Me and my daughter Ashley have decided to podcast, we have all the info and equipment and will soon be off to a flying start. We will do it…soon.
Meanwhile things are getting ready for Edinburgh Fringe, I will be organising stuff all this week, don’t ask me which stuff, but husband made me write a to-do list and I am trying to stick to it.
I love organising the fringe, most people get other people called promoters to do it and that’s cool, just not for me. I am a control freak and like doing it myself. Then I know it’s done the way I want it done.
It’s not a nice side to my personality and I am sure it irritates the hell out of my family, but that’s who I am.
There are many ‘not nice’ sides to my personality – many of them I keep deeply hidden, like my need to pick stray hairs off the carpet in an almost obsession like fashion, the other is my need to chew my hair spit wee bits out. I am basically mental.
I am sure my husband wishes he went for the tall skinny girl in the floral dress that fancied him in 1979; she wouldn’t get up in the middle of the night to sleepwalk and drink the last of the milk, would she?
I suspect that skinny girl with the untangled hair and sleek body is right now working a good steady job and is good at making scones, everything my husband likes in a woman. But he got me, the hair collecting woman with dreadlocks and tugs in her scalp with a penchant for growing ear infections better than anyone else.
I wonder what happened to my first boyfriend- George. He is probably either in jail or dead I suspect, we went out with each other for a few months in 1977. He never went to school and graduated to petty theft and drug dealing in the 80s, and he was a crap kisser. But I bet you he would have let me keep a cat AND a rabbit. But I bet he would have had a dangerous dog and made me breed…not the dogs…I mean ME, he would have battered 6 kids out of me and not cared for any of them…so I suppose I gave up an animal lover for a child nurturer.
Maybe I need to stop looking back and go brush my hair and the collect the stray ones off the carpet as they fall out of my head.
Speak soon.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Circus time
So, I got back from my mental train journeys and my trip around the country. I realised it was time for doctors catch up, which means when am away from home, I write down all my symptoms and then get a last minute docs appointment and barrage her with my list, occasionally checking her face for ‘cancer sympathy’ looks. I am always convinced I have a deathly illness that they have overlooked. Despite this deep paranoia I rarely get things checked, so at least my doctor was surprised to see me. I sat down and pulled out my piece of paper as she rolled her eyes, but tried to keep a straight face.
Here is my list.
1. Blood shot pulsating painful eyes – her answer ‘I need glasses’
2. Sticky itchy ears – her answer ‘I have pus filled infected ears and need antibiotics and a spray for them’
3. Green poo (yes that’s right) her answer – ‘I have had food poisoning and need to do a sick poo test’
So I had to get my poo on a small stick and take it to the doctors. Yes, people you read my blog deal with the consequences!
To top it all, Glasgow had another mini heat wave so I was full of strong antibiotics and knackered; I had to fly to London as I was doing a slot at Comedy Store. I actually felt like someone who was filled with green poo and pus….great news eh?
To take my mind off all of my problems, I went over to take wee great nieces Abi and Julia out a walk in the park.
Abi is seven soon and wee Julia is four.
The park was full of lovely middle class mummies all gathering at benches chatting and watching over climbing kids. Except for one mother, who ignored her wee blonde child who I like to call ‘mental’ as this wee chubby thing was smaller than Julia was pushing and pulling all the wee ones off swings and watching for their reaction.
Julia is so dainty and careful getting up the slide, whilst Abi is a proverbial monkey who clearly has 20 toes and will climb anything with skill and dexterity.
Julia finally got to the top of the stairs and ambled over to crouch onto the slide, just then Mental open palmed PUSHED her forcibly, I caught Julia’s arm, she was shocked and horrified and slid down slowly with giant blue eyes agape.
Mental came hurtling down behind her, kicking her back, I looked around for Mental’s mum but there were so many folk. Mental then grabbed our pink stroller and tried to throw it on its side, whilst watching my face for a reaction.
