Janey’s World…

I have suddenly realised that being me is dull…so why write a blog then? I hear you ask…well sometimes exciting things happen.
Like last weekend when I was in Groucho and the lovely sexy pop star Sophie Ellis-Bextor came over and told me she loved my comedy work.
Her boy friend nodded in agreement, he is the bass player with the group ‘The Feeling’.

I was stunned that she has ever seen me on stage but she definitely had…I told her I loved her work, especially that song ‘Murder on the Dance Floor’ as me being from the rough part of Glasgow I had actually seen a murder on a dance floor! She laughed…her man said he loved my YOUTUBE comedy clips and I sat there amazed that they knew who I was!

The second funny weird thing that happened was I got an email from a woman who told me that after reading my autobiography she and her mates had gone on a ‘Janey Godley’ tour.
They went up to my old home in Shettleston that is mentioned in the book and my old pub in the Calton, so they could revisit all the places I had written about!
I was slightly shocked and laughed (I couldn’t think what else to do when I read it)
So there we have it…some weird stuff and some odd stuff at the same time.

Just to update, my show at East Kilbride Theatre has sold out but my one woman show at Glasgow Comedy Festival at the Garage Venue on March 8th has tickets
Still available.

Malcolm Hardee’s Tribute Show…

The Hackney Empire was full of crazy comics last night. The show was to pay tribute to the amazing Malcolm Hardee and loads of lovely comics turned up to do their stuff.
I was there in attendance as hostess in the green room and I really dislike alcohol and people who drink alcohol! Not really the ideal job for me….especially as I ran a bar for 15 years….you would think I would have gotten over that shit eh?

The celebrity gangster Dave Courtney was one of the compares of the night and he is so fucking funny and over the top I can’t begin to tell you how hilarious he is…
He dresses so fancy and dandy he looks like Elton John! I swear he had three dress changes, one outfit was a cream brocade suit, the other was a blue shiny jacket and at one point he was clad in vivid purple…he had more dress changes than Shirley Bassey on a Bond Sing a long!

I was in the kitchen pouring drinks at one point and Dave came in made a mess with cheese that scattered all over the floor, I stood there and shouted “For fucksake Dave, I just cleaned that floor”
He smiled and said in front of everyone there “Babes clean it up darlin’, that’s what women do, that’s how I treat my women” I knew he was being funny and he isn’t really that rude, he was playing up for his mates.

Everyone there stared at me; I looked at him, held out the wee dustpan and brush and said quietly “Please brush that”
He leaned down in his bright cream brocade suit and started to clean and I put my feet on his back and said “And that’s how I treat my men”

He laughed his ass off and we actually hit it off, he does like being bossed around with women and with my old gangster connections I knew just how to treat him right back. I did actually like him and he is irrepressibly polite and funny to be with which did surprise me….so it just goes to show you cannot judge people too quickly!

Jo Brand was also on the bill and she is wonderfully funny and nice to chat to, there were some newer comics there and one young female called Helen Keen was fucking awesome. Watch out for her name on the comedy scene, she is just wickedly funny.

I had a great night and enjoyed the show even though I was supposed to be working, John Fleming who helped on Malcolm’s autobiography “I Stole Freddy Mercury’s Birthday Cake” organised the whole thing and he did a great job pulling it all together.

So now I am home and husband made a big stew dinner which was lovely as when I am away I live on chocolate!

London and Late Nights

Sorry I have been missing in action, been here in London and doing stuff!

I am staying in a wonderful apartment over looking West London, but I do get lonely here at times and wander around room to room talking to myself!
The people at Crown Lawn serviced apartments really look after me, the place is awesome.

I am out tonight helping at the Malcolm Hardee Tribute Show.

Tonight at the Hackney Empire there is an amazing show in honour of the late Great Malcolm Hardee. Big comedy hitters like Jo Brand, Norman Lovett and Phil Kay will tread the funny boards to celebrate Malcolm’s life.
For those unaware of the fabulous man, he was the Father of Alternative comics in UK, he was to comedy what John Peel was to music and he died in his beloved River Thames in January 2005.
He was a great comic promoter and anarchic prankster; he was there at the forefront of the stand up comedy boom in the late 90s and early 80s.
He started and managed many of the household names in UK comedy today, like Paul Merton and Jo Brand.

Last night I went out for a quick drink at the Groucho club and met the fabulous Sophie Ellis –Bextor, she is spectacularly beautiful and her boyfriend is the bass player in the group The Feeling. Turns out Sophie has seen me on stage and told me she loved the comedy stuff I do….I was astounded! A lovely pop star likes me comedy! I felt famous for two minutes! I loved her song ‘Murder on The Dance Floor’ as I recall days in Glasgow when there was a murder on the dance floor! (Joking….kinda!)

