The last month has been pretty freezing here in UK
and it’s a weird one when I keep explaining that “Yes, London can be colder
than Scotland” people assume Scotland is the coldest place on earth and other
people think “SHUT UP TALKING ABOUT THE WEATHER WHAT AGE ARE YOU OLD LADY?”
No longer discussing weather, let’s talk about my
doctor who interrupts everything you say with “mmm really?” before you have
finished a sentence. It means I end up talking really fast and get my symptoms
in before she goes “Mmm really?” and pisses me off...there is nothing worse
than a sympathetic nodder and interrupter although worse is the people who say
what you are saying at same time.
My hairdresser used to do that till I changed and
went to someone who didn’t try and finish my sentences off for me by using the
same obvious words as me- for example I would say to her “so yeah sometimes
it’s hard to blow dry my hair on my own as its (she would chime in with me)
‘hard to reach round the back” then for the rest of the day she would say the
end of my sentences with me.
Sometimes I would lure her into a false sense of
security and then SWITCH what I was going to say to fuck her up – like I would
say “So it’s nice staying so close to town as you can just WA... (She would get
ready to chime in ‘just walk in’) but I would switch it to “Just watch people
catch the bus” and that would throw her off and she would stare angrily at me
in the mirror. It became a game tying to get her to believe I was going to say
some well-worn cliché then fuck it totally up and leave her mumbling.
In the end she gave me a particularly angry
geometric cut when I asked for a trim and we parted ways- I still see her
through her shop window nodding and finishing peoples words off for them like a
greedy word gobbler. I don’t like her anymore. My new hairdresser doesn’t say
anything and does my hair as I expect and has never tried to finish off my
sentences, but she does sing Adele loudly and badly.
I don’t mind people who voice an opinion, like the
man from the travel insurance wing of the motoring company AA who called me
about a quote I racked up on their online site. He asked why I never bought the
quote they offered and I explained “Too expensive” he asked where else I had
looked and I gave him a price a website offered me, he asked “which company
offered you that?” I read out the name and website of that company and he said
“no wonder it’s cheap, I have never heard of them, do they exist?”
I was quiet when he said that and I asked him “have
you ever heard of me?” he replied “No” to which I said “Then how do you know I
can pay for the quote...do I exist?”
I suppose getting existential with an insurance
quote man isn’t funny, but he annoyed me.
I need to stop getting easily annoyed at stuff.
So here we are almost halfway through February and I
am off to Boston Massachusetts for the WOMEN IN COMEDY FESTIVAL with my pal
Shirley and then off to NEW ZEALAND COMEDY FESTIVAL with Ashley!
Meanwhile here is some local news.
Soon I will be going back to The Calton to donate a
painting I created called St Thenew, she was St Mungo’s mother and drowned in
the Clyde. Am sure you may recognise the parallels with me anyway Thenew
housing next to my old pub is being officially opened and they requested the painting
and that I do the honours of opening the offices. I am so touched and I still
love The Calton- here is a wee column I wrote about it in 2007.
In GLASGOW'S east end there is a small area called
the Calton. It has been included on many political agendas due to the level of
poverty and drug abuse that is prevalent there. News reports of the decaying
housing and devastating health issues have prompted promises of regeneration
from all parties.
Yet people don't know how positively human and
wonderful the place actually is. The history that surrounds the area is
inspiring, and some of those fist-banging politicians would do well to
recognise this.
I lived in the area, which sits snugly between
Glasgow Green and the Gallowgate, for more than 15 years, and loved the place.
My daughter was born and raised in the Calton and,
despite having lived most of her adult life in the fashionable west end of the
city, she is intensely proud of her east-end roots.
The hard-working women of the Calton were a core
influence for me. They set up drug support groups and childcare play schemes
throughout the year.
I was in awe of them and they welcomed me in with
open arms to their community when I became a mother.
I renamed our local pub The Weavers Inn after I had
investigated the history of the district.
Just off the main London Road is an ancient
graveyard. The gates are old and cranky, the trees are overgrown and the place
is in a state of disrepair.
Many of the headstones are scrawled with graffiti or
have been knocked over.
But the most important thing about the graveyard is
that the Calton Weavers who fought and died for better wages are buried there.
On 30 June, 1787, a meeting of the weavers was held
on Glasgow Green. Their wages had dropped because of the increased importing of
cheaper textiles from abroad and most of the workers decided to strike,
although some weavers accepted the lower wages and carried on working.
This was a desperate situation for many of the
people. To be without employment and wages resulted in them being evicted from
their homes and seeing their families go hungry. Yet the striking weavers stood
strong and took on the might of the authorities.
The dispute eventually came to a head on 3
September, 1787: violence erupted after the strikers tried to seize materials
from the weavers who had carried on working despite the low wages.
The military were called in and a detachment of the
39th Regiment of Foot opened fire on the demonstrators.
The strike was broken.
Six of the men killed at the scene were considered
martyrs and some of them were buried in the Calton Cemetery. The families of
the men were so poor that they could not afford a headstone, although a century
later a memorial was raised to commemorate their actions.
A group of local people are currently fighting to
preserve the graveyard, to cherish the memory of the martyrs and also to
educate the local youngsters in their historical roots.
But there are also plans by Glasgow City Council for
parts of the Calton to change their postcode to the swanky city centre G1 code,
to attract more lucrative investments.
The Calton doesn't need a facelift or postcode
change, it needs support. Government officials and politicians should be
investing in local housing and enriching the lives of the people who live in
the Calton, instead of pouring money into the upmarket private housing
expansions that skirt the fashionable side of the Glasgow Green.
The people of the Calton should value their rich
socialist history. Caltonians need to recognise that some ground-breaking and
talented people came from their streets; people such as the poet and songwriter
Matt McGinn; the rock band Gun, who toured with the Rolling Stones, and Davie
Bryce, who set up the innovative drug support group, Calton Athletic, to name but
a few.
We need people to stop pointing the finger at what
went wrong in the Calton and remember the people who fought for a better life
there and died for that very privilege.
The very roots of Scottish socialism were nurtured
in the streets where my daughter was born and that will stay with her for life.
If only those Calton Weavers were up for election
again I know who I would vote for.
If you have any diet, help and advice or like me
pretending to be a life coach occasionally follow me on Twitter @janeygodley