I knew it wasn’t the child’s fault, so kneeled down and took her wee chubby hands off the buggy and said “No, don’t do that” Julia was still staring petrified of Mental the Toddler Pusher.
Just then a skinny woman with a tight sports track suit came dashing over. “Don’t touch my child” she shouted.
Julia clutched my leg, Abi scrambled down a tree and belted over to see what was going on.
I continued prising the wee girls hands gently off the pram in case she pulled it on herself. I ignored Mental’s mum as the kid then pulled all the jumpers out of the pram and threw them on the ground. Mental stared at me for reaction, I ignored her and spun on my heels at the mum and said “I will not touch your poor wee child, but you get a grip on her or I will touch you and not in good way”
“Excuse me?” she yelled.
“Don’t make me repeat it, keep an eye on your wee girl, she clearly needs attention and so do you” I snapped.
Abi said “you’re wee girl is Mental”
Julia repeated ‘Mental” and pointed at the wee girl who was now emptying a hand bag belonging to someone else and scattering its contents on the ground.
“I am sorry if I offended you, I didn’t know she had some problems and I apologise if I hurt your feelings” I explained as the wee girl was now trying to wrestle a dog to the ground as its owner tried to drag it away.
The mother said “She is just expressing herself; maybe you could learn a lesson from that”
“Ok, you are MENTAL not her, how’s that for expression?” I said and took the kids out of the park and headed to the shops for an ice cream.
As we passed the side of the park there was a sign that said CIRCUS coming to Queen’s Park. Abi is now a very good reader and shouted “Look Aunty Janey a circus is coming”
Julia clapped her hands and screamed “yes!”
To which Abi stood stock still, pointed to the sign and said “No, Julia, not a good thing, do you want to see baby tigers being made to jump through hoops of fire and wee monkeys in frilly skirts being made to dance?”
Julia stood there with huge eyes and said “yes, I do Abi”
Julia didn’t know Abi was a 7 year old circus protester, Abi didn’t know she had Julia hooked on ‘Tigers jumping through hoops of flame’ both of them stared at each other, finally Abi gasped “I need to teach you about bad circus’s Julia”
Then Abi went on a rant about how clowns have ‘bad make up’ and are actually scary and frighten kids. I couldn’t stop laughing all the way home as Julia kept asking to be told about dancing monkeys!
I do love being with the kids.
The show at Comedy Store was awesome, a huge bunch of nice comics and me trying to be funny, hopefully the audience liked me and it sounded like they did. But as Ashley always says, a crowd of people baying for blood and screaming with laughter is much of the same noise; it’s up to the performer to know the difference!
They did sound like they were laughing.
The heat in London mixed with the strong doses of antibiotics was making me slightly nauseous, but I had a good time.
Hopefully the green poo and ear gung are going to be a distant memory, but not for you reading this, no doubt it will stick in your mind much like evil clowns do in Abi’s head.
This weekend am at Glasgow Stand doing my thing, hopefully will see you there.
Here is my list.
1. Blood shot pulsating painful eyes – her answer ‘I need glasses’
2. Sticky itchy ears – her answer ‘I have pus filled infected ears and need antibiotics and a spray for them’
3. Green poo (yes that’s right) her answer – ‘I have had food poisoning and need to do a sick poo test’
So I had to get my poo on a small stick and take it to the doctors. Yes, people you read my blog deal with the consequences!
To top it all, Glasgow had another mini heat wave so I was full of strong antibiotics and knackered; I had to fly to London as I was doing a slot at Comedy Store. I actually felt like someone who was filled with green poo and pus….great news eh?
To take my mind off all of my problems, I went over to take wee great nieces Abi and Julia out a walk in the park.
Abi is seven soon and wee Julia is four.
The park was full of lovely middle class mummies all gathering at benches chatting and watching over climbing kids. Except for one mother, who ignored her wee blonde child who I like to call ‘mental’ as this wee chubby thing was smaller than Julia was pushing and pulling all the wee ones off swings and watching for their reaction.