Other good news is my one woman show at East Kilbride Theatre has SOLD OUT!
So today I am sitting here feeling a wee bit sick but not due to alcohol or anything as I don’t drink much, I think I ate something dodgy and that’s horrid.

I am off home to Glasgow tomorrow and can’t wait to see my own house and my own telly and my own sofa and…..of course husband!

Godley versus Goody!

Check out my latest comedy sketch performed with my daughter Ashley-
‘Celebrity Big Brother Comedy Sketch’

Watch Shilpa Shetty get her final revenge on the foul mouthed Jade Goody.

Caution this may offend as it contains offensive language.

Just Click-On You Tube

Best wishes Janey Godley

Jade Goody, suicide attempt!

Well as predicted in my blog two days ago, Jade Goody is reported in the press as being ‘suicidal’ I did say that her next step at attention and retribution would be her threatening an attempt on her life.

The Scottish Sun screams the headline today January 22nd - ‘Jade on The Brink’ and reports that the Big Brother star is on the brink of taking her own life.
This can only be a reflection on society yet again.

This woman was originally feted by the British Press since her first release from Big Brother in 2002.
She never won Big Brother back then, so why is this woman worth so much to the media?
I assume that Miss Goody was famous for being ‘fat, common and ignorant’ and for that reason the public took her to their hearts. She wouldn’t change for no one!
If Jade is happy about who she is and honest about how she looks then why did she get so much liposuction and surgery to change her appearance?
She could have spent the cash on expanding her vocabulary and learning more about other cultures.

She left the Big Brother house and embarked on a spate of reality type shows including ‘What Jade did next’ then subsequently released her autobiography and launched a perfume called ‘Shh’. It has been recently withdrawn from the Perfume Shop, due to the racism outcry.

She was so popular with young girls all over the UK and treated to Celeb status within the industry. Is this really what we want young people to emulate?
Who now wants to be like Jade Goody?

Now since her very public tumble from grace, she has no where to turn.

She is reported as saying “I have no career after this, I have ruined my career entirely”

I have no idea what that career was…I admire people who come from talent shows and make it in the big bad world of entertainment but when that person has no actual talent I get angry.

Jade talking on various chat shows, shagging men who then equally become famous for bedding her, her mum becomes famous for being a bad parent …the list goes on!

When it all comes down to it, Jade being Jade is an awfully frightening reality in itself.

Endemol the production company that is responsible for Big Brother had invested so much in Jade that it too is now reviewing its future with the big mouthed bully.
She is no longer ‘hot’ she is in fact suicidal and frightened for her kids life.

This is a terrible turn around for any woman to bear and I do sympathise BUT…talent and integrity should be the reason people become famous and rich.

The one person who will shine throughout this experience is Shilpa Shetty, the graceful Indian actress.
Her intelligence, beauty and class overcame the guttersnipes and that is a wonderful lesson to every young girl who studies hard, behaves with honour and is true to herself.

That is something I want young women to look up to.

I am Middle aged…

I am now 46 years old as of yesterday. This means a host of things.

1- My womb will slowly fall apart and hormones will start to flood my system till I kill an owl or shag a teenage boy.

2- I will start to wear jumpers with shiny sequins and appliqué butterflies.

3- I may buy a small fluffy dog and call it my ‘baby’.

4- My hair will get cut into a manageable bob so that when I take up hill walking it won’t get bothersome.

5- I will start collecting miniature ballerina’s made of porcelain and attend conventions where other old women talk about porcelain.

6- Water colour painting classes will fill my days and I will start visiting small towns to capture the features of the charming cobble stoned streets.

7- I will stop dyeing my grey hair and embrace my age, I will stop wearing a bra and let my moustache grow into a full on Magnum job!

So that’s what I have to look forward to.

Inverness, my birthday and Big Brother…

The train journey up through those beautiful snow capped hills was awesome and Inverness is just beautiful. I was doing a one woman show at the Eden Theatre and I was really concerned that on that frozen rainy night - no one would turn up to hear a Scottish woman gab about her life!

I was also quite worried that the showdown between the Big Brother contestants Shilpa and Jade would make people stay at home.

The good news was that LOADS of people turned up, it was wonderful.
I also got some great press in Inverness and the people are so friendly, for instance I arrived at a small pizza joint at 5pm.
There was only one wee guy there and I assumed the place was closed but I was starving. He was so lovely, he sat me down made me a cup of tea and baked me a great pizza within minutes. I loved him! What service!

