the new therapy!
Thanks everyone for being there and sharing this with me, you made me have a show for Edinburgh this year!
TALK SOON...
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