Julia is so dainty and careful getting up the slide, whilst Abi is a proverbial monkey who clearly has 20 toes and will climb anything with skill and dexterity.
Julia finally got to the top of the stairs and ambled over to crouch onto the slide, just then Mental open palmed PUSHED her forcibly, I caught Julia’s arm, she was shocked and horrified and slid down slowly with giant blue eyes agape.
Mental came hurtling down behind her, kicking her back, I looked around for Mental’s mum but there were so many folk. Mental then grabbed our pink stroller and tried to throw it on its side, whilst watching my face for a reaction.
I knew it wasn’t the child’s fault, so kneeled down and took her wee chubby hands off the buggy and said “No, don’t do that” Julia was still staring petrified of Mental the Toddler Pusher.
Just then a skinny woman with a tight sports track suit came dashing over. “Don’t touch my child” she shouted.
Julia clutched my leg, Abi scrambled down a tree and belted over to see what was going on.
I continued prising the wee girls hands gently off the pram in case she pulled it on herself. I ignored Mental’s mum as the kid then pulled all the jumpers out of the pram and threw them on the ground. Mental stared at me for reaction, I ignored her and spun on my heels at the mum and said “I will not touch your poor wee child, but you get a grip on her or I will touch you and not in good way”
“Excuse me?” she yelled.
“Don’t make me repeat it, keep an eye on your wee girl, she clearly needs attention and so do you” I snapped.
Abi said “you’re wee girl is Mental”
Julia repeated ‘Mental” and pointed at the wee girl who was now emptying a hand bag belonging to someone else and scattering its contents on the ground.
“I am sorry if I offended you, I didn’t know she had some problems and I apologise if I hurt your feelings” I explained as the wee girl was now trying to wrestle a dog to the ground as its owner tried to drag it away.
The mother said “She is just expressing herself; maybe you could learn a lesson from that”
“Ok, you are MENTAL not her, how’s that for expression?” I said and took the kids out of the park and headed to the shops for an ice cream.
As we passed the side of the park there was a sign that said CIRCUS coming to Queen’s Park. Abi is now a very good reader and shouted “Look Aunty Janey a circus is coming”
Julia clapped her hands and screamed “yes!”
To which Abi stood stock still, pointed to the sign and said “No, Julia, not a good thing, do you want to see baby tigers being made to jump through hoops of fire and wee monkeys in frilly skirts being made to dance?”
Julia stood there with huge eyes and said “yes, I do Abi”
Julia didn’t know Abi was a 7 year old circus protester, Abi didn’t know she had Julia hooked on ‘Tigers jumping through hoops of flame’ both of them stared at each other, finally Abi gasped “I need to teach you about bad circus’s Julia”
Then Abi went on a rant about how clowns have ‘bad make up’ and are actually scary and frighten kids. I couldn’t stop laughing all the way home as Julia kept asking to be told about dancing monkeys!
I do love being with the kids.
The show at Comedy Store was awesome, a huge bunch of nice comics and me trying to be funny, hopefully the audience liked me and it sounded like they did. But as Ashley always says, a crowd of people baying for blood and screaming with laughter is much of the same noise; it’s up to the performer to know the difference!
They did sound like they were laughing.
The heat in London mixed with the strong doses of antibiotics was making me slightly nauseous, but I had a good time.
Hopefully the green poo and ear gung are going to be a distant memory, but not for you reading this, no doubt it will stick in your mind much like evil clowns do in Abi’s head.
This weekend am at Glasgow Stand doing my thing, hopefully will see you there.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Why me?
So, the shows at Covent Garden Jongleurs are good and odd at the same time, nice room but comprised of a big bunch of people who were surprised that comedy was on, despite the fact they came to a comedy show. Life is like that sometimes.
I spent the weekend in London, and am a bit tired.