What I did love about Inverness was the people who sat after the show and chatted to me at length, they were so supportive and interesting.

The down side was I had a really bad reception on my phone and no internet connection whatsoever.

I was really pleased that the article I wrote about Jade Goody’s attitude and behaviour in Celeb Big Brother that has been make international news got printed in today’s Scotsman Newspaper.
I was disgusted with her bullish-ness.

This year’s Celebrity Big Brother was losing ratings as the interesting guests started walking out, and had been the worst ratings for the show since its conception.

Now that there is racial tension, the ratings have gone through the roof. What does that say about us as a nation of viewers? The pack mentality being exercised in the Big Brother House is unacceptable yet it has been proved to be a huge success for Endemol.

The political repercussions are resonating throughout the world.
Gordon Brown is currently in India and it’s a bad day when our Chancellor of the Exchequer has to defend a chav in our International community. He is battling to preserve the British image over the fuming accusations of racism.
MP Tessa Jowell made a statement saying “This is racism being presented as entertainment”
Who would have imagined a few media hungry, fake tanned, foul mouthed young women could cause such a stir?

I assume that now the errant bully and racist Ms Goody is now out of the reality TV show and has realised her carefully constructed image had been shattered, she will have to rethink her strategy in PR.
Let’s hope she doesn’t do the obvious and go for public sympathy and do a ‘fake attempt on her life’ and end up in hospital citing exhaustion. It’s too obvious but seems inevitable. I hope she is strong enough to resist that path of attention.

So I am lying here on the sofa and having fun, the good news is my husband NEVER got me LAVENDER for my birthday as he did last year!

That’s the best news for me!

Are Wellington boots sexy?

Ashley asked to me go shopping for some mayonnaise, so I pulled on a pair of bright green welly boots, dragged my bushy hair up into a tufty ponytail and scrubbed my blotchy face and got ready to go out into the rain. I topped the look off with a giant overly big snow boarding coat that is too long and makes me look like a scary dwarf.
I went off in the slashing rain and headed towards the supermarket that is inside the petrol station.
The aisles are so narrow but I headed for the vegetable rack and decided to pick some red onions, as I did this some onions fell from the box, hit my toe and went hurtling under the display. I sighed and turned to walk away when this young guy stopped me “Did you drop something there?” he asked in his American accent, his teeth were the bright white that young Americans have by sheer DNA. He looked like a student, he had a bag slung over his shoulder and he raked his hand through his spiky dark hair. He didn’t move, he stood there and stared at me.
‘Holy Fuck’ I thought, I must look so much like a mad crazy bag lady that he can’t bear to look away.
“I dropped some onions and then kicked them under the display” I mumbled.
He stood there and still hadn’t moved. I began to feel uncomfortable, I knew how I looked, I had caught one of those scary side glances as I leaned into the fridge to get some cheese and the mirror reflected back a witchy hag in wellies with piggy wee eyes and blotchy skin.
“Excuse me I am staring” the young American spoke “Can I ask you a question?”

I thought he knew I was a comic and that explained the staring and he was going to ask me a comedy related question, so I finally relaxed about how I looked, I smiled and turned to him and replied “Yes please ask away”

People behind me started to push past as we were blocking up the aisle, the guy raked his hand through his hair again, and he smiled, looked me right in the eye and said
“Can I have your number and maybe we can go out sometime?”

I was absolutely gobsmacked; I really didn’t think he was going to say that to me. I flushed from my toes up and the man behind pushed at my back to get past.
I simply looked at the guy and said “No” then stumbled off soaked in embarrassment and clumsily battered my plastic basket against the legs of poor shoppers.

It was hard to ignore the guy in the shop, it really is a small supermarket and every time we crossed paths, he smiled and would stand at the side, throw out his arms in a gentlemanly gesture and let me pass him every time. I sloshed past him, welly boots smacking off the backs of my legs making big clappy noises that made me wish a robber held up the petrol station and shot me by accident and I never had to endure the ‘clappy slappy wellies’ and face the young American in the frozen food aisle.