I feel as though I have been round the world on a bus and not a good bus either. My usual apartments that I rent in London were busy so I stayed at The Groucho club rooms, the bed was AWESOME…seriously good bed and wonderful linen. You wouldn’t know you were in Soho, it was really quiet and serene, and mind you I did have a back bedroom.
Sunday I headed home on the train from Kings Cross to Glasgow, as British Airways were on strike again. I enjoy the train actually.
As it’s a Sunday- I decided to upgrade to first class as it’s cheap on a weekends.
I got a cracking seat, and was surrounded by lovely old people all getting settled in. You need to check your ticket to see if you can get it upgraded, so I searched out the train ticket bloke and showed him my ticket.
“You only have the one ticket here, you need the reservations part of the tickets” he smugly said and waited for me to find another ticket.
“I have the part that says I should be on the Kings Cross to Glasgow train today…look” I answered and pointed at my ticket.
The train line people give you at least 6 tickets for a return journey and God know I must have lost one ticket, the ticket that gives my seat number and train time on it.
“Go look for it and I will come back to you” he snapped and walked away.
I searched my bag and I knew I didn’t have it, I waited patiently for him to come back, but I couldn’t relax as I didn’t know what was happening.
Meanwhile there was a really old lady with her husband sitting at one of the table seats near me. She got up to go to the loo and the train was trundling hard, so I offered to help her get to the toilet.
She was pretty infirm, and it was easy to help support her and walk her slowly and surely, she was shaky on her feet and her husband was happy to let me help. The lady was very posh, and at first she was pretty quiet yet politely thanking me.
After the third loo visit, I had her laughing by saying that we would soon be doing a double act dance show by the time we got to Scotland.
She said “My mother’s housekeeper was a dancer before she went into service” Then she held her arms out for me to guide her back, I realised she was used to working class women helping her about, not that she was off with me, but just her attitude that she wasn’t surprised that I would tend to her. Her very tall posh husband stood up to the side to let me get her out and into the seat, not thanking or giving me a smile. That sounds like I was expecting some kind of hero worship, but I wasn’t – but it just felt as though it was somehow expected of me in a weird way.
I sat down and then the lady’s husband, who was dressed in beige linen suit with a pale blue shirt and a fedora hat, leaned over to me and said “Could you please go see what’s keeping the lunch trolley”
At that moment, a wee Scottish couple in their 70s who were at the table beside me looked in my direction, the wee man had a big Korean War tattoo on his arm that he chatted to me about earlier, he rolled his eyes and gave me a mock salute, as if to say “Aye Aye sir” and I sniggered but got up and duly did my working class duty.
The trolley for first class was being slow and the fedora hat man gave me the list of complaints about the service, I finally stopped him and said “I know but I don’t work here and I don’t even have an upgraded ticket to be in first class”. He smiled and carried on moaning about the state of first class service. I went off, found the lunch trolley, came back and gave him an update on its movements.
Finally the ticket man came back, he stared at my tickets again, gave a huge exasperated sigh, shifted about on his feet and said “You don’t have the right ticket; you need the OTHER ticket that states which train you are meant to be on”
I quietly held it together and said “Well technically I do have A ticket but part of it is missing but I do have a ticket which states I paid to be on the Kings Cross to Glasgow train today, I am just missing the reservations part, but on my IPhone I have the confirmation email that corresponds with that reference number on the ticket sir”
He rolled his eyes, let out a big huffy breath and said “I don’t take emails or phone texts as a ticket, now you need to buy a new ticket now or you will have to get off this train” He leaned back on his heels and stared down at me, fingering his ticket machine.
The old people around me all stared and waited to see what I would do.
I didn’t lose my temper; I quietly said “I am not buying a new ticket”
“Don’t you have money or credit cards on you” he sniggered.