I was leaving the shop when the guy came back up to me and said “Goodbye, you know if you change your mind, we can swap numbers”
I looked at him and finally faced the situation I took a big deep breath and blurted out “Listen mate, I am 46 years old next week, I am old, grumpy, I have skin that no longer fits me properly, I need 12 hours of sleep just to make me feel ok on a daily basis, I have grey hair on my eyebrows and I am scared to see where else I am grey, I haven’t had to be nice to a man to get a fuck in 27 years, I am not going to play out your Mrs Robinson fantasy, find someone else who does, and thanks for he compliment, I do appreciate it”

The guy merely spread open his arms and walked off, I hauled my bags up further to stop them from banging of the wellies that were banging off my legs and walked straight into my husband who had been standing watching me to chat to the American boy who fancied old women.
“Why were you yelling at that boy? I could hear you as I came round the corner” husband asked me as he took my bags from me and tried to turn his face away from the driving rain.

“He was asking me for a date, look at me… do I look like a woman who picks up young guys in a supermarket?” I asked him with frustration.
“You look sexy, the wellies are really dirty and I am sure that’s what enticed him, I am horny just looking at those rubber boots, you bad woman making young men sexy at your funny boots” he joked and put his hand and took it mine as we walked against the rain.
All I could hear was the noise of those fucking rubber boots slapping off the backs of my jeans all the way home.

I am quite touched now, that some young guy fancied me so much or maybe he is one of those evil men that murder woman he meets randomly and I looked like the perfect victim?
‘So here’s to me Mrs Robinson’

Stress and more stress…

I woke up this morning like a cloven hooved monster. Bad dreams plague me and I am not Doris Day at the best of times, so you can imagine how I feel when I wake up groggy and husband asked me thirty three different questions in a row like...
“Good morning do you want tea? Did you know you have to make fifteen phone calls today, have you thought of a new article to write for newspapers? Why does your hair look like that? Do you know whose pants these are in the linen basket? Have you decided when you are going to tackle your tax receipts?” and many more like that...bullet words spattering my half dead brain…I want him to die.

Ashley is worse, she wakes up like a mass child killer and you daren’t ask her anything till she is at least awake for an hour, as the result is a series of doors slamming and screaming…WOW! She makes totalitarian dictators look like one of the Von Trapp family when she is in full flight.

Husband still hasn’t got this little detail into his daft brain yet…even after 20 years he still meets her in the hall and shouts “hello pretty girl, how are you this morning” to which Ashley sticks up two fingers and shouts “Die you fucking madman!”

He really doesn’t know how to take a hint, he must have been raised by people who get up at 6am and skip around the house collecting flowers and singing pop tunes from the 1960s, which I know is untrue really as he was raised in an all male dominated house where the men were either involved in crime or involved in some scan or were in prison.

So I am a grumpy old woman today and its best if the world just fucks off till I am fully awake and can have a shower.

Sex…

Yes! I know what a title for me…little miss housewife and mother, but there we have it.
I was just thinking today as I read a magazine about how women of a certain age perceive sex.
I am sick to fucking death about the ‘we want sensitive men’ crap and here’s the deal.

I don’t want a bath run for me, or a back massage, or a chat about my day….I just want to go to bed and get jiggy. I know this makes me sound awful and ‘not really what a woman should be’ but I am fucking annoyed that today’s men are so scared of being demanding. They have to cook a meal, burn countless tea lights over the bedroom and put on some soft music.
I can do without steak, I hate the smell of candles and I don’t need the noise of fucking whales moaning in the background when I just want laid.

My husband, and I am sure countless other men get completely fucked up by women and our constantly changing moods we go from ‘You only want me for sex’ to ‘You never listen to me’ so it’s hardly surprising that they worry and don’t know whether to rub scented oils on your feet or rip off your bra.

I am nearly 46 (next week) and am now after 200 years of marriage still not sure what it is I want and he will never fully work me out, I am a complex of emotions….a Rubix Cube of Demands if you will….if you get all the colours matched up then I am yours. So far he hasn’t worked out one side yet and I am sure that’s what keeps us together so far.

As far as birthdays go….well last year I was in London alone on my special day and he never sent a card, or did that spontaneous thing of turning up at my door with a hard on and chocolates (which is my favourite fantasy except the hard-on belongs to 50 Cent the black rapper) he merely called me and told me that he had bought me LAVENDER….yes you read that correctly fucking smelly Lavender…now as much as I like it washed through my bed lined …I DO NOT expect it as a birthday present when it is clearly a knock down Tesco special gift pack on sale after Christmas.

He has never really recovered from the lavender incident and probably will die fretting about it. When I un-wrapped the gift, I was furious.

Imagine Coco Chanel being given beige stretch leggings and a pair of vinyl beach shoes as an outfit and you get the picture or imagine Elton John being given a plastic clock in the shape of Native American Indian’s head for his sitting room wall and you really get the picture…I threw the lavender off the living room wall and refused to speak to him until he could give me three valid reasons why he thought I wanted lavender as a gift.

He sat sheepishly in the bedroom and came out and said “It wasn’t my idea Ashley picked it” which I knew was lie as my daughter is way too classy to pick lavender, so not only could he not think of a reason….HE LIED….it took till February before I kissed him again.

This year I want chocolate and sex and in that order….preferably both from that black cutie 50 Cent…I am sure he could offer me more than lavender.

Recalling my trip to LA…

Ashley, husband and I were recalling the mental trip we took to LA, Las Vegas and San Diego.
It was Christmas and New Year of 2001.
We thought we would have loved to spend our holidays in the US, we flew first class over the Atlantic but then when we landed we quickly realised that living in hotels became really boring and we ended up fighting amongst each other. Husband got cabin fever and Ashley and I took to riding the buses in LA for entertainment.

I have to tell you that public transport in LA is the fucking funniest thing ever.
The first bus trip into down town LA was the best. Ashley and I sat together when a woman got on the bus, she sat opposite us. She had impetigo and the surrounds of her face was black and the inner part of this poor woman’s face was really white. Bizarrely she looked like Minnie Mouse. She sat quiet then five minutes into the journey she started talking out of the side of her mouth, the whispering got louder and before long she was screaming “Fucking bitch, you lesbian cunt” to no one but the empty seat beside her.

Ashley and I sat clenched trying not to laugh, which is terrible I know but to see this poor woman with the domino face screaming obscenities made me giggle.
We managed to get off the bus without causing any embarrassing situations and headed into the fancy shops.
The journey home was even better.
As we sat down on the bus, a man got on dragging a huge black plastic bag of discarded hub caps. They clattered and clanked against people’s knees and he didn’t apologise at all. He was dressed in a woollen jumper as trousers- he had managed to stuff his two legs through the arms, the hemline of the jumper was tied together at his waist with a big bit of rope! His skinny brown hairy legs were poking out of the cuffs of the jumper and on his feet were a pair of mismatched tatty slippers.
His top half was dressed in a newspaper that was stapled at the armpits.
I was agog at this man; he stood there and started to scream about Vietnam, the poor man was obviously mental.
If that wasn’t enough the bus managed to crack its wing mirror off a passing truck. The bus had a bit of a jolt but nothing bad, the noise was startling though.

This being America, and the culture of suing anything that makes you blink hard- the bus halted and the driver looked up the aisle and asked loudly “Is anyone hurt? If so I have compensation forms here”
Everyone looked at each other and we all knew that no one had even been jolted badly, at that point ‘hubcap man’ threw himself on the floor, his hubcaps rolled all over the bus and he screamed “I have been injured, help me now”

I burst out laughing as he faked a back injury and tried hard to gather up his errant hubcaps. This is ENTERTAINMENT….why anyone bothered to go to show in LA I will never know, as long as the public transport exits we have full on fun.
Hubcap Man then left the bus limping like his leg had been sawn off, he couldn’t quite decide if he was faking a leg injury or a back injury, he filled in his form and then hobbled back on.
We sat tonight and laughed about the various situations that we had encountered from that trip. We recalled the night we attended a murder mystery dinner, the food was so slow in coming, the actors were so fucking hammy that Ashley stood up and shouted at one point “Who the hell do we have to kill to get the next course!”
The show was dire, Ashley and I heckled all the way through and annoyed everyone else at the table, we were terribly behaved I do admit, but we were hungry and the amateur dramatics was making us plot deaths in between the shit food.

LA was not as wonderful as we imagined but the free entertainment was the highlight of the trip.

Will I have Empty Nest Syndrome?

My daughter Ashley is nearly 21 years old and still lives at home. She is at university and commutes regularly and hangs out with her mates at the weekend.
Her room is a mish-mash of relics that chart her growth from the eight year old girl that moved in to the brand new flat we bought in 1995 to the film student/sketch writer/DJ that she has become.

There are wee stickers of Beatrix Potter (that she hated but I managed to paste to the wall) and posters of Eminem (that I drool over as well) there are high heel shoes scattered around the carpet like land mines and her wee teddy bear she has owned since she was two is tangled up with Play Station wires.
I think I prevent her from moving on to the next stage of her independent life by cosseting her and keeping her emotionally needy. I convinced her that staying here and not moving in with her friend was a great financial decision, when in fact she should have gone and found out for herself!

I do realise that this is not really an expression of motherhood but a selfish act on my part….what would happen if she left?

Would I be scared to face the void left behind? Would husband and I sit there and stare into the abyss of the years left to fill it in with comedy trips, comedy festivals and BBC Radio 4 sessions?