“Yes, I have credit cards coming out of my wazoo and wads of cash in my bag but I’m still not buying a ticket, especially when you can clearly see I have a ticket for this journey and I have confirmation on my IPhone to prove I should be on this train, now what we are going to do is you are going to get the police to remove me from this train and when they get on and wonder why you called them out on a Bank Holiday Sunday, I will show them my PART ticket and my confirmed email, you will have to explain to them why you went to such lengths to screw me for cash, now lets do that. Go and call the cops and I will wait patiently for that to happen, as you have been so lovely to me, I would rather they removed me, I don’t want us falling out”
He immediately shouted “I am not falling out with anyone” he lost his cool and got annoyed at himself.
“Please don’t shout sir, you are scaring the elderly people sitting in here” I spoke firmly but quietly.
“I am not shouting, I am trying to make myself clear” he flustered his words. I got him now, he was panicking and wondering why he shouted and now needed to face getting the cops and standing his ground, he knew my explanation would allow me to stay on the train and he would look like a dick.
“I am just telling you the rules, I don’t make them” He added.
“I know that sir, I accept you have rules, I am just saying that if the police come on they can debate the rules and over rule you then you wont be held responsible for me being on this train with a part of the ticket missing” I smiled “I don’t want you getting into trouble with the rules do I?” I added. The wee old man with the tattoo thumbed up to me behind the ticket man’s back and mock saluted me.
I spoke slowly, quietly and clearly throughout the debate. Ticket man stared at me. He fiddled with his ticket machine and tapped on it with his pen. He then breathed out.
He said “Ok, I will let you off this time, but in future you need to look after your tickets, when you get your tickets from the machine, you should keep them safe…”
I put my hand up and forcibly spoke “Stop right there, I will graciously accept your kindness for letting on stay on but I am NOT going to stand here and get a big telling off and a lecture about losing tickets, I made ONE mistake, I lost ONE ticket in fifteen years of travel and that is not bad going, but we are done here”
He turned on his heel and left me in my first class seat, which incidentally I didn’t have to pay the upgrade for either, he just left me alone.
I spent the weekend in London, and am a bit tired.
I feel as though I have been round the world on a bus and not a good bus either. My usual apartments that I rent in London were busy so I stayed at The Groucho club rooms, the bed was AWESOME…seriously good bed and wonderful linen. You wouldn’t know you were in Soho, it was really quiet and serene, and mind you I did have a back bedroom.
Sunday I headed home on the train from Kings Cross to Glasgow, as British Airways were on strike again. I enjoy the train actually.
As it’s a Sunday- I decided to upgrade to first class as it’s cheap on a weekends.
I got a cracking seat, and was surrounded by lovely old people all getting settled in. You need to check your ticket to see if you can get it upgraded, so I searched out the train ticket bloke and showed him my ticket.
“You only have the one ticket here, you need the reservations part of the tickets” he smugly said and waited for me to find another ticket.
“I have the part that says I should be on the Kings Cross to Glasgow train today…look” I answered and pointed at my ticket.
The train line people give you at least 6 tickets for a return journey and God know I must have lost one ticket, the ticket that gives my seat number and train time on it.
“Go look for it and I will come back to you” he snapped and walked away.
I searched my bag and I knew I didn’t have it, I waited patiently for him to come back, but I couldn’t relax as I didn’t know what was happening.
Meanwhile there was a really old lady with her husband sitting at one of the table seats near me. She got up to go to the loo and the train was trundling hard, so I offered to help her get to the toilet.
She was pretty infirm, and it was easy to help support her and walk her slowly and surely, she was shaky on her feet and her husband was happy to let me help. The lady was very posh, and at first she was pretty quiet yet politely thanking me.
After the third loo visit, I had her laughing by saying that we would soon be doing a double act dance show by the time we got to Scotland.
She said “My mother’s housekeeper was a dancer before she went into service” Then she held her arms out for me to guide her back, I realised she was used to working class women helping her about, not that she was off with me, but just her attitude that she wasn’t surprised that I would tend to her. Her very tall posh husband stood up to the side to let me get her out and into the seat, not thanking or giving me a smile. That sounds like I was expecting some kind of hero worship, but I wasn’t – but it just felt as though it was somehow expected of me in a weird way.