I don’t want to be 46 years old this month, I want to be twenty one and live my life all over again, preferably with Ashley at my side, forever 6 years old- wearing bunches and collecting Polly Pockets and organising day trips to our favourite sea side towns in Scotland. That can’t happen (unless I can get her hormonally injected and genetically deformed to suit my selfish needs, it worked for that wee black guy on US TV)

I spoke to the husbands of some of my friends who had kids at the same time as me and the men were looking forward to getting their wives ‘back’ to just have some fun with the women who had dedicated the best part of 20 years being mothers to broods of babies.
No more early morning school runs, making jam cookies, holidays interrupted by screaming bored teenagers, working extra hours to support students. These men were waiting patiently for the fledglings to fly and get back to having sex on the sofa with the sexy lass they married when Duran Duran were ‘Wild Boys’ back then Adam Ant hadn’t went crazy and George Michael was straight.
Those men may have to wait that bit longer, as recent media articles reveal that young adults are staying at home that bit longer and mostly the mothers are holding them there. Poor husbands!

I don’t have that situation, as my husband raised our daughter as much as I did.

I have been working on the road as a comic for nearly ten years now. I was the one that went away, he was the one who sat through the Nativity plays, the drama club attempts, the teenage sleep-over’s and the countless birthday parties.

Ashley is very territorial with her fathers affection, in fact when she leaves I will be looking forward to ‘getting him to myself’ in a funny sense. I cannot show him any affection in front of Ashley; she gets her giant body wedged firmly between us and demands his full attention!

We both raised her together for the first eight years as we were working parents.
We owned a bar together then and made sure she had plenty of time and love from us both.
My husband was very determined about being a very good loving dad as he suffered from absent father syndrome as did many kids of his generation where the father worked all hours and was hardly seen except on Sundays!
He was a great dad and I tried to be a wonderful mum.

Although one of the best pieces of advice I was given when our daughter was born came from an aging Aunt.
“Always look after your man, because your kids will grow up and leave you soon enough and you will be left with a stranger if you ignore him” she told me as I cradled my new born to my breast.

I thought at the time she was being slightly cruel, but I do know what she meant now and I did try to make sure I was a wife as well as a mother.

So I suppose the reason I persuade our daughter to stay at home is I love her company.
Not many young people share a passion and career with their parent, we both adore performing, we did a sketch show together at last years Edinburgh Fringe and we went on tour together to New Zealand.

She gets me in the way no one else does, we write together and I love being around her wacky sense of humour, we both like the same music and love the same films and comedies.
I am not saying she is my best friend because that would undermine the love we have as mother and daughter.
She and her father share a deep love of foreign films, TV cop shows, radio plays and really enjoy each others company, yet he is still her dad…not some delinquent best pal who happens to have produced her in the mid 80s.

I want her to stay because I love having her in my life.

My husband doesn’t need to wait for me to come back to him after mother hood; I never really left him in the first place.

I say all this just now but I am not sure how I will feel when her room is stripped bare and no evidence of her shows on the carpet or the walls….maybe then I will write something different?

I caught my nipple in the door…

Last night the comedy gig in Leeds was awesome, it all went fabulously well. I came back to the hotel, got stripped and had a great shower, I haven’t been sleeping good, so I thought this would make me nice and sleepy and maybe I would get a full nights kip.
I came out of the bathroom naked (as you do) and then managed to crack my left tit off the door lock and scratch a gash into my nipple. The pain was fucking horrible, I jumped on the bed holding my giant boobs that was now bleeding and was terrified to look at it in case I had actually ripped off my nipple! I look like I was the victim of a sex attack from Fu Man Chu.
It wasn’t that bad- I have a deep scratch, yet still I managed to sleep.
Got up this morning and decided to go out for breakfast and book myself a back and neck massage.
The massage place was nice, the young girl showed me into the room and told me to lie face down on the bed which has a big hole for your face to go into, so you can breathe and get rid of your tension at the same time (seems reasonable).
The only problem is, if I lie face down my humongous boobs get squashed and there is no hole for them to fall into and remember ONE OF THEM has a cut on it!
So- much to the embarrassment of the young masseuse, I fashioned a bolster for my upper breast area to lie on from a big rolled up towel, it takes the pressure of my tits getting flattened. The girl was being professional at ignoring me and my scratched boobs.
So my last night at Leeds Jongleurs can only go well, I hope…and maybe just maybe I wont scar my other boob and go home to a very bemused husband who can only imagine what I get up to when I go on the road alone….and come home with tit injuries.

Trains and drunks!

I was booked to do comedy at Leeds Jongleurs from Thursday to Saturday this weekend, the gig was booked in ages ago, and so I bought a cheap rail ticket for Thursday morning at 9am.
I realised I hadn’t had a confirmation call from the comedy company, so I called them and thus ensued a mix up. They told me that Leeds might not be on but they would let me know later that night on the Wednesday. I waited….no call….I waited some more…no call… then on Wednesday late I packed a case just to be sure, my train was 9am the following morning.
I text and called the company…to no avail.

I assumed the gig wasn’t on Thursdays, but just to be sure I got up at 8am and sat in my pyjamas and waited for the call….none came.
Then at exactly 8-35am I got a text telling me the gig was on.
I rushed to the train station, dragging a laptop and a suitcase. Luckily I live near Glasgow Central…
I found a four seater with table free and plonked my stuff down and settled in. I was really tired and stressed from all the last minute rushing and the last thing I wanted was company.
Lo and behold, a hippy, long haired couple sat beside me.
They proceeded to pull out two bottles of wine and a half bottle of vodka from their bag! It was 9am for fuck sake…I could barely get down coffee!

The smell was making me heave, I hate drunks….after 15 years of owning a bar in Glasgow’s East End, the last thing I wanted was two lush’s sitting with me.

“We are from Bath, we own an organic farm” slurred the woman.

Great- I thought! Drunken snobs into free fresh farming, yippee fucking dippee for me!

“What do you do?” the slow blinking smelly woman asked.

“I am a comedian, I am really tired and to be honest I don’t want to talk” I said.

I shouldn’t have told them what I do for a living, obviously everything else I added to that meant nothing and she wanted to interview me on my life….it was my own fault, I should have said “ I am an office cleaner” which I usually do but I was tired and the words came out.

She sat there and he dragged his dirty fingers through his lank dirty blond hair and in his deep weird sounding English accent said “We love Scotland, tell me what kind of comedy do you do? I know comedy so well, I love Benny Hill, come on girl give us a laugh” he then turned to his female companion and added “This will be great she will entertain us all the way home!” and he actually snapped his drunk fingers.

I thought I was going to stab them right there and then and it was only 9-30am.

I sneered and tried not to breathe the stench of organic sandals and wheatmeal cardigans and said “Look, I really cant be fucking arsed listening to you two talking shite, I don’t want to talk about comedy, I want to sleep and can you please stop slopping vodka everywhere, I am quite grumpy ok?”

Now this would have made normal people balk….but oh no…not the two organic drunks from Bath, they thought I was just ‘joking’ with them.

Other Glaswegians who sat near could tell from the tone of my voice that I may just get up and beat them to death.

“She is so funny, isn’t she Ralf” the drunk woman barked and snorted as she threw down another plastic glass of vodka into her mouth.

“Listen I am not joking, I am very fucking volatile, get away from me and find another seat NOW!” I stood up and screamed. At that point the ticket man entered and even he walked back the other way!

The drunks laughed again, I just grabbed my things and I moved seats.

I finally got to Leeds at 1pm-ish and checked into the hotel to find YET again….another hotel with dodgy internet connection. (This is the fucking bane of my life) but I am finally online at £10 a day for the connection charge. (I hate that as well, I am very grumpy)

The good news is Leeds Jongleurs is a fantastic gig, the people are awesome and I love that club. I even got to meet a lovely couple who read this very blog! How awesome?

I nearly got killed and Ashley hit a man with a shoe…

We had to drive through the horrific New Year storms to get to Edinburgh to perform at Jongleurs.
New Years Eve is a strange thing in Scotland, we are World Famous for being ‘great’ at it…but in all honesty, we are just people who have parties in each others homes and can be very choosy about who attends these gatherings.

Despite this people come from all over the world to enjoy our Hogmanay celebrations…cities host ‘street parties’ to accommodate this tourist event. When I was young and my family had huge Hogmanay parties…people who ended up in the street were there because no one wanted them in their house!

Lets look at this in perspective- Scotland is FREEZING in December, the last place anyone wants to go is the fucking street! The rain becomes horizontal, the wind would blow your kidneys out and the temperature is the stuff that killed explorers.

Yet, street parties are advertised in Scotland and tickets are sold and people come from ALL OVER THE WORLD to stand beside a drunken Englishman in a squinty Kilt who will probably throw up on them as soon as the New Years bells chime!