I sat down and then the lady’s husband, who was dressed in beige linen suit with a pale blue shirt and a fedora hat, leaned over to me and said “Could you please go see what’s keeping the lunch trolley”
At that moment, a wee Scottish couple in their 70s who were at the table beside me looked in my direction, the wee man had a big Korean War tattoo on his arm that he chatted to me about earlier, he rolled his eyes and gave me a mock salute, as if to say “Aye Aye sir” and I sniggered but got up and duly did my working class duty.
The trolley for first class was being slow and the fedora hat man gave me the list of complaints about the service, I finally stopped him and said “I know but I don’t work here and I don’t even have an upgraded ticket to be in first class”. He smiled and carried on moaning about the state of first class service. I went off, found the lunch trolley, came back and gave him an update on its movements.
Finally the ticket man came back, he stared at my tickets again, gave a huge exasperated sigh, shifted about on his feet and said “You don’t have the right ticket; you need the OTHER ticket that states which train you are meant to be on”
I quietly held it together and said “Well technically I do have A ticket but part of it is missing but I do have a ticket which states I paid to be on the Kings Cross to Glasgow train today, I am just missing the reservations part, but on my IPhone I have the confirmation email that corresponds with that reference number on the ticket sir”
He rolled his eyes, let out a big huffy breath and said “I don’t take emails or phone texts as a ticket, now you need to buy a new ticket now or you will have to get off this train” He leaned back on his heels and stared down at me, fingering his ticket machine.
The old people around me all stared and waited to see what I would do.
I didn’t lose my temper; I quietly said “I am not buying a new ticket”
“Don’t you have money or credit cards on you” he sniggered.
“Yes, I have credit cards coming out of my wazoo and wads of cash in my bag but I’m still not buying a ticket, especially when you can clearly see I have a ticket for this journey and I have confirmation on my IPhone to prove I should be on this train, now what we are going to do is you are going to get the police to remove me from this train and when they get on and wonder why you called them out on a Bank Holiday Sunday, I will show them my PART ticket and my confirmed email, you will have to explain to them why you went to such lengths to screw me for cash, now lets do that. Go and call the cops and I will wait patiently for that to happen, as you have been so lovely to me, I would rather they removed me, I don’t want us falling out”
He immediately shouted “I am not falling out with anyone” he lost his cool and got annoyed at himself.
“Please don’t shout sir, you are scaring the elderly people sitting in here” I spoke firmly but quietly.
“I am not shouting, I am trying to make myself clear” he flustered his words. I got him now, he was panicking and wondering why he shouted and now needed to face getting the cops and standing his ground, he knew my explanation would allow me to stay on the train and he would look like a dick.
“I am just telling you the rules, I don’t make them” He added.
“I know that sir, I accept you have rules, I am just saying that if the police come on they can debate the rules and over rule you then you wont be held responsible for me being on this train with a part of the ticket missing” I smiled “I don’t want you getting into trouble with the rules do I?” I added. The wee old man with the tattoo thumbed up to me behind the ticket man’s back and mock saluted me.
I spoke slowly, quietly and clearly throughout the debate. Ticket man stared at me. He fiddled with his ticket machine and tapped on it with his pen. He then breathed out.
He said “Ok, I will let you off this time, but in future you need to look after your tickets, when you get your tickets from the machine, you should keep them safe…”
I put my hand up and forcibly spoke “Stop right there, I will graciously accept your kindness for letting on stay on but I am NOT going to stand here and get a big telling off and a lecture about losing tickets, I made ONE mistake, I lost ONE ticket in fifteen years of travel and that is not bad going, but we are done here”
He turned on his heel and left me in my first class seat, which incidentally I didn’t have to pay the upgrade for either, he just left me alone.
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