The real Scottish Hogmanay-ers are tucked up in their warm homes with a fire roaring in the grate, warm food is being served and welcomed guests are sipping the really good malt whisky that is kept for such occasions, family that they despise are standing in the street singing “Auld Lang Syne” to three Japanese people holding an umbrella.
Does no one else know this shit?

So anyway there we were, husband and I trying to force the car to reach 60 miles an hour in driving hurricane winds with sea lashing of rain battering us dangerously near other cars that were trying to cheat nature and stay on the M8 towards Edinburgh.
I was fucking terrified.
Husband suggested we switch on the radio to distract me, but I refused in case we crashed and I died to the sound of ‘Girls Aloud’ singing their shite.

I was so scared, we finally made it into Edinburgh, we parked the car and I had to pull on a huge snowboarding coat to stop the howling wind and rain lashing me to death as we ran to the venue.
The gig was sold out, about 400 people were packed into the biggest comedy venue in Edinburgh, I was the MC. The comics went on and I was having a great night, we heard that the street party outside at the famous Princes Street and Castle was cancelled due to high winds and normal Scottish December weather.

Just as the last comic walked on stage the lights went up, the mic stopped and a fire alarm announcement came on…..the crowd went crazy, the comic came off and in my job as MC I ran on to let them know what was going on (I may die in fire sometime)
I knew the mic wouldn’t work, so I shouted really loudly over the chairs being pulled back and people starting to leave “Everyone sit down, there is NO fire, its just a false alarm, now the street party has been cancelled and we are NOT going to cancel this night!”

The whole place went quiet, people sat back down and I ran about the stage shouting “Ok, let’s have a game of inappropriate questions!” I knew the mic and lights would work in five minutes as the management told me so from the side of the stage. We just had to wait for the false fire alarm to reset.

The crowd laughed, we even played a game of ‘pretend bingo’ and a sing a long of Donald Where’s your Trousers! Finally the lights clicked down and the mic came back on, we got the final comic back on to rapturous applause and the night finished perfectly. I was exhausted and knew we had to drive back through the gales to get home to Glasgow.

Husband stood at the side of the stage when I came off he said “Well that was great Godley, you worked for your cash tonight, I never knew you knew the words to Donald Where’s your Trousers!”
I didn’t I made the words up…I can improvise…thank fuck.

The journey home was worse than the one going, and due to all the set backs, we were late getting home…and on the M8 coming into Glasgow we clicked on the radio and heard Big Ben in London chime in the New Year. We wished each other a happy New Year and kept on trying to drive through the hurricane…it was romantic and deadly at the same time. That’s my life all over!

Husband and I finally got home and finally got to bed, Ashley had called to tell me that her Dee Jay job went great and after she finished her Hogmanay job (we Godley Girls work our asses off) she was going to a party (see…NO street standing for the connected).

I was lying in bed all warm and always slightly worried as Ashley was out late (when do I get over that she is 20 years old?).

Ay around 4am the door opened and I heard Ashley come into the hall. I jumped up to see if she was ok and made it through the storm…she was stood there in a fancy dress but wearing trainers, in her two hands were two spiky looking high heels, her handbag was on the floor and she moaned “Mum please help me out of this dress I am going to be sick”

Ashley is like me, two drinks and we vomit like bulimics….I quickly pulled her dress of and tried to drag up her masses of hair as she threw her head over the toilet pan. I noticed she was still clutching her high heels shoes.
“Honey, why are you holding your shoes?” I enquired as she made those vomitty noises.
“A man shouted at my pal in the street, so I clubbed him with my heel” she told me as of I needed to know that. Still she clutched her shoes like a security blanket and kept being sick.
“You hit a man with a shoe?” I asked with incredulity.
“Yes, he was fat and French and wearing a kilt, he called my pal fat, so I clubbed him” she spoke angrily. Her right eye had black makeup dragged down to her cheek, like a dirty black tear had fallen from her eyes.
“Are you ok? Do I need to do anything?” I started to worry.

“No, he fell, but we got a cab and left him in the street, he shouldn’t have slagged my pal off” she said and threw herself into bed. I sat for a while and watched her in case she was sick and choked, which is a huge obsession of mine….vomiting and choking is my favourite fear. So I waited until I heard her breathe steadily before I crawled back to my own bed.
Ashley got back up the next morning, still clutching a high heel in each fist; she had slept like that all night!
Street parties were cancelled, people died in the storm, the wind blew trees down, the rain flooded roads and tourists sat in a thousand hotels and B&B’s wondering why they bothered and somewhere in Glasgow a French man in a kilt woke up with a stiletto mark on his scalp and made a New Year Resolution never to call a Scottish Girl fat.

Welcome to 